It never dawned on Christ that maybe Humanity didn't want to be saved.

What do you say to someone in that position?
"Best of luck in beating my record..."?
"Slow down for your own sake..."?
It's not my deal, but I know what it's like
to face your own music alone
when the drinks wear off the next morning
and the shame sets in
and I don't wish that on anyone.
Word on the street can't compete with casual sex
so I'll keep it to myself this time.
I don't have the clout
in that crowd, anyway; kind of lost
it when I shoved my foot in my mouth
and other things in other places--
all in another life, of course.
If three chords and the truth can't do it
then I've got nothin'.

And then there's our little prodigy of yore
all grown up now, with not quite enough of the wisdom
I'd hoped our mistakes had taught him.
It's true what they say: you really do
have to live it yourself, despite the warnings
and earn yourself your own remorseful lessons.
It's a shame that two well-spoken older brother types
couldn't manage to talk some half-drunk sense into him.
We don't want him settling for the cop career
that'd make his father happy at the expense of postponing
his dream to teach, but we couldn't do more than make him
appreciate the concern of two wasted talents
about to watch the cycle repeat.
Maybe we should just be glad
he's not as impressionable as we once thought
and learned to think for himself along the way.
But for Christ's sake, man--
for someone who wants to teach history
you sure don't seem to learn from it.

Sorry for the soapbox session.
I'm just killing time
pretending not to be jealous
of the passenger in that car
as I sit here helpless
a hundred-and-some-odd miles away.
Don't think for a second that this sinner
doesn't see the plank in his own Biblical eye
and know that your speck is your own to live with
as you damn-well please.
Pattern recognition, that's all.



Currently reading:
"An American Tragedy" by Theodore Dreiser.