Wooded Pastures



I was no more than a mere pup when I left civilization for the duration of four long and cold months in the high lands of Colorado. As a means to lose myself and all that up to that point in my short life held dear. Booze, cigarettes, money, friends  and the freak show that was, is and always will be my fucking family. The tree that bore me into this world and spat me into the ways of doing and saying that is my self-destruction. I left on a Tuesday at 4:30 in the afternoon during the finalization of winter  into spring. All was quiet as no living soul at that moment knew of my intentions of playing out things I’d had only read about in Jack London novels, nickel and dime reads about the great out doors. I was wanting to leave the crap of cramped superficial wooden cell of…

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