what fun is it to carry the death certificates i have been collecting all along. the memmories of those times is hard enough with out having to bring the eviedence that i was there. here i nowhere land transitioning between slides of life when then was now and sorrow and yet to send its messengers for me. anyway the days singling away the wishy washy advertisements and billboards seem to fade timly into the time of nothing and dreary gray decaying at the lights of intersection and the tragic traffic countiues its halfway gaining jaunts haggard along its stopping way seemingly seamless with the cities waste land streets. i forgot what i had to say. i forgot what we had said to each other, only now is falling away into the abyss of sorrowful memmories. it never seemed that powerful that ominus phrase that goes something like "we are only here this once, make everything beautiful" until it comes from some who you know is dying. he came to me as i was walking up the sidewalk to greet my friends. he had never seemed so happy to see me. all open arms and hugs with "i wont be around much longer" he told me what a beautiful person i was as for a split second tears came to my eyes "dont be said for me" he said with that grin and flexing 47 year old muscles. dont believe them i wanted to say, you can overcome anything its all in your state of mind or has your cousin Jimi would say "its all in your mind", but is he know dead at assigns hands? you tell me it runs in the family like voodoo that "Manic depression" its searching my soul too. "i know what i want but i just don't know, how to go about getting it." i have tried to bring these conclusive evidence to light but i cant afford to lose my own now. the next time i will ask what it was like to be 7 year old in kansas. before the nickname of doughnut sprinkles was given him. the hands on the stratocaster. i remeber the way you could sing the same with the same physical feature and it seems so distant but realitive to now to know you. "evil man make me kill ya, evil man make you kill me" i remeber of the sounds of those drums in norman in 70 from a bootleg with the same sedments touring with the band of gypsies. were you ten then and where were you, were the two of you never to meet again after parting for fame. and now i wonder if he ever thought of you. now classical guitar mentors take you under there wings to show you a different way but how much longer do we have? today? tommorrow? only one day will all this sorrow pass away. until then yes i do love you