Horizons of youth become sunsets of adulthood …

Horizons of youth become sunsets of adulthood.  With a horizon the orange and yellow hues of light signal a beginning, a birth, a fresh start.

Most of what I understand of life and order I gained from dogs.  They make order without using words or complicated theory.

Is kicking the bucket a sunset?  Riding off on a horse of death?  What if all of it is nonsense?  What if East is west and West is east?  Lies, truths, what’s in the middle?  All of life is a riddle.  Repeated and thrown away.  Trash of minds.  Wind blowing horns and balloons filling air.  Professors full of lied about knowledge and students lacking politically correct proofread and bled on papers?

What if youth is a fucking sham?  Something to revere, to pray to, yet God isn’t answering?  Money spent on Botox and slurping fat.  No wrinkles equal youth.  But … but … but.  All of life is sitting next to buts.  Born next to butts and dying with “but if only.”  How do we erase words from an indoctrinated nation?  How do we make sunsets last longer, mean more and not drive away from them?  How can dogs understand order, yet people slip and fall all the time?  We pick up dog shit … who owns who?


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