So, I find myself with something to say, but no one to say it to. I find myself driving down a road no one should know I am on, yet, I want the world to see into this part of my life. It goes without saying, sometimes, we find ourselves at the pinnacle of a mountain of decisions, often juxtaposed between a morally ambiguous right and wrong. This "black and white" world of moral polarity is often the source of confusion for the soul and psyche. Why can't I have my cake and eat it to? Sure I may not have the whole cake, but what is left is simply an imagination away from being whole in the warped world of perspective. My name is Chance, Chance Finale, and I often answer to the nickname Bevo, the Wonder Chiken. Yes, Chiken is spelled differently than chicken. Today I want briefly to explain a bit about me, and my purpose behind this blog, but in addition to illustrate the moral ambiguity facing my conscience at this juncture.
Like I said before, my name is Chance Finale. I live in Memphis, TN, in a downtown flat overlooking the Mississippi River. Most people tell me that I should move out to Germantown, or Olive Branch, but what is life without a little excitement; excitement that is so often supplied in my life by wondering if I will make it down the stairs without a knife taking up residence between my ribs or a shiny hollow point round burrowing out a nice hole through my forehead. Grisly times, yes, fun, some would disagree. I find joy in surviving, taking on the elements both nature and man throw at me, and spitting in their faces as I race through another pressure packed day. I work as a clerk at a downtown bank by day, and as a poet and writer by night. I also compose short ditties on my guitar for the fun of hearing my nieghbors complain. You see, it is not without strife we move through this world, and it is this strife that makes us strong. That is why I embrace strife, struggle, and tribulation. Because, by accepting them as a staple of life, they serve as the milk and honey to the bread of life we get from merely breathing. Some say that I am crazy, I just tell them to look in the mirror.
Anyway, to the choice at hand. Currently, I am in a relationship, one that consists of phone calls and text messages and often falls to flat side of the B-flat 12 bar blues. However, the sex is good, when I get it, and the passion is hot. However, I have been, in the last year mostly single, bouncing from girl to girl, just to get my kicks, loving none, and leaving all. However, I am opposed to one-night-stands. It doesn't jive with my flow of karma based religious justice, and leaves naught but scars on the headboard and the hearts of many. Thus I almost always seek at least a second night to justify the hormonal influx that plaques all men. A second night with which to see the true flaws in a lifestyle lived cigarette to cigarette. And as it stands, a one nighter has called and wants that second night, no commitment, no questions, just one more chance to shake my headboards and leave silently in the night. Now, my girl is stacked 36DDs over a 24 inch waist with hips in the neighborhood of 34 inches, stacked to say the least. This other lovely dame is not such the looker, but she has experience that exaggerates her age by a decade, losing her innocence at the early age of 14 and never looking back, not even in ten years; a slut to some, but a lady to me. The dilemma I face today is to shake the sheets of an old panther who has come prowling back or shimmy with righty and save my horizontal two-step for the chick who only claims me.
