Folded Thought of the Day


The song persists amidst all the forgotten rhymes and abandoned lines. Permeating through refrains of whisky daydreams. Dimes were flipped to find a reason. And hopes were denied before they were spoken. Velvet understandings hidden beneath sheltered wagons, held tight against the permeating eyes of random check points. To make a path through the forbidden frontier. Moving from here to there. Knowing that dying is present at every stand-still. The sky is moving through the depths of a morning caress. Sailing to a shore of shadow and an Eden that cleaves onto the soul and beckons any hungry or longing idea it crosses. Dirty roads to the promised land.

Harmonica chords blowing down lonely railroad lines. Leaning into the wind that cries from directions that have nothing to do with this landscape...howling a bitter truth and aligning with the heart's bruised fear. The path is drawn in the depths of a mother's suffering. You've bandaged the wounds and done what you could to stop the bleeding. But the pain is what keeps you moving. Burying the wise elders that offered stained reflections and shattered illusions...choked words that sang in the sweet moonlight and filled the cracked walls with beautiful images of starlit beaches and glittering flesh. A kingdom of majestic harmony.

Down aisles paved with righteous intent. Along lonesome highways that patiently await the vagrant and the missing child and the innocent bystander. Endless stretches are standing to greet our every turn. And the wanderer on the side of the road -- the one we keep passing in dusty abandonment -- is quite possibly the only element of chance we have to find a way across this stormy pass. Rays of sunshine sweeping away the remaining beach-combers. Self-contained fires holding court against the rising tide. Flames crackling mid-air feats of defiance and casting fluid shadows against the rocky shoreline. Dancing to the wild sounds that travel from the peripheral void that surrounds our cozy sphere of illumination...the worldly arena where we're acting out another in a series of melodramatic power plays. Moving on the border line that shimmers in hazy content...inviting any and all to find their own meaning -- upstaging any honest intent from these earnest pilgrims.

Hunting down a truth that only materializes in the lies of mischievous wayfarers and on the torn corner of a faded handbill fastened to an aging coffeehouse wall. Standing clear and shining on tomorrow's horizon but disappearing into thin air with every step closer. Mile after mile. Year after year. Till you can't remember what you even started out looking for.

Broken down by the side of the road. In the middle of nowhere. And the bandits don't even bother dropping by to take a look at what you've got to offer. Riding off on scarlet wishes. Past the telephone lines that run through this land like decaying windmills -- stitching together the fabric with ancient strings, stretching from shore to shore...vibrating with a stream of consciousness. An instrument tuned to a key that dangles beneath your neck. Playing along to the slow setting of the sun. Dropping away. From the edge of the world. To live another day.

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Unless otherwise noted, all Folded Thoughts were written by me,
aka The Daily Editor, aka The Man Below the Fold.

Copyright 2001-2009