Oh, and this Frost poem... thinking it touches a nerve within all of us:
"My curse words rose with a dinning shout.One chasing another going out.I thought of doing something to the courseThat sickles do to thickest gorse.Clouds hung dark and low in the skies,And echoed my profanities in stark reprise.You could not tell, it seemed as ifMy purpose here was to stage each whiff,Whiff followed by whiff, and more besides.It looked as if my inept bona fidesWere on display, not only for the day, an age.Someone had better be prepared for rage.There will be more than my driver broken,Before my I’m calling it quits was spoken."
When I was ineptly and mistakenly thinking I could become good enough to make the tour it was my plan to play without logos... on bag, shirt, cap... anywhere. I would have been a pauper on tour. Thank goodness I wasn't good enough.