Ode on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood

We finally had the right Swiss Army blade and gob of Vaseline to split open the atom Jimmy had plucked outta dem dare frog eggs. Power-up dat fucking piece o' shit solar TV, Dad bought from that Vietnam Vet at the Woodbury Flea Market. Finally some awful, hilarious K-Pop where the albino cock-less wonders with mad eyebrows dally-dance with well-tapered tit-forward steaming piles of vanilla shit representing duh female form. So gloriously false and mesmerizingly horrible in our plucky tree house. The reality would pass the rest of my life as nostalgia forever at odds with its ever-arriving presence. 

Extrapolating

Radio Shack™ "pillow speaker" from earphone port - white plastic idli of sound. 14. First time - Knocking on Heaven's Door™. Mysterious. Magical. Kids asleep. Parents downstairs. Dishes done. Distant Dave Brubeck. Then LA. Can't think of a tattoo. Stained glass? Guns & Roses? Stylized stylized. Ohhhh yeah baayyybeee. Life in the Everywhere Studio. LA Guns in the ground. Cold black cloud coming down ... yet ... what thou lovest well remains. Dylan, 32. Me, 25. Don't cry tonight, there's a heaven above you. What's bad is good; what's good is bad. Anything without victory has a chance ...

I was walking with a friend and

his floppy Springer Spaniel. John was a second father to me in high school, a preacher, a vet who would die too early - Agent Orange. John might talk about jogging into a tree because he'd been mesmerized by the clouds.

                "I've always liked cloudy days myself," said I.

                "Why is that?"

                "Too much light gives me nothing. I like the unfair shafts bringing my attention to some sapling or that corner of the basketball court where trash and leaves have accumulated."

                "I still think you might become a preacher."

                "Like you?" I said.

                "Ha ha, no, like you."