Not always, but often enough, I find myself feeling as though this is all some self-interrogation. Perhaps it has to do with the timing. Or the balance of cerebral chemistry that brewing in this regularly occurring timeslot. Isolated under the lonely light, I attempt to rip apart the forefront of thought to find some deeper truth hidden out within.

But interrogation implies the corresponding idea of guilt. That fault must be had and must be found, despite the attempts to conceal it. Which is a bit less than fair for your humble narrator. But rarely is a soul meaner to him than me.

I could always put forth the explanation of seasonal changes. More daylight and such. The first flowers of the cycle emerging from where once, not so long ago, lay layers of snow. Then, of course, there is the nostalgia I painstakingly continue to reappropriate to these series of days. Early spring, Thoughts of days now ancient. And as they pass further from the electric meat my soul calls home, I must admit of the waning potency. Far from absence, but perhaps a tardiness. And within that, the worry of numbness to all that was once held in such reverence.

But I may just be tired. Lots of noise making with other humans yesterday. A bit much of the barley juice, as well.

But outside the aches, there is something to the change being sensed. Not so much in the season, as it seems to be occurring the same as it had been previously, more or less. The difference is more central to my own perspective than anything external. In these times, it is I who has changed.

Maybe. Or just the same old sack of ideology just sold with less enthusiasm. The aesthetic still the same, just with machinery more worn down than the operation of yesteryear. Empirically, the argument is strong that the hardware might have something to say on the matter.

Yet along with all that, the software seems to be adaptive. Keeping some cornerstone ideas, coded into the foundation- everything the next level up and onwards is capable of ebb and flow to make accommodation for failure in the ever decaying chassis. For now at least, never knowing much of in the ways of exacts that the future might hold.

I do know this. Fun had been had to cause the weariness. And fun still to be had going forward. It is my duty, after all. I am a bit of a celebration professional, something I would never think myself wanting to shake, even if it were possible. Give me your tired, your bummed out, your involuntary dull- and I will make a smile, a laugh, a quasi-impromptu several hour music fest.

There are days within reach of open road and solitude. On the way to a destination where my services are required. But the drive holds the current lead for attention at the moment. I look forward to watching small worlds pass by, in a way that only a singular experience might see. I’m sure there will be plenty at the destination, but my curiosity is aroused at the ideas that might get themselves thunk as I temporarily transport to another temperate zone. And of them, if any survivors make their way here. Or will they all be lost back to the abyss from whence they came. Maybe I’ll bring a tape recorder. Or a digital one, I guess. See if I can’t capture something magic or fantastical. If not to hold, at least to imitate towards some greater purpose, if there even is such a thing.