September 29, 2003


  • While the crickets are chirpety with the 60 degree coolness, I’m still all t-shirt and shorts.  I’ll probably lose the t around 53, lose the shorts around 42, lose the bugs around 39, and lose my mind somewhere down the line…


     


    But will the ensuing seasonal drive towards darkness with its attendant frostiness rein in my inspiration to write out of doors?  Almost everything I’ve written all summer was under the open sky.  Now it appears I’m doomed to once again begin the downward spiral on the comfort scale with regards to al fresco compositions.  The time approaches, if I remain a creature of thermal susceptibilities, when I’m bound to just say ‘fuck it’.  Yes?  But what if, instead, I make a sport of it?  Challenge myself to embrace the inimical and make it mine?  Stay out and blog long after all others have retired to their heated abodes leaving me alone, behind? 


     


    Why?  But why? 


     


    Because the sustaining fire in the belly recapitulates the birthing fire in the sky. 


     


    Yet, while even the greatest dawning cosmic blazes are themselves incommunicado specks reclused in space, my dreams remain dreams of reaching out, bridging heart, melding spirit, compressing time, drawing closer to both genesis and fate, moment by moment, by infusing words with my own quirky yet irrepressible sense of life.   No doubt I’ll be losing my mind, no doubt …somewhere gone and long ago.

Comments (235)

Comments are closed.

Post a Comment

notforprophet

Recent Posts

Categories

The End of Days

September 2003
M T W T F S S
« Aug   Oct »
1234567
891011121314
15161718192021
22232425262728
2930