Something about the dirt and sun worshipper in me stirs. Abides by the instigation and wonders how many springs I’ve left to see. And in what season might the last of me see. The fortune I find in such a space and time.

I got my first kiss on a day like today. Might even be this very date, many solar circuits ago, I cannot recall for sure. An experience had only once. One that cannot help but fade with and every passing day. As all things do. As they must.

But gone from reverie it has not yet. But at the same time, it has been here since as soon as it ceased to be. The trouble with not knowing the potency of events as they occur. Not that knowing could even change anything. There are plenty who argue there isn’t a single thing any sentient beast might be able to invoke change, no matter how much hoping and clawing and crying might be distributed about and afterward.

I don’t believe myself to be in such a philosophical camp. But as with the ideas to the contrary, I have little few ways to prove whether which of the either ways, or more, might be the truth, no matter the might of my agreement or arguing.

I think of the itch to create, and all the more nefarious and ugly instincts that lie within or about that desire. And still inside all the expressive omnipotence, I know my more infantile and proto-developed persuasions mix their way within the attempts to refine the request to outward expansion of the thoughts and melodies that ebb and find the light, in this unadulterated skull of mine. The more pure, less contrived. I may even try a few other bouts with the visceral muse of art before the day retires. And I with it, on the temporary side.

The evenings are no longer shrouded with sunset and shadow, as they had been since we started all this again. Whatever number on the same experiment we are up to now. I imagine it would be impossible for that not to hold influence over what gets cast around here. But I wonder how much is façade or neurochemical promotion, instead of some natural spiritualism, casting its light on the schisms self-held as of late, and those that seem in perpetuity. Some of it must be real, if any of it ever really is. That fickle mistress reality, and the tasks we all engage to curtail her delirium. We the conscious, condemned to combat the play between what is and what is not, no matter how trite or fantastic. Hoping it will all mean something in the end, coupled with the stern realization that perhaps nothing ever does.

One for all, and all for naught. As they say.

Part of it is having turned off this autopilot, so high up in altitude that the air is just thick enough to conjure back consciousness, even though it is often by the thinnest of lines. The many services conducted to that and those which are larger than I, all being swayed to the side as a bit more space is made for the mind that would otherwise occupy my time, were necessities not needing to be met.

And I don’t hold plans in idle. The next few days alone might hold a feverish fervor that I hope my skill set is high enough to mold and manage to something a bit more tangible. A longer way of saying, or singing, why. And the appropriate reprisal of the divinely timed ‘because’. Perhaps these days to come hold some new greatness, the sort my imagination is unable to promote, for lack of insight, if not lack of trying.

Or perhaps nothing special will go down. Though I must confess, I’ve heard enough times from the external that what I consider nothing special are things that many a fellow human would see as ambitious, if not extreme. But, I yam who I yam.

Apologies, my flesh-based neural network has been run low on energy reserves. It needs rest and fuel and will get those soon. It holds other requests as well, but we get to what we can get to and that can only be so much as our star pulls its way to the other side of the rock. And yes, of course, I know that it is we who move in a noticeable way, while the star seems to stay on the short timeline our species makes but allow me to humor my ego. And if you won’t allow it, I am likely to go ahead and do so anyway.

For sometimes, despite knowing the newly learned truths, we still like to play the old tunes that were hits when less was known. Perhaps because more was felt, but the hard evidence isn’t readily available for the comparisons of then and now. Unless you take the words of former humans, which can be about as useful as those who have yet to come. Of course, that is a bold and counter productive thing to say as the someone who narrates this mild escapade that marks down in digital posterity, his own thoughts and perspectives on a particular day.

But what can I say? The unrelenting contrarian and my own favorite masochist.

Anyway, I’m throwing a concert on the property, this Saturday. Come by, if possible. And desired.