... glory days ....

That's it then, out of work again, but at least I've made enough 

to keep me here 'till next February or there abouts. No work

so here I am moochin' around on the interweb again and read

a piece on glory days. How when we were kids in the fifties and

sixties life was better then, simpler, happier, sunnier ... bollux.

       Yes days were ace then, but that was because we were young,

beautiful, immortal and, innocent. Beautiful because we weren't

disfigured by life's scars, innocent because, with a shrug of the

shoulders most of us "didn't want to know" Mostly we had no

money or possessions, so how could anyone threaten or hurt us,

we had our youth, and you couldn't buy that at any price.

Some of us stayed, some of us left and came back, some of us left

and never returned but where-ever we finished, "they" "them" the

"system"  finally got us and plugged us into the matrix.

     I've spent my life living as close to the edge of the system as a guy

with a wife and three children could, but it still pisses me off that I have

to be a part of it, still pisses me off that I saw what I saw, heard what I

heard and did nothing to change it. Omission is, perhaps the greatest sin

of all..... I live and work alone now, alone and unplugged, no-longer

young or beautiful, no-longer innocent, no-longer immortal, but I

still smile and remember ....... glory days ......

... live music ..

... what can you say? ...

11th hour, 11th day, 11th month ..

The lads in their hundreds to Ludlow come in for the fair,
There's men from the barn and the forge and the mill and the fold,
The lads for the girls and the lads for the liquor are there,
And there with the rest are the lads that will never be old.

There's chaps from the town and the field and the till and the cart,
And many to count are the stalwart, and many the brave,
And many the handsome of face and the handsome of heart,
And few that will carry their looks or their truth to the grave.

I wish one could know them, I wish there were tokens to tell
The fortunate fellows that now you can never discern;
And then one could talk with them friendly and wish them farewell
And watch them depart on the way that they will not return.

But now you may stare as you like and there's nothing to scan;
And brushing your elbow unguessed-at and not to be told
They carry back bright to the coiner the mintage of man,
The lads that will die in their glory and never be old.

A.E. Housman .