I keep saying that I know there is more. I know there is.
I say this often enough that even I roll my eyes and say, “not again with this,” and still, I have to say this anyway.
I know there is more out there for me.

I know there is more to life and I know that at minimum, there is more than the common items that glimmer like gold.
I know there are more things out there to see and there is more for me to say and do.
I know there is more out there than commonplace beauties, which are socially graced and picked first or noticed because of a greatness that is either flesh-based or surface level.
I know there is more.
There has to be.

Thursday afternoon or closer to the evening.
I am not sure what the time was.

I stood with my coffee like the others who await a train to take them home after their daily grind to make their daily bread. I live and I die and in-between, I work for a so-called living so that I can pay my taxes and I can pay my way and I pay my share.
I was thinking about the lopsided and the unfairness which seems apparent at times.
And then I stood there . . .
I waited for my track to be announced so I could go home, shower, eat, exercise, sleep and then repeat the same thing the next day.

I stood contemplating the days ahead of me> I considered things, like the life I have. I thought about the places I’ve been to, the life I’ve lived, and of course, I thought about the money I’ve spent.

I have seen all kinds or people in all kinds of ways, both sick and deceived and lost, searching, waiting, and hoping that somehow the answers to their questions will either come to light or be left elsewhere and unobjectionable.
I have watched good people undergo changes and become so unrecognizable in either a more spiritual or physical sense and in the end, they died as someone else to me.
I spent too much time searching for a cure. And no.
I am not alone.

I spent what seems to be lifetimes, which have both multiplied and divided the same way terrorists divide and conquer and yes.
Yes, of course.
I have been looking for an answer to understand a slow and steady emptiness.
I have been looking to understand the inferior excuses that changes the dynamic for an otherwise divided mind.
Why?

What I say now
I say without apology.
So,
I say this anyway

and I say it
play the game
and see what happens . . .

I have to say, The Old Man was right.

This?
This one was inspired by you
and this?
This led me to thinking about the way life is
or how people try to speak
and yet, no one listens to hear.
They seem to only listen
so they know how to respond.

But this?
This is for you,
The victim
The hero
The truth
And this?

And the music?
Man . . .
The music has always meant everything to me.
Or if not everything, the music has always meant something to me.
understand?

I swear there is nothing quite like the gift of sound.
And, so, should I ever lose my ability to hear,
then at least I will have my memory to sing me to sleep when I need it the most.

I am certainly a witness and a watcher and above all else, I admit that I am someone who participates in the oldest sport of all time. This is a little and special game known as people watching.
I cannot say how I look or seem or appear to anyone else.
No, I do not have the right to claim any kind of special or exceptional beauty.
I am just me.
I am only a man, average in many ways, hungry, seeking and searching and at best, I am equally as confused as anyone else here in this place called Project Earth.

White lines trail across the sky. I love this.
I love how they symbolize the exhaust from airplanes that passed overhead.
This is beautiful to me.
I love the lines of feathery clouds that leave behind a provocative story of an airplane that flew to a destination unknown.
Provocative.
That’s a great word, I think.

I have not been on a plane in a while. And who knows if I’ll ever be on a flight again?
Maybe soon.
Maybe not.
But I am not here to ante up or play that hand at the moment.
All I can do is play the hand I’ve been dealt
For now. . .