I tickled the ivories this morning and not one of them complained. I’m hiking a few times a week and writing a few hours a day. I still haven’t left my vices behind. I’m reassured they need me. Who else is going to drink like a fish, eat like a pig and weed me? When and if I’m done amusing me with mildly self-destructive fun, will I have to don a saffron robe and bow facing the sun? Will I have to surrender my worldly wiles and dress in peasant garb or should I preach prosperity for all, while minimizing carbs? “Welcome to the Freakshow,” is the name of a new California Cab I can’t wait to try. The winemaker’s got a sense of humor that I just had to buy. I like being reminded of the carnival ride that flows from coast to coast to coast, let ye sinners seek salvation, I prefer to ghost. To make myself a specter that glides behind the scenes, savoring the scents and flavors of everywhere I’ve been; to dance in between the raindrops and whisper with the wind; to feel the fullness of the moon, warm upon my skin; to sip the tears of loneliness a cupful at a time and make no pattern of the moments that would treat me so unkind; to heal the heart of darkness with a single fragile flame and understand that madness takes its meaning from a game; a contest played so ill advised and rigged beyond belief… I walk out in a wooded glen and find my sweet relief. Let the music carry me and the wind know my song. I’ve never passed this way before and I won’t be here for long.
Posted on: Tue, 09 Sep 2014 13:27:46 +0000
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