Steak

    Sentimentality is the way I drive my spiritual car. That's the road I'm always dancing down. The path I can't shake with a heart so fat. I like being that way. Everything counts and, yea, that's probably better than everything being nothing. Although that's a simple way to go on and be. You probably wouldn't cry much. Nothing would rattle you like the roadside attractions rattle me and my welling eyes. So I'll take this way over simplicity. 

    I'm feeling clear these days. Maybe it's traveling solely by bike again. In a car I screamed and that's sure good for me but on a bike I'm one with the elements. If the rain wants to eat me, it'll feast. If the sun wants to burn me, I'll roast. If I want to scream rolling down a steep street, the autonomy is there. 

    Maybe it's the women around me. Just the other day, I worked out with my girlfriend, we laughed until our faces were beets, and then she took me home, put mousse in my hair, and fed me steak. I killed a spider for her. That I can scream about. That's the feminine activity I always begged Buddha for. 

    It's funny getting what you want and thinking, "why?"