Monday, December 14, 2009

Sometimes Christmas comes early

Had the opportunity tonight to see someone special I've not laid eyes on in far, far too long. We'd meet up more often if it were up to me, but that's wishing for too much. It was a good time though, wonderful to hear how things are.

It was nice how the conversation could shift from life working in the news media to family then wine and then comic books and superheroes. All the important things! I got a little hyper talking about superheroes but that is to be expected with me.

Yeah it was a good night, an early Christmas gift in a manner of speaking. It was good to have a reason to laugh good and hard again. I miss having such times, discussing such things, but then you have to get back to the grind of the day.

At one point I said: "I pretty much spend my time at work, go walk my Mom's dogs then come home to write some more." Never realized how blah that sounds until I said it out loud.

I know, that's been my own choice. I'm trying hard to get Heritage Fields finished by next month. Then I can celebrate.

But I think I will take some more breaks from my labors. I'm likely to burnout otherwise. Will hit up some opera in the coming months.

There's nothing else I want to see this season at the NYC Opera so I think it's time I went over to the big house: The Met!

Perhaps "Turandot" or "La Boheme". I think that will be a nice jump start to 2010. Perhaps Turandot will win out and give me the chance to hear Nessun Dorma live. Now THAT is something to get your blood rushing.

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Flame and Bone

When I was made from fire
Poured into the tender vessel of caution
That keeps my smoke from rising
Quickly did I discover that apart from crisp drizzles or falling snow
The world chilled my touched
Walking the narrow cornered gap between girders and cut stone
One learns to tuck his shoulders in or risk
Jostling a neighbor passing by rapt with want
For a clear path without the distraction
Of another man's boiling eyes
The tip of a finger
That oldest of all weapons
Grown deadlier and pristine in its invention
Gathers a mote of a cinder on its bare flesh
And turns pondering how best to scratch the impious itch
Prying open the tender seam
Where the oil of thought dews
Offering a new wick to ignite
Squirming alive as a salamander of mischief
That yearns for a taste of air it is so ready to devour
The steam of breath betrays me
Before the glint of orange spreads
In popping bright waves
Eroding the fibers feeding it
Leaving naught but ash
As my shell of quietude falls away