In Dreams There Are No Cowards

Over in the park a stranger moved into the speaker’s area,
and climbing up on a vacant soapbox stated the following,
“Irony is but an oxymoron writ in more dimensions.”
(Several of the people hearing this appeared to be offended and had
a hot dog.) Oh yeah, if you’re interested, I came across this guy again
a few days later on a street corner downtown, and he delivered,
I assume, a later variation of his idea and said,
“Custom is but a public holograph of private fear.”
(This time I noticed he picked an area free of street vendors.)

 

The first voice said,
“In dreams there are no cowards.”
The second one said,
“A man with a fountain pen can always change his nature.”
And the first one said,
“Why does he always get the best lines?”

 

A man with a hat from out of town, (the hat, not the man),
writes as follows, “If it be true, as I have read, that
‘Racing improves the breed’ and ‘Adversity strengthens the race,’
then what does this imply that death may have to contribute to life?”
(You know some people can wear a hat and some can’t.)

 

This one guy (who already had once told me that his primary interest in life was in increased efficiency) says that he has developed a new tack to deal with any,and all expressions of critics, or comments of correction, no matter how justified, aimed at him. He says he shakes his head and declared,
“How distasteful, how simply distasteful.”

 

If you know where to look,
every day is a sale day.

J.

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