It wasn’t yet hot, but it would be. It would be the hottest day of my life, long, sweltering, and painful---from beginning to end. Because that day was the end. And pain is hot. Regret is unbearable, like a summer day that drives you inside for relief, but with regret, there is no relief. No escape from the heat.
Bullying reads like hate mail. And Our Children are refusing further delivery. They are rebelling against these crushing and hurtful words. They are returning to sender unread, and with a new message attached.
Royal Southern Brotherhood
Bukowski mused, there’s nothing like yellow panties in the morning.
I don’t know. I don’t wear panties.
For me, there’s nothing like a satisfied Muse in the morning.
Thanks to the generosity of some behind the scenes folks with The Royal Southern Brotherhood, I woke a few days back completely satisfied, having caught a killer show once again.
These royal gentlemen served up a treat scrumptious enough to satiate the sold out crowd at Knucklehead’s Saloon in Kansas City along a Midwest run.
The powerful combination of musicians were kind enough to spread some Southern Love to the masses, fulfilling a common yearning among the show-goers. And amassed they were—among the neon lights—a hungry crowd fully prepared to bite off more than it could chew and willing to take every...
"You know those days when you get the mean reds? The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid, and you don't know what you're afraid of...The only thing that does any good is to jump in a cab and go to Tiffany's."