Thank You For Having Me!
The End Is Near for
R. Stevie Moore
What began as an escape from the doldrums of Nashville ignorance 24 years ago to the enlightenment of New Jersey intelligence, is all about to crumble into dust. Uncanny in its precision, it is revealed the original dream was all a sham.
In a miraculous turn of events where practically every friend and colleague has abandoned the RSM adventure connection, Moore is today left with virtually no future and just the shirt on his back.
As age 52 approaches, he is overwhelmed with the blinding truth that nearly everywhere he turns, he faces automatic condescension, debt, failure, illness, poverty, indifference, agism, misfortune, indecision. So many old pals and relatives are permanently vanishing; by choice, by death, by necessity, by disgust. Contact risk indeed.
Testing Moore's endurance with this magnitude does not bode well for his weakened, crushed character. Suicide is painless, they say, but he cannot even find the method for success in that either.
So he lives but another day. Expecting only the worst. With tormented psyche intact. Escapism is no longer an option.
Boo hoo hoo. To be continued.
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