Your Time is Gonna Come

Lying
Cheating
Hurting
That’s all you seem to do

Messing around with every guy in town
Putting me down for thinking of someone new

Man, oh man, there were times in my life when that song was burrowed deep into my head like that earwig on The Twilight Zone.  The little fucker ate right through some poor guy’s brain and laid eggs along the way.

I know what you’re thinking.  OK, half brain, tell us who your metaphorical earwig is.  Go through your self-pity routine, and then we can all get on with our day.

Not tonight.  Tonight, I just want to remember it all to myself.  But, I’ll share the soul of it with you. 

What then?  First, do you even have a soul?  We’re all born with “soul stem cells,” but for those of you that skate through your early years unchallenged and over-nurtured, the cells never activate.  You  just become more of the way-too-many soul-free fuckers out there in my way.  You look normal.  Shit, you look happy, even, but you’re bland.  You don’t even know it.  You have no passion.  Your jokes are safe and stupid.  Your friends are safe and stupid.  You read, listen to, and watch cardboard.  You have no clue.

By the way, your wife hates you.  You ruined her life.  She’s right.

On the other hand, if life overfucks the child you – if Dad ignores you, Mom rides your ass too much, or Uncle Harry dicks you – the balance may tip the other way, damaging those precious cells.  You become one of the way-too-many weird fuckers out there.  An addict.  Oversensitive.  You overreact and you under react.  You don’t connect.  This is not your beautiful house.

I’ll take the weird fuckers over the bland fuckers every mother fucking time. At least the weird fuckers have soul.  The bland fuckers are marking time, taking up space, and breathing my air.

So here we are, dear reader.  All of us a little closer.  Closer to the end of the day.  Closer to tomorrow.  The next crises.  The next heartache.  Death.  Your time is gonna come.

Here we are, indeed.  This is the unauthorized, unofficial, special Friday night edition of Rock Your Ass Off Thursday.  Hijacked, invaded, occupied, supplanted, and embedded.

Yes, you can play Led Zeppelin’s original, and goddamnit, that was good enough for me back in the day.  But what if you have an itch for Elvis?  And, what if you’re burning a fattie, so reggae is a must-have?

What then?  Its’ not impossible, child.  Close your eyes and listen.  Yes, these fuckers have skeletons.  But goddamnit, there’s a little soul in there.  Or at least they can pull it out of you…if you have any.  Dread Zeppelin.  Rock your ass off…

(If you really can't stand the picture, try this one.  I think the audio is even a little better.)