I don't really have many that understand the journey
From the bohemian laundromat where we used to rinse our clothes last year on a cool summer night in our bodices after a long hot jam everything flyers written in Spanish people trying to sell for hire their services, somewhere out here in the middle of the desert...
I have many exes. ex Friends, ex Girlfriends, an embittered ex husband confused by the dusty route of life I choose to take, an unpaved path. my heaven my way my pleasure my day.
I choose the life of the traveler, the wanderer the vagabond the madwoman, and it's free, probably free like you will never be.
Sitting behind fear, in a shallow empty world of rules and supposed to be's. It's not for me.
I have a cat who lives out in the wild. what we call the serengetti. the dusty weedy front yard of my house in the valley. I don't have time for manicured lawns or paved walkways, geez I have barely any time to play the guitar as much as I would like these days, and I'm on the road never home anyway.
No one really gets this way. No one understands the freedom of my day. No one can disrobe their material fears for one day.
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