Tour

That is some garb. I mean that's cheatin'. How do you get out of it. Easy to get in, a so-said, but a bonanza - ah-not. Still I liked the ambience; the outdoor-kind. What happened behind closed doors; I hadn't a-clue nor-queue.

I was not Christ. Didn't care for that one. These are modern times. SF was not the desert. But some kind of characters I were, of a similar nature certainly, but as opposite as life-style can be. Follow the leader my pen, am I an idiot? Dostoevsky jumps to mind. There is a name to-reckon with. I spent a good deal of trouble, learning to pronounce 'the name' even after I had read the 'The Brothers Karamazov', and was quizzed on-it in Denver, and was speechless, they were so a-serious bunch; at the dinner table apparently thought themselves educated; from Holland I believe, still with accents, and views out their windows, of snow-capped mountains in the far distance. It was then I realized; I didn't know how to be serious of substance. This was a part I hadn't played, I didn't know how, and here they were: the old father, of his daughter of the why I was there; having met her in Europe, and he judged me right there; found me guilty at the dinner table; of ignorance, regardless of the trumpeting; that may have proceeded me. The knight crumpled to the floor, shattered, tongue tied to that-is. What?

Well I didn't say it that way. I say, "It is that so and so ...". Said it for years. Dostoyevsky, most famous for the 'The Grand Inquisitor', of that exactly; I was asked a direct question: army-wise direct order; punishable by reduction in rank, or even the ultimately, how else you going to maintain order, the dreaded stockade, for disobeying keepemins.

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