Delayed Narcissism

Hello all,

I'm sorry that I have been remiss in updating this journal, but I have been temporarily removed from the "web." However, now that I'm back among the Polis, I am putting up a few thoughts I wrote down in my Moleskine while on the lam.

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Campfire

It's tough to say how long I have been in the woods...it's tough to say much of anything with the state my mouth is in. Trust to a dirty redneck to call a simple citizen a "faggot" and hit him simply for expressing a different point of view. And for wearing a baseball on his head. But that's all past now.

I'm sitting around the communal fire with Dusty and Cameron, my fellow hobo-companions. The air is heady with a mix of sycamore. My clothes are fragrant with campfire smoke -- so reminiscent of smoky Lapsong Suchong. Ah...how I miss civil tea. Right now we are drinking a bitter mimx that Dusty has brewed from wild Sassafrass. Its taste bridges my other sense of smoke and trees, and warms my interior. I feel protected against the chill of this unexpected shower.

Every few intervals, I pull out my "bundle" and check its contents. Dusty says that the bundle in the hobo's best friend. It is nothing more than a hankerchief wrapped tightly around all my worldly possessions, but already it feels like my world. Oh for a glass of cool Chardonnay.

Goodnight Friends,
Basebally

A Poem

Eye On the Ball

A white dome, streaked with bits of red.
I hide away from the world.
Every day a new curve,
This curveball goes too fast.
When will I be hit?
Do I fear most to be smacked over the fence,
Or to be missed, and tossed away
Scuffed with dirt.
Spit on me.
Grind me against your hip.
Give me to a fan who loves me more than you.
Did I not dance enough for you?
Did I not prance enough for you?
Did I not love you enough?
Do you love me?

I was only your pasttime.
Hooray for the Home Team.