Everything dies, baby that's a fact...

Sunday morning rain should be a felony. You wake up early to a December feeling and it ain't even Halloween. Outside it's cold and windy, inside you're still grieving September. Under the sheets you're fine but outside of their warmth, with your feet on the cold carpet, it's obviously Fall. It makes you mindful of sad bastard music..makes you want to drown in the desperate lost America lyrics of The Boss or maybe Dylan...nope, The Boss.



"Well now, everything dies, baby, that’s a fact. But maybe everything that dies someday comes back." -Bruce Springsteen

I don't know what it is about dying cities but I love them. Hamilton, Hartford, Atlantic City, Detroit...I love them. They look less like death to me than they do life. I think about Detroit and I see promise, from the ashes up. I'd have liked to have seen the place when it was the third largest city in America, but I can't, and so I find faith in empty neighborhoods and barren city streets. Atlantic City, no different..Hartford...Hamilton...all the same. There's hope in these places...dusty and dented, but hope.

A sad subject for Sunday morning...maybe, but maybe not. It's a bummer outside and there ain't no gettin' 'round that...before I drag my weary limbs from this warm bed I need to find some resolve to face the cold day, and get busy getting busy. Sound familiar Detroit? Yeah, life's as much about living as it is dying but a guy can be awfully busy doing one a whole lot more than the other. We're all dying, that's for sure, but only some of us are really living. I want to be one of those guys.

It just struck me...I bet those guys have slippers. Man, how does carpet get so cold?

Thanks Boss.