Tangled up in blue...

I have been playing hide and seek for two years with my father. I keep finding little boy blue on the moon. I am still holding Ricky Schroder's Silver Spoon.

But.

Longest game ever.

I am addicted to the fear and adventure that hides with me in the dark, all quiet. But I also am not.

I have found him a lot...until,I realize. I did not. I am not seeking lost time. That is waste of time. I begun to count to 10 and close my eyes as your words, like vertigo, blind my heart.

I am something borrowed.

I am not interested in that well worn contradiction. I do not want something I have not felt.

I have not hid from the twisted words, contorted versions of me that just count, and never seek.

But. I am something new.

And I can't speak with my tongue tangled up in blue.

Truth and time didn't walk in together.

Truth gets slurred if you try and keep time in a bottle.

The seeker tries to hide.

Growing up lives 'Someplace Else'

With anyone, but yourself.

And just like that.

The fucking cat's in the cradle.

Holy shit, it's with little boy blue.

Someplace Else has a Back Door...growing up slipped thru.

Your father, turns out, is ...just like you.

(and that is one hell of a lucky man)

(*The book has begun. The story, I realize, is your story, too. Ya, that's right, I just .feat you. And by you, I mean, everyone. And by .feat, I meant just that.)