You want my advice?
Who am I to tell you?
I have got a million recipes in my naïve pockets,
a million empty aphorisms.
You wonder where you are heading?
Why would you want to know?
Next year you could be anywhere.
With whomsoever.
Seems like freedom per se to me.
Doesn't it sound more intriguing than a snapshot of a picture-perfect future?
If you need to know, plan and scheme away.
I find it confining enough to watch the seasons taking turns.
Fortune tellers, stay away from my door, here you won't make a fortune.
I won't buy the corset of certainty.
You can have it. Lace it as tight as you can. I won't help you tie the bow.
Build a castle in your head. Furnish it. Paint it.
But what if a sailor comes along?
Scheme away. Dream away. I'll pass.
You want my advice?
Inhale. Exhale.
Lean back in a rocking chair.
Smoke a pipe.
And dangle your toes - for better or for worse.
Keine Kommentare:
Kommentar veröffentlichen