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Londoner with a Kronenbourg 1664 & I think I’m doing all I can to be in Europe from Dallas. Christmas lights strung from treetops, Gold against the black sky, and the man to my right has in tow a box of Cubans (which I pessimistically assume are only Cubans to the extent that he tells everyone surrounding they are). The bartender has a beard, and it’s easy to be anywhere.
Is it any wonder I do my best work when I haven’t eaten a morsel the day’s length? Is it any wonder that when I relinquish control and, most centrally to that, Time, that I am most able to do the mysterious work that is not my own — certainly this isn’t. Is it any wonder my best work flows from dreams of living someWhere Not Yet? I think there is a lot to it.
You have blonde hair in a vision, and a vision is what has murdered me. Surely there is some sort of balance in the business of building a future and accepting a someday, and I think now I am the closer person to it than I was months back. I’ll spend some time flight-y with a few thoughts in mind (is there ever anything less than 1,000?) spinning around the skyline of Empire, King, Queens, nobility! Noble experiences, and the ones I revisit more than any prior and following.
September will have something to say, surely so.
Rounding out what appears now to have been my busiest season yet (I am) if only for a few weeks until it spins again rapidly clockwise in early August. And what better way to push on to a time of renewal than to spend a weekend in West Texas with the closest of these and the newest of these;
Some collision of the relationships which have Time to age and ferment and develop and the inverse which are almost equally as intriguing because of the lack of Time involved in the knowing. I could sit with us
on a bench with a clove and a Maredsous for the rest of the summer if I had to, which is not to make it sound like it would only be a thing I’d do if obligated. Quite the contrary.
This weekend is the one I will remember in one year, which I will cherish in two, which I will be desperately longing to relive in three, and which I will sing about for the next five to ten to fifty. And to think it already was some dream realized or some impossibility made possible.
Next week I’ll be working towards some deadlines until eventually I’ll have found a week off to engage the more regenerating activities like the writing and reading and continuing to welcome with friends in this city-center what time and space prove to do for persons as People.
And while a physical beach may not be involved after all (for a reason among others), the tide still breaks and the ripples collect and settle soft in the sand. And we keep our feet to prune.