“Do you like Eric?” asked a bewildered young hippy to a seasoned pro as they crossed the field out to where the ring of cars and buses ended before jumping off the literal edge of the earth.
Eric heard the question but would not hear the reply. All he heard was “noooooooooo” getting faint and more faint as the earth suddenly appeared round again.
Eric didn’t know there was another Eric within earshot who didn’t know there was also an Eric who believes he’s the one the other spoke of as they both closed their eyes and jumped off a cliff.
Only one of three Eric’s saw the other two jump. Three heard the question. One spoke of it but didn’t tell anyone his name.
Eric must be telling stories again.
A legend is made when words spoken at the edge of a parking lot by him, the words are spoken and he is the signpost for those words at the edge that say “it ends here” at the edge of the parking lot and he calls himself by name.
Eric is modest though his name might as well be a pseudonym for all things scrutinized after his own delight makes it onto the stage when a bubble of appreciation passes through the experience of lyrics into language he lives by.
By choosing a rock every time you are playing rock, not rock, paper, scissors. Rock, rock, rock. It’s not a strategy to change the game. It’s a tragedy to change the name.
Francis Erich McElroy 