The Road To Hell Is Paved With

Oh, To Be A Center Fielder, A Center Fielder- And Nothing More

You Tasted It. Isn't That Enough? Of What Do You Ever Get More Than A Taste? That's All We're Given In Life, That's All We're Given Of Life. A Taste. There Is No More.

People Were Standing Up Everywhere Shouting, "this Is Me! This Is Me!" Every Time You Looked At Them They Stood Up And Told You Who They Were, And The Truth Of It Was That They Had No More Idea Who Or What They Were Than He Had. They Believed Their Flashing Signs, Too. They Ought To Be Standing Up And Shouting, "this Isn't Me! This Isn't Me!" They Would If They Had Any Decency. "this Isn't Me!" Then You Might Know How To Proceed Through The Flashing Bullshit Of This World.

A Father For Whom Everything Is An Unshakable Duty, For Whom There Is A Right Way And A Wrong Way And Nothing In Between, A Father Whose Compound Of Ambitions, Biases, And Beliefs Is So Unruffled By Careful Thinking That He Isn’t As Easy To Escape From As He Seems. Limited Men With Limitless Energy; Men Quick To Be Friendly And Quick To Be Fed Up; Men For Whom The Most Serious Thing In Life Is To Keep Going Despite Everything. And We Were Their Sons. It Was Our Job To Love Them.

We Leave A Stain, We Leave A Trail, We Leave Our Imprint. Impurity, Cruelty, Abuse, Error, Excrement, Semen - There’s No Other Way To Be Here. Nothing To Do With Disobedience. Nothing To Do With Grace Or Salvation Or Redemption. It’s In Everyone. Indwelling. Inherent. Defining. The Stain That Is There Before Its Mark.