Score cards.

I worked on a golf course (2, actually) for many years. The way it ended, last November, left an awful taste in my mouth. It was as if everything I had done, everything I had touched, in the last 17 years, was negated. A huge chunk of my life, wasted.
There were some good times, over the years, and I hope that one day I'll be able to remember them, without the awful ending and ensuing bitterness.
It reminds me of a break-up, in the early 90s. My ex had given me 2 Nina Hagen tapes, and I couldn't listen to them for years. Luckily, I got over that. Same thing with "Loaded" by the Velvets. My last ex took a shine to it, over all of their other albums, and left with it, back in 2007. I had to buy it again, years later (ending up with a copy that has the edited version of "Sweet Jane"), and only last week was I able to enjoy it.
Progress!
I found a couple of score cards, today, from the golf course (original course, original name), circa '93 or '94, on which I had scribbled some notes.
And away we go:

Vista Lee
I pass your way on the road to twelve
Vista Lee
Your people are quiet
Your homes are swell
I only wish I had a tale to tell
About Vista Lee.
(Build your coffins with glue, not nails
When it's time to leave
"Eden" lies on the other side, you see.)

And these tidbits:

Send in a professional
I can't seem to get it right
God, I've given it my best shot (wide angle lens).

The (L)one wolf.
Rogue male syndrome.
Man's inability to touch godhead.
The longing for sweet death. Yum.
Every man to his own lifeboat.

Keep on truckin' for Buddha,
Orville Redenbacher,
The Grim Reaper,
Wile E. Coyote,
J.C. and the Rebel Angels,
And TRUE love. Amen.
(Sex ain't love, people.)

Two chickens in every garage.
The worst of both worlds.
Three x a lady = ?
A bird in hand is better than bird shit on your head.
Fight for your right to atrophy.
Them IS us.
Why ask why ask why?
Yes way out.
Lester Bangs call home.

I've got no more to offer. Thought I'd offer that.
See ya.