the cowboy in me.

jeff always serves for two good things; a) he pisses me off. now this is not to say that he does this all the time, but he seems to hold the figurative key to start me up often enough to mention. and b) he inspires me. whether it be a three-quarter done self portrait he has hanging from his wall, or a bit of writing he has done.

whatever it is, he inspires me.

waking up this morning, i went straight to jeff's ro-- wait, no i didn't. i went straight for the bathroom, my mistake. then i went to jeff's room; straight-like.

upon seeing that my friend was clearly at work, as he preps on saturday mornings, i sat down on the couch in front of the very computer i'm using to type this piece. after shaking my head half in a 'that's jeff for ya', and half 'he should never be allowed control of his own money' kinda way as i looked at his itunes collection that is approaching the two hundred mark; i was bored.

i got up to leave the room...i don't know where i would have actually gone...but spotted jeff's black journal.

oooh.

exactly.

jeff never being a stickler for privacy, the way he is for the law, i sat down and began to unravel the reading.

i read of jeff's struggles, many i already knew of, others i didn't. i read about his continuing search into salvation. i read about the old man, unfortunately, emerging more times than the new in his life.

i was inspired.

don't misconstrue my inspiration. inbetween jeff's search for truth and his losing to the old man, i did not find hope or an inspiring line or song lyric he had left. in fact, i found nothing of the sort.

what inspired me to update this poorly updated logging of my life?

the cowboy.

you see, while in jeff there is the constant battle with the old man, in me, there is a constant battle with the cowboy in me.

why do i call him the cowboy, and not the old man?

because of his nature. he's ever attacking me, always on the prowl. he's young and strong, yet wise and crafty all the same.

oh, make no mistake, he's not an old codger by any means. he's a young, soul thirsty, rough, rowdy and dangerous outlaw riding into the sunset that is as red and firery as the hell it surely leads to. and everyday i can be found watering my horse, whether it be with lusts of the flesh, or wisdom of the word, preparing him for one of two trails we will ride.

the broad trail. this trail is wide and made of soft clay, easy on the horses' hooves. one side is lined with fruit trees, the other with a stream of clean, clear, cold, water. there are many intriguing, arousing stops along the way to further cushion your ride. but this path's scenery and pleasantness does not correctly portray it's end. for this trail leads down to hell.

the narrow trail. this trail is small and riddled with potholes, dangerous for the health of the horse. one side is a flat, dusty, land with a few trees scattered along the way. the other with a dried up creek that only seems to produce water when you're on the brink of dehydration. eye-pleasing resting spots simply don't exist, only the ground or near-by ditch will cradle you through the night. and even this path's scenery and lack of plesantrees is deceiving to it's end. for this trail leads up to the throne of God.

two words:












cowboy up.