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Friday, August 24, 2012

An Old Cowpoke!

I'll attempt to lasso some thing to write about. Come on little doggies cowboy Glen needs a volunteer. I need practice, a lot of practice you see. I don't wish to talk about the problems of the world tonight. Can't do anything about them can we? I'll let the mass media take care of that for us!

I think it may of happened. Overload of every day problems we must face daily has caused my circuit breaker to kick out. I don't seem to have much electricity flowing, no more! I reckon ones, finally can get enough and be plum worn out and face it's time to go with the flow! Paddling against the current wears one out. The proverbial land of milk and honey has given way to whatever the correct current politically correct lingo is right now! I'm too !@#$ing old and out of touch with the modern world to even KNOW!!!

I be riding the range on my horse, working sun up to sun down for what? Survival against all odds. I'm one lone cowpoke with my six gun and a Winchester rifle, holding off four legged vermin and two legged horse stealing riff-raff, too lazy to work!

Seems I be an outlaw, a holdout of forgotten times! Working hard, family man, common sense hombre, born at the wrong time!

MOST of the others I come into contact with, only because I'm forced to mind ya, are not my kind! Too much loco weed, too much sun as they cross the desert of life. Done fried their brains. Want what's there's, before it's earned! Freeloaders staking claims, without ownership. Fancy ones in suits singing prettier than a thousand canaries. Spewing rights's pretty, no sense! Common sense that is! They got cents, too much, they buy everythang!!! They be money hungry, back stabbing, whatch-a-ma-call-its. Worse than the meanest varmints any where's! I'm worn out, too tired to cuss. They a winning, sure enough! Seems to me, an old worn out man, they've always won!!! This lesson we're a learning, has played out many times! That's what my last bit of common sense tells me. The self anointed puppet masters, have always had their hands up our asses, only they pay suits, pretty talking canaries, dressed up in suits, with cavalry, backing them there suits! Smooth talking ones, that spew their spiel, generation after generation. They can't be touched as they lead us to annihilation! They hide somewheres safe, secret places, safer than a baby in its mothers womb. That's the secret! They write the plays, same as all the other of THEIR KIND! The lost library of knowledge they have! Simple! Die off replenish! REPEAT! Destroying civilization after civilization! Why? They can! It's that simple.  WHAT ARE THEY CALLED? WHO ARE THEY? They ain't us, we just cowpokes and cow girls, reseeding, rebuilding, worker ants doing their bidding.  OF COURSE I'M JUST AN OLD COWBOY WHO LOVES TO LOOK UP AT THE MOON AND STARS. MY SADDLES WORN OUT. DOESN'T MATTER NO MORE! MY OLD PONY DONE WENT AND DIED. BURIED MORE GOOD OL' DOGS, THAN I CAN RIGHTLY COUNT. I RECKON I'M A DREAMER, IN A WORLD GONE MAD! I CAN'T RIDE OF INTO THE SUNSET, I HAVE NO HORSE. I'LL JUST SIT ON THE FRONT PORCH, IN MY ROCKING CHAIR PRETENDING I'M RIDING OLD DOLLAR, AT THE END OF MY LIFE!        goodnight G

1 comment:

  1. Sometimes it's best if we don't even try to understand who "they" are, or why "they" are doing the things we do.

    Better to live in our own little world and try to enjoy the simple things we have left. Home, family, a good old dog, and an imaginary horse !

    Have a peaceful rest and dream good dreams my brother.