Have you ever wanted to be a cowboy, strong, silent, emotionally long suffering without complaint. Have you ever wanted to be a real Marlboro Man? Then you have wanted to be Texas Man, flannel shirts, cowboy boots and hats, a horse ranch. When I was a kid I packed a pare of Colt 45's bigger than me. I used the calking fibers to hold back molten lead poured into iron sewage pipes as bate to harpoon whales off the decks on new house sailing ships pre-framing.
And then it all collapsed, all hope of being a real man stripped away, except of course a bad case of tobacco addiction. How easy it became to hate that Cowboy Sailor and his childish dreams, how hard to look past those superficial identities to find the secret to such dreams, to accept the pain of the hole in the center their absence brings. But alas some success and it is done as best I was able and not I spend my time dreaming of guns and sailboats. Weeeeeeeeeeee! Torn on Zillo between farms and ranches and oceanside properties.
Texas Man you have hope if you can transcend your grief and that can happen when you feel it. Texas Man Haters, you have an additional hurdle to jump.