Ramblings... Will God ever let Us in?

A fond farewell to getting punched in the cock. There's no jury in a room out back anywhere to take to long on a decision of my fate. I've hung them all with a smile and the piano wire used to play my song.

With that being said, one of my closest friends is on his way out. He's giving it all up, the early morning scrambles for the best surf, the sushi hideouts from Santa Barbara to the front door of Mahi's in Seal Beach, the laughs that Venice has best to offer, those old days of the Hollywood nights. and one of the best starts to a Piloting career I've seen, for an idea. One that I smile about. The idea of a Woman on the other side. A past reflection of what could have been and what could possibly be.

A bitter sweet farewell we sat in the back yard of the Wardlow house rolling American Spirits and kicking off a three day bender with folk songs from Chase's guitar, that Angelic voice haunting the sky with 'shut your mouth'. All around the smell of the bbq and hints of Stuarts cigars. A cheers to the flowing lime brilliance of a Mexican river of beer we all sat and took in yet another moment. 3 a.m. came fast and it was just Him and I sitting near the street in beach chairs. The philosophy and the last smoke we witnessed what does not exist. An end.

The next day came early enuff to scramble eggs and start in on the last of the Tecate with orange juice and a little Drive By Truckers. The day went on and we kept at it, not giving up hope on what we had started. Before we knew it was evening and the depth of Our discussions found no bottom. Stuart announced himself to this thing from a long day of flying with his first beer and soon after Josh showed up with His clubs and we were off to the course. Other than the familiar blur, that day had ended with the infamous Sea Urchent shots that I had earned the right to buy on the last hole and the journey home to pass out gracefully a quarter way through 'Taken'.

On the 3rd day the plan was simple. We were going to take to a siesta and meet at the World Cafe in Santa Monica for Chase's show at 7 p.m. But I being the pussy that I am, bowed out after a call to work in Hollywood the next morning and headed out to the Ports Of Call in San Pedro to make ready the Pad and shack for the weekend.

In that moment we talked of music, the Women We love, and to the possibilities and the mystery out ahead of Us. The only part of our past that came up in those days, were of Our fallen, and the tiping of Our glasses. To them and the possibilities that come from those days that are behind Us now.

I stood on the rooftop of the Mondrian Hotel this morning and looked out over West Hollywood. The ants were crawling about the ritual and flashing shots at the house of blues, and I zoomed in on a couple of wanna be actress's practicing their palaties on the lonely street on the east side. The American Idol blow out is here tonight and I can't wait to get the fuck out. I wont lie about the idea of diving into this thing in the strangest of ways... A pill popping fantasy of punching out Adam Lambert and doing rails off Allison Iraheta's bare ass. (I really hope she's of age - but what would it matter in this train wreck when all is said and done.) I go further,. The circus would be at the top of it's glory as I come back from the sweaty outrages session, a smelling combo of pussy, scotch and Marlboro's from the 12th floor suite only to make things worse or better by making my departure through the very strange post modern facade of an abnormally white lobby by puking on Adam while I try to shake his hand and congratulate him on being another asshole to join the ranks...

I'll see You my friend... when You've had Your fill and decide to come home...

'As I'm leaving' is my background. It stands in the mirror as I drive away. I follow the sun as it is setting and I'm somewhere I've never been and somewhere I always was.

The thing that is not understood, that I have come to in this nanu sliver of time is that the idea of something in most cases is a much better place to be than the loss of it and the damage that Our souls can do to each other. The past I'm left with and the one I've created is very much there. (in that past). There's no getting that back or changing it. Moving on and leaving it there is the only way. But if one is to forget. They will surely repeat it. (as it has been written). There is a continuance of this repetition that is constant in our universe. The digger finds this in every shovel that goes into the earth. The winners being the one's to right Our history as we are to know it as that fact without a question. Even though the likely hood of every book written to inform us on 'what had happened' is more than likely a fabrication. All Bull shitting lies to mold and shape our enslaved vision. Well I'm here to stop my own digging of past and start building a new from my mistakes. No lies to be written, for Myself, and all I have wronged are my only judge in the end, and whatever goes down in My book, will be that of My own truth. Even if there is no hope for Me.