Note From Fear
A New Career In A New Town —A Message To All The Upcoming Roadrunners, And All Those Yesterdays — Morning Papers XXVIII
A Yearning For A Journey Without Known Destinations
©Joanie Adams — Joanie Adams; Gift A Tea: https://ko-fi.com/joanieadamms
THE LAST PAPER:
I hear of the soul departing — ever on furlough from the settling of heart to hearth; Ever dying, ever becoming, ever ongoing are we. To each transcendent soul, while the world reaps itself weeping, I say bully to you and your behooved measure of living;
Roadrunner — roadrunner — roadrunner! Going a hundred miles an hour!
You glorious undertakers of the road and journeymen of this realm —the need to vanish out of sight swings from expedient to expiring; I could tell you the tale of numerous souls wayward in the realms of the world, these artists, these ones who lapse over the courted humming of safety. I could do that, but we’ll go at a pace that doesn’t give everything away, at least, not yet, that is for you to decide, when you get there — if ever.
All adrift, learning to fly, yet who is going to create them a set of feathery wings?
We smile and we react, we hide amongst the shadows of a shady bar — we remain gay to the changing of seasons, evanescence to the tact of life; A baby is born — a baby is lost. A man is broken down on the street, whilst another one remains lying evermore, in the trapped coffin placed around their weary sides, and getting tighter each time, cataclysm appears.
Chiding all welcome kindness away from residences, no second chances to be had; if the happenstance did arise to take control of his life, I am sure he would take it, I am sure he would. Be that my naive prayer if naught else — even if I am let down, by another sleep on a street somewhere.
Even if one dared to hear his story — was it all worth it?
If ever things were as simple as that — oh, simple pleasures though do exist, firmly I know them, so do you? What are yours, in each and every manner, I am curious of that fact, of what this strange or befriended reader has in the circuit to their life ongoing.
Driving as you ado, playing that barlist, as they vanish away from gray shadows, into a taking wind — I wonder of a friend of mine, where she is, who she mystics them all as what remains to her firm and warm in the evening; god bless that girl!
If you could ride out of town one day — someday, would you? To just disappear, irreverent to all consequences, sometimes that is a wee dream of mine — cute in all its effects, but I dream of it still. Perhaps rack up on the doorstep of my aforementioned friend, and give that hug I believe she deserves — perhaps I could do just that.
Confidence, the winking memory of my face hides the lacking I feel like I ought to know — especially by and by, with war raging down afar, yet so utterly inescapable, I wonder how can they do it. Yet many do, and many fall down into turntable soils, remaining unknown or barely mentioned to the annuals of history.
So there is I, leaning against my console, with my stack list of records playing, of dying, falling, and deceased rockers — jazzers — aliens! I remember them all, even if the weight may choke me if I linger too long on what has gone before.
Of all the future-dayer roadrunners to come, I am thinking of you
There is one of these spirits I think of expressly — all the days to come, all the minor and major decisions to be made, and all slipping in between, all the things that won’t be because of those very decisions. All or naught — I could tell you that, and I could tell you this — I always ask myself that nagging Why;- and my choice not to linger too long myself, perhaps a little too much beyond the persistence of my temperance.
Ah, someday my dear friends, someday, you’re the best of me, if my trust is in any place, it would be with you all, the ones I call my Fam — my kin, as I am ever whirling through time, I shan’t be caught homebound, to eventually fizzle out into naught, as all things end, only to allow the rest to begin — oh, I praise that, I really do.
Life surrounds and goes around, and I always ask: Is life solely what it is on first impressions?
Gleefully one embraces change, and a change of such goodness I see — though it is a rarer thing than pure change fueled by indifference or for the worse, to seeth one with doubt; so be it, take that chance to rise and extemporize as a quirky wit to the ceaseless roll of time! My, you smirky beasts you!
Ah, Time! My true love that remains after all else departed from me
Be A Blackstar — A Timeseer — A Roadrunner —
In the space where you see all departing creatures, In the fashion, they are fitted into, Given or created, See them — listen and wave them on. Through the grand transitional thing of a life — your life, their life.
There shall be another one coming after me; yet it is never the same.
Find the compass to steer yourself well, but remember to look from the dial face otherwise, you’ll plummet into a mire or hollow, and don’t come to me to tell you when that ends!
And remember, be Kind — Compassion is my killing word, what is yours? What would you be willing to stand for, in the face of all?
Now go, and chase the burning sun — I know some will be doing so now!
Ta-ta now, my wee darlings, till the next brief drive-in from lil’ ol’ me!
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