A Path to Everywhere

Any place with boundaries, even Valhalla, Paris or Paradise, is a prison.

There’s at least one path to everywhere; some are worthwhile, some are not.

Only those phlegmatic playwrights must lean on a plot.  A day – nay, a life without a plot, is like an eternal third down.

Just over the unnamed ridge lies the wonderland…always just past the unnamed.

Hell is filled with other people’s whining…No it’s not, that’s a joke, of course, ‘cause everybody else’s is SO much worse than yours…right?  And that’s no joke.

J.