Nothing much gets to me.
26/11/2020
Nobody knows my troubles but god
Well that’s not true
My city knows my soul
And I hear them whisper
“That’s Christo”
A small town celebrity
And nothing I haven’t done
A punk rock musician
They said in the news
But I’m so much more
The warrior poet
Lover, brother, son
The wild one
The life unique
And a spark in my soul
That’s blessed me with
Friends for life
And a strange and formidable reputation
The nightmare cards were dealt
Lucky to be alive
And I intend
To take full advantage
Of that fact
And live life to the fullest
So god bless this mess
Strive to be the best
Rise like cream to the top
Of my corner of the world
Laugh and dance and play
Forever til kingdom come
—
God bless this mess. As painful as it’s been for too many years without the hard times I wouldn’t have found the place I’m in at the moment where nothing much gets to me and the future looks brighter and brighter.
Canberra is a small city and it’s true that people occasionally recognize me from the news, I dream that someday I’ll move to an oasis of anonymity and leave the stigma of jail far behind me.
High Seas Clothing 
Christo, I don’t know if this is a true story. I heard it a long time ago. A man in the American West was punished for stealing sheep. They branded his forehead with the letters, “ST” for “sheep thief.” The man reformed and lived a life of good deeds. Many years passed. A stranger who came to town asked what the letters stood for. The local paused for a moment and answered, “I think they stand for “saint.”
I don’t think you aspire to sainthood, but I think you are well on your way to becoming the man you want to be. ❤
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