Do I Follow the White Rabbit or the Yellow Brick Road?

You: The road, silly Wabbit.

Image via Wikipedia

Me: Tricks are for kids.
You: Follow the Rabbit down the Yellow Brick Road.
Me: Toto Cottontail?
You: Perfect for a roadside BBQ.
Me: Barbequed Ma-owse (reference your Tom & Jerry memories).
You: Go down the hole and back up until you pop a brick out of the Road. Then, head west towards the sea.
Me: Pop-a-Brick? Musta been a left turn at Albuquerque.
You: The rabbit is more fun, but things may or may not work out. The Road will get you where you want to go, but you may get distracted by the forests and poppies. The Devil you know or the Devil you don't? Each leave you waking from a dream surrounded by people that think you're crazy.
Me: So, I'm seeking the 6-fingered man in the fire swamp and on alert for ROUS, lightning sand and fire spurts. Drat. Again? I coulda had a V8.
You: Are you Neo or Dorothy? Maybe you should ask Alice.
Me: I tried to see Alice, but Flo was on shift. She said, "Kiss my grits."
You: Follow the chicken across the Road, then.
Me: That chicken didn't go anywhere, just stood in the middle of the intersection.
You: Is that the same chicken from a few months back at a different intersection? Hooker chickens. I think we have an epidemic.
Me: The crossroads is where you meet the chicken devils to sell your soulgizzard.

Wordz From Friendz XI

Gotta love me some super comments from @karriespring:

"Whoa. Trying to explain my whoa... there is a lot of living in your writing. A lot that--for some reason--I relate to. Not all the time, but sometimes it's really striking. You were meant to write. Whether it's fiction, or part of your real life... you were meant to share your words."

*SMOOCH!* Thank you for reading (and sticking with me as I slowly work toward the last page of the first book)!

This comment was in response to my recent post, "One Last Thing To Do (and then...)."

wooooooooo pig!

One Last Thing To Do (and then...)

Image by Idhren via Flickr

In front of me, nature thrives. Miles of green. New leaves.
Behind me there lies Death. Vacuous nature of (the) Black.
It lies on the ground, leg precariously angled in pain. Crying.
From there to here runs a slacked cord tied to my soul,
Inches from the reach of the disfigurement.
From here to there is The Leap.
I followed my Path and it led to this ledge, again.
Many footsteps go back the way I've already come.
In fact, steps less full than mine--
Steps that were next to me not so long ago--
They go back.

So far, I've managed only to look over my shoulder.
I fear turning my body to feel the inertia of addiction.
My back is my shield.
Fifteen years of questions.
Thirty steps back into the fray.
Three feet from flight.
Seven years anew.
Threes and sevens, not fifteens.
So my mind has always said.
At 98 we all rotate.
In excess; time equal to thrice what others would have given.
I prefer words to numbers. Always have.
Maybe now I understand that she will never understand.
So lost from her Path that "good enough" led her back.
Her choice is my education, "good enough" is death.
Good enough is a numbers game.
Good enough is a product of the head, of logic.
Good enough is a heart that no longer beats.

I watched her go.
She looked back over her shoulder, as always.
No smiles, as never before.
She disappeared into the dark,
Soulcord tethered to The Black.
Unnecessary sacrifice.
For me.

Now I know, I wouldn't go back for her.
I'd only go back to give myself to The Black;
To understand the opposite of Love's Promise.
My creative curiosity sings. Input.
How can you know Good without experiencing Evil?
How can you know Evil without experiencing Good?
The teapot whistles and the train leaves.
The soup kettle boils and the earth erupts.
Both The Black.

I don't look for her any longer.
I watch The Black's chest rise and fall.
Heart not yet dead.
Dark eyes from deep sockets see right through me.
For how much longer, that is the question.
Sorrow for what was meant to be pours into me.
Except, it's not my sorrow, nor is it my dream.
My heads turns back to my fate,
And I know that a misstep on a Path thousands of years ago can be erased if I could simply...
Believe.

I don't have the energy left to Believe.

One last thing to do, yet I'm struggling to do it.
The flashlight inside runs my battery into desolation.
Even though she can't see me, she can still hear me.
The stone in my pocket warms the letter that I wrote--
The letter that I need to read aloud.
Words to mark the waypoint of one decision,
Nature records and remembers.
This place will be marred with a bad decision,
And that gives me guilt.
Children and nature rebound in kind--
Resilient life--
These are the things that I must remember.
Life hangs in the balance of black and white, live or die, a daily fight to be more than good enough.
We live among those who choose by good enough:
Good enough to fuck.
Good enough for government work.
Good enough, but not great.
All far-short; the broken legs of dreams.
Good enough fills time, a parry to boredom.
Dreams aren't filled by others for the lazy;
They are earned.

It is time to read my letter.
And then...

let me stand next to your fire