Closest thing to "Read at my funeral" that I could find. And they are wise words that I have found to dampen the spirits of those who while they are lighthearted, are so much so they couldn't my pessimism. Enjoy. (and yes, this will be read at my funeral or veiwing during a rare moment of silence. by my Mother. She just doesn't know it yet.)
Older work that just spilled on the paper in creative writing because the teacher was doing nothing but complaining that my stories were too long.
Life is a masquerade, in both literal and figurative senses. All guests to this masquerade have, by it’s rule and name, a mask or else you are poked and stabbed at until you hide the ugly face that others have thrusted upon you with their assault. All that attend this masquerade are liars of a sort, when and how they become so matters by the different moments they hope to influence the unsuspecting partygoer without any repercussions to themselves. All who think their masks are foolproof or undamagable are idiots that enjoy the spotlight and imagine themselves above reproach when their mask is the flimsiest of all. No one departs a masquerade as easily as they think. For in this masquerade, one must take off their mask before departing in order to show their truth whilst in the same instant shadows cover the face and forever shroud the evening partier who’s truth was shown then corrupted by the shadows which then in turn causes a stir about what they did before, during and after the party. A similar stir is caused when someone enters the masquerade, unaware of the trappings and dangers ahead. Often too late does one learn to not turn up without or accidentally misplace their mask.
Yes, Life is a masquerade.
Have a ball.
Very deep and intense look back on the stage we call life. Your sentiments are true and real although I sense a lot of pain or anger in your words or between them. I may be wrong just a feeling. Myself when I die I have decided to have the silliest picture of me they can find enlarged and free booze for all. Maybe one of me in my motercycle leather but nothing on under but my bare butt sticking out through my chaps. lOl
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Fee
This is not a drill. The attack on Pearl. They were the ghost planes of the night, deadly, illusive, sharp-clawed Black Cats. The Memoirs of ARM H.P. Lawrence, a Pearl Harbor survivor, Black Cat, and decorated war veteran.
The true story of Cheryl Pierson Cuccio who made headlines in 1986 and her husband Rob Cuccio. Cheryl was abused sexually and physically and Rob died for 43 minutes on Cheryl's 43rd birthday.
(Richard M. Feldman) Ever since I was a young boy, the only thing I wanted to be was a cowboy. I wanted to own and work on a real ranch, with cattle and horses. Especially horses.
While I never became a cowboy, considering everything I have done
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Fee