The Quitting Zone

No smoking, no alcohol, no drugs or bad behaviour.

What about letting off steam?

No sex with animals, nor children, or others (when missing consent).

No beating up the innocent, the aggressor, or the fridge.

No wasting away in places of death and disease.

Maybe, I am quitting on myself?

Mature, rigorous moral arguments with myself when I am aware I am about to make a big mistake.

An ongoing mental boxing match pitted against my desire to do harm from time to time.

My life is like all others and yet it is different and unique for all my struggling with self doubt and mistakes and more moral turmoil.

And yet, I pick myself up and with help from others and myself, sometimes it is just me.

Again, I bring it on:  I use my virtue against my vice.

Will it work?

Yard bird

Jazz is Coltrane, Miles and Parker.

A prisoner of the mind when the patterns play and when the creation is not working out.

Sound and its silent spaces make music  sing.

Time passes with or without a beat.

A phone meets the listener, because the player makes a call that rings.

Bring the quarrelsome quintet into the chamber.

The blast echoes with Bings and bangs.

Spirits fly high and low.

Work for balance and enjoy the show.


Capture truth and beauty with care.

Shatter myth  with pomp and flare.

Can we be transparent and spare with word?

Are there answers with description and word?

Why bother, the facts speak for themselves.

You are pompous and wane with wistful sails.

Flutter and fault the artful tale.

Spill and spot the main stay .

It is real.

A course that begs for the route and real.

Place a human being at the heart of the problem.

There are more people that qualify than those that fail.

Success is part of this artful dismissal.

Drag up the optimism.