Byline: Wasted Time

Buford Youthward

It's the time you waste with people that makes them important.

How much we have left, how much still to go, what we have done, what we have become and what we are becoming lingers long but never lasts.

I'm never not up to no good. I'm from the west side of town and rise above its decline. I won't stop trying to capture some once in a lifetime rapture.

I hopelessly decide if it is better to be or to do. Realize there's a time to drop and times to ascend, time for fills and a time for blends.

Staring into the blaze is a tonic. Best we brood quietly on sunken embers fixed to faith, surrender and devotion.

The uninterrupted industry of our hands demands good things. But be no hoarder of the great benefit. All dreams become anchors, like it or not.

The co-destructor and conductor make sure the brakeman and engineer understand the signal.

Oppressed by lonesomeness, repressed by tenderness, suppressed some holiness to depress this madness, no gloomy mope-core shoegazers can try and out hip the hop heads.

How can you make guarantees of heavens above or hells below? Where you end up, you don't know. No matter what, you are your own undoing here. Make do before you're due.

Wild men moan on with whiskey in the morning, shakes in the afternoon; the figment in their imagination may be great but the grandeur of imagining oneself greater than ones' place, ones' station, is duty beyond any alcoholic calling.

With gentle apologues requested in advance I make sure my rules create chaos from order and say something that serves the chaos sweeter.

Let's plan to get together soon. There's not much time for us to waste.

Read more in Byline

Art Crimes Front Page