The sky the sky- same as it always was.

When I first submerged my feet into frigid water, they hurt so badly I yanked them out again. I persisted, dunking them for longer and longer periods, until the cold finally blistered.

I hate this bizarre policy of protective exclusion, because it effectively writes me off the page.

Hey! Shouts Camel. There ain't no woman in the world worth two bottles of whiskey!

Then I lie down on the horse blanket and drift into a dream about Marlena that will probably cost me my soul.

My platitudes don't hold their interest and I can hardly blame them for that. My real stories are all out of date. So what if I can speak firsthand about the Spanish flu, the advent of the automobile, world wars, cold wars, guerrilla wars, and Sputnik — that's all ancient history now. But what else do I have to offer? Nothing happens to me anymore. That's the reality of getting old, and I guess that's really the crux of the matter. I'm not ready to be old yet.

When will people learn that just because you can make something doesn’t mean you should?