Thunder & Silence

This week I'm trying something a little bit different, writing the blog in more of a short-story form...

The night begins with two fingers of whiskey and a good idea. It's nothing but a muscle relaxant, and my tongue, loose, is something to behold. With a palate as unsophisticated as mine, I'm easy to please. In any event, taste isn't the goal. It never is. I'm too stupid to indulge in such pleasures, choosing instead to chase unimaginable and unattainable ideals, just as a foolish angler casts into a fish-less lake...

My conversational palette is broad, my words deft, liquid, flowing freely from my mouth and intoxicating those within their range. They pour out of my mouth in a torrent, but suddenly, whimsically, I dam their course. I stop and listen to the music. Do I dare look to the right? I glance, though nothing's divined. The writer is having trouble reading. I focus on my icy-golden friend and my thoughts inevitably dissipate. Sometimes it's good to sit and stare at nothing and just feel. Just live. Just breathe. That's when everything becomes so, so...what's the word? Lucid? It doesn't matter. I stop and listen to the music.

A cab ride and an unnecessary pint. The air is getting hot. We dance. She dances. More music more dancing more pints. Memories and heavy thoughts intrude. At least we're outside. Walking now. Littered lights and somebody's sorrow. Strange happiness in a stranger city. Separation and sadness. Sorry, we're closed. Reunion. Sitting now. Tongue-tied and trouble articulating. That is not what I meant at all. Soft eyes and softer lips. Ideals melt quickly...

A pounding headache. There's an awful taste in my mouth. Vitamin water and a shower don't help much. But I'm not one to complain. I've learned, as the Russians say, to enjoy suffering, and so pain's purpose is no longer to torment me; it only serves to remind me how faithful I am to my precious Maenad, and how much I will sacrifice to feel her kiss. It's in this state that I travel north.

It's autumn, and the yellow tunnel surrounding me makes me smile. A few minutes later and I see her in the setting sun, stiller than she's ever been, and even more beautiful than I remember her. I run to her and she embraces me, and I stroke her ever so softly and I swear to never leave her again and I see in her the reflection of a man who is still youthful though no longer young. There's a calm about me, one that's often lost in a cloud of loquacity. My lure follows me obediently, but, for once, I'm not thinking about catching any fish. I'm happy just being here, even though something or someone is still missing.

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