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The Preramble

You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today.Time is money without savings and credit cards. Here today, gone in three months.

Message in a bottle.The pen is mightier than the sword but it takes much more than a pretty face to launch ships.Walked out this morning, don't believe what I saw,Hundred billion bottles washed up on the shore.

And don't try to dig what we all say.Personal opinions with as much political correctness as Monica Lewinsky's lipstick are borne out of cold hard cynicism with optimism playing silver. Notice the missing complaint box.

She broke your throne, she cut your hair.She gave you measles and brought despair. She's the root of all evil, Hallelujah. She isn't a chick. She could be. She could also be the Americans, a public displays of emotions, vague shit about last night or a contagious nine year old. She is something to avoid and shall receive the treatment.

I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together.You could also be aloof, arrogant, insecure, socially awkward and soteriophobic but still be as miserable as an insurance salesman. Singing songs about it doesn't help.

You're still alive, she said.All journeys begin with a single step. Or a push. Or a wet floor. Even a nagging wife. The vicious dog up the street. The vicious dog down the street. A loose lawn mower. The possibilities are endless if you sit down and think about it, but take heart for the step is bound to follow.

This is the end.That was the beginning.