Why cowboys wear cowboy hats

Cowboys wear cowboy hats with wide brims so their eyes are shaded and harder to see. This is also one of the reasons cowboys squint a lot, why they look behind you when they speak instead of at your face, and why their eyes are always roving over a room or a pasture or whatever space happens to be in front of them. Cowboys like to stay on the move and their eyes are no different. They can be shifty and shady. They can be fast and hard. And they can definitely skip town. (But nobody has ever actually seen this happen because they’re so sneaky about it.) Cowboys don’t like people to see their eyes because that’s where they keep all their painful cowboy secrets. Cowboys are quiet by nature, and they don’t say much, but ask any cowboy and they’ll tell you that cowboys do all their talking with their eyes. That’s why they have to hide them. If cowboys went around looking at everyone all the time we’d all have a lot more pain and sorrow to deal with. And you’ll almost never catch a cowboy making eye-contact with someone. Not unless he’s about to kill them. That’s the only time they do it. Because cowboys know that the only people who can share their painful cowboy secrets are the dead. It’s kind of weird I know. And not that great of a deal for the cowboys. Or the dead. And it’s the absolute worst for dead cowboys. But that’s just the way things are with cowboys and their eyes. That’s the way it’ll always be. It can’t be any other way.



Sometimes I fall for things like this. I can’t help it.

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
by E. E. Cummings

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond

any experience,your eyes have their silence:

in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,

or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me

though i have closed myself as fingers,

you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens

(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and

my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,

as when the heart of this flower imagines

the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals

the power of your intense fragility:whose texture

compels me with the color of its countries,

rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes

and opens;only something in me understands

the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)

nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands