I was once asked, “ Why are you an Independent … what’s your purpose?” I replied, “To put it simply, we don’t follow, we take the lead. We vote as we see fit … we’re not a party flunkie swayed by peer pressure. We always try to do the right thing … we do as we damn well please. We’re the lone cry in the wilderness, shouting the dissension of truth that most do not heed. We’re the last in line, the first to bleed.”
Tribute to Tina, Terri, and Tami: She’s soulful, seeking eyes pierce the male mortal heart. She’s steamy, sultry look tears any man apart. She’s poulty, full lips fill men with lust and fire. She’s wanton desire consumes unaware sires. She dominates every thought, every move. She casts her magical spell … that insatiable, special sexy groove.
Her kiss is moist and sweet to the taste … like red rose morning dew.
Wild and sensuous, passionate and forward, animalistic and primal … we three are, as we lay on the watery banks of Lake Ponchatrain. We humanistic trio, partners in tri-sexual bliss, drawn together by mortal lust and temptation. The more we tasted, the more we wanted … that forbidden, intense burning desire of immortal art, of human need … Andrea, Sissy, and me.
T’was as if I was touching the face of God—my crossing of these majestic peaks that grasped the unreachable sky … the Montana Rockies.
Infinite green, forever blue. Such was nature’s wonder cast upon my eyes … the cycle of life holding true.
This is the burden and joy of one such life … ecstatic burning and insufferable strife.
Standing amidst a wild bunch of drunken idiots tearing apart the Knot & Loop Club, droolin’ for a head bashing brawl, I blurted out real damn loud, “ Now don’t ya’ll make me hafta to call Momma,” as I nervously tapped my big-ass, shiny stainless steel meat cleaver on the palm of my hand. Man, they split the scene in a heartbeat, barreling over one another, out the door! Ol’ man Raspberry laughed out loud, bellowing, “Mark! So you call your meat cleaver Momma!” I replied, with a shit eattin’ grin, “Yes, Sir! Well, on special occasions, I do!” That was the moment I became an “Equalizer” … I was fifteen.
As I stood beside old man Raspberry in his time of peril, preparing to fight a hoard of racist, malcontent drunks, I knew from that moment on … I would always have to stand on the side of right. It was quite an eye-opening revelation for this young man.
The horror and pain of injustice has driven me to explore all that takes toll. I’ve known men who’ve killed for no reason … my former associates and I were a breed apart from the norm.
Some men are born with just force in hand, others are conditioned. Some are regular Joes that are conformed, trained, and created. Every “Equalizer” is prepared to pay the price of admission … it’s not a task for the weak-hearted or the ill-fated.
Nameless and faceless we went in, carrying out the task, completing the mission, making the area and people secure. Such is the way of procuring a path for progress.
The spirit of equality prevailed, beckoning justice for this small haven. A miracle had occurred deep in the Heart of the Southern Star … no longer did these people wield the hand that inflicted a racist scar.
Like falling leaves, so goes the ending of life. Bare branches are its former self … slowly and methodically, decaying before our very eyes as the essence of life fades and dies.
Time is a translucent line filled with copious conceptions. Sorrow begs happiness; melancholy bleeds joviality; guilt tempts innocence; surrealism blurs general reality; evil destroys good; humans murder the humane … this is the spectrum of life.
The spectrum of life fades; a fragmentary imagination disintegrates, painting a diminished gray portrait of the dawn of Man’s hemorrhaging brain lost in theory as a fragmented soul searches for peace of mind.
Our Republic cries for the spirit to rock this minute human circus high from the mountain top, as the five circles of humanity plead for mercy, asking democracy to set them free from tierney’s chaotic cosmic flight trippin’ amidst a psychedelic sea.
Mortal meditations, hidden deep within the human confine, bring forth ideas and opinions—conjectures of the soul. An explosion of intense devotion flowing with a passionate artistry.
Burning poetic stanza … the immeasurable spirit of woman and man. Sketched by a constant will, chiseled by the cosmic clock. Painted by a multitude of colors, orated by a plethora of dialects. An active link between past, present and future, as Mankind hangs in the throes of chaos and strife; hope and desire; freewill and complacency … such is the thesis of Humanity.
This shall be my last entry in the series known as, “Philosophical Quotes from a Reformed Barfly.” All of you out there, struggling, searching, hoping, striving, seeking purpose, remember this one thing, “To be the difference in life … is a life well lived!” One couldn’t ask for more. I bid you all a fond farewell. Now, I going to take a break from writing for a while. I have a date with destiny … must make amends with my Maker.