On The Turning Away...

Here I sit, in the year of someone's lord 2006, celebrating my 63rd. I find myself a bit disappointed...

I suppose I expected everyone ot make a big deal out of it, but prolly not. I was not disappointed, however. The people I give a fuck about called, my Little Princess called me and sang Happy Birthday on the phone, and it was enough...

So here I sit, 63 years of age, half loaded on Molson Canadian Ale, half buzzed from a bit of ganji, and contemplating my navel. My good good girl Mollie is wrapped around my feet, knowing that my arthritis is giving me a shit fit today. Dogs give ya unconditional love, ya know? Here is this old big black dog, who has stayed by my side all day becuase she knew I am in pain, wrapping herself now around my feet to keep me warm and help ease the pain. And I KNOW that is what she is doing...

A year in review - I sit here tonight in the tower of the Beechler Building, surrounded by drunks and crack heads, and contemplating what has brought me here.

I begin simple enough -born into a farm family in 1943. Don't let them fuck with your head, people. Life was GOOD then. Grandma made the best baked apples in the world, always had three meat entree's at a family dinner, and paid me the extraordinary amount of 50 cents to mow her lawn. Back then it was a lot of jack. Mom and Dad mainly ignored me, let me have the run of a ton of acres to deal wth the wild ones and the clear running streams.

Now I sait here older and wiser. Much so. I am married for the third time to a woman who is intense, anal retentive, and loves me to death. Yet, the old Coon is so unhappy it kicks his proverbial ass. I know I am dying, and leave nothing behind...

There is no legacy - no millions in the bank, valuable real estate, or mutal funds for the kiddies to fight over. Gee, what a drag! No, what is bothering me is that I dont' feel I have left a large enough mark on the land..

I am a child of the 60's, a Viet Nam vet, and have been everything from a drug dealer to a rehab counselor. The old bullshit about Robin Hood, Brotherhood, and colors of green and gray has MEANING to me. Not a lot of people can say that. My life has been varied, exciting, and good. I am stable (kinda) now, and prepare for my death.

I have no bitches, and must admit I have made my choices. Yet, ya know, I realize it has not been my wish. I want to st in bars with large breasted, big blue eyed redheads, drink Corona and Cuervo Gold, with salt and lime, and look down her blouse. That is alway - ALWAYS - worth it. I want to drive a really fast car again - and have access to many of them. Hell of it is, I do. And don't go. I am a lucky man in the fact that I have experienced all this. I have rode a fast ass Harley chop the wrong way on a 4 lane highway, tripping on mescaline and good bourbon whiskey. Laughing all the time. (Stupid fuckers!) And I have held my daughter in my arms at three weeks of age and cried, because I have been fortunate.

Shit happens. We live, we love, we laugh. And go to the grave alone. Happy Birthday to me...

Peace, my frineds,

Charlie~

Post Script: Something is missing. I am sure I know what it is, but am not willing to say it. And that is the way of the world.