Make History or Be History

There’s not much need to be concerned over the sometimes sound of gunfire in the distance, for if you could hear better, it is there all the time.

Don’t hold your breath, for those eight thirty reservations waiting to ever actually hear this, but I have at least composed the “Truthful City Blues,” whose first and final verses go something like, nay, almost exactly like this:  “Although you mistreat me, I love you just the same.  Although you mistreat me, I love you just the same.  I guess I’m just a stupid son-of-a-bitch.”

A passing lapse in your dumbness may not mean much.

There is no defense against a circle.

Then again, it may come down to this:

Make history,
or BE history.

J.