King of Bash: Questioning Splendor

Where am I? How do I get out of here unscathed?

Funny when you appear lost, wondering what to do next, finding yourself alone spectating on a grassy hill in the middle of a championship at the 18th.

Then you indulge in a drink when everyone fills around you, arming yourself because that’s what you’re supposed to do.

Comfort is sought in those who bring not just warmth, but inert satisfaction, wanting to ravish the best around because it feels right to snuggle them often.

I love her, but with love, do they ever love you as much in return?

I often ask myself that. Yet is that desolate belief deeper, that tinge of greatness at the end of your pointed fingernail, the longing for something more. Is it the Captain talking again?

Is it the grandeur of Bashing achievements in flux?

Maybe it’s the eyes that smile at you in a way that reminds, brings you back, to where you used to be, want to be, reveling in the glory of what life should be, the inert meaning. How is all that intended or measured?

Does short-term Bashing lead to long-term happiness?

Could be considered highly questionable, the paths taken, paths earned, paths conquered. I often wish they mattered more. Fulfillment comes in many forms, but they can seem remotely foreign in certain territories.

I look at some pictures with wanting apart from need, desires unquenched and futures left uncertain. Then you smother those nearest to you.

Why do I see this in my dreams?

Why do animals I love want to maul me?

Why does the one I love most smile with security?

Why am I licked by a dog I've only known for twenty minutes?

The nightmares turn into heaven, the kind you touch, making everything seem real again, grounded where you prefer to land. Sometimes I think about getting married, having a bride by my side.

But then you go out and binge drink again… drink yourself to oblivion at the alleged folly.

Usually helps explain the decision when you have a sexy partner in crime.

Is it OK to take morning showers with a beer in your fist?

I often think about being surrounded by beautiful women afterwards.

That thought doesn’t get old, and it tends to recur.

I see palm trees wallowing in the sunset light, no cares, another day and they will likely see the same thing again.

Is that what God sees? Is this what the ultimate Satan sees?

Does winning a beer pong tournament on your birthday, half-standing, half-guessing, with a sordid name like “Slap and Tickle,” have an effect or impact on how well you’re doing in the world?

Is it all about ending up with that fat bar tab you blow on all the wrong people, happy to have you around in order to spread thy wealth? It’s certainly a pessimistic thought, probably not too far from absolute truth though, especially when you still feel like you're drinking alone.

Where does the tunnel lead?

What’s at the end of it?

I know what to put in my grill, is it healthy enough?

I liken my feelings to being at a show that’s a blur, no way in or out, the throbbing music burrowing itself deep into your psyche, gripping you, escape far from reach.

Meaning is found by looking into the mirror and liking what you see. This is how my bartender Tracy sees me.

I have the power to choose direction, as well we all do, and the gifts reaped from making the right decisions have purpose, or so they say. What happens when you find yourself?

Is it the soothing hug that confirms the finding?

Is it a great kiss?

Or is it two?

Is it passed out, yet again, from trying to forget or remember the wonder apparently experienced?

Are you answered from getting roofied by a witch with Roxie, truck running you over when blacked out?

Empty is forlorn, masquerading in spiteful envy. Quite debilitating and easy when you have nothing substantive. The beginning of the ocean leads to an abyss, unless you manage your way to the other side flawlessly.