Here I am, wanting to write and wanting to be better, wanting to improve at what I’m doing. By what guidelines am I following that determine this is good, this is better? No one knows, maybe not even God. Maybe not the Devil, maybe not the whole universe, and not I.
I’m not trying to deliver a better message, and I’m not trying to deliver a message better. It is what it is. The moving pen, once writ, not a hide nor hair can wet a tear, just a broken apple core, toss it down, homeboy.
I got you dead to rights.
I improve, I get better, such is the nature of the animal. You or I, it doesn’t matter. We grow our garden, we sow our fields, we bring the sheep to pasture. We are alive, you or I, as if it didn’t matter. As if life wasn’t the cheapest thing around.