All My Days Run Away
Another late night. Another early morning. I seek the embrace of Morpheus. I drank caffeine. I wandered the strange alleyways of day with only glimmering bits of work to show for it. Ideas? I have in abundance. Never a shortage there.
We have to grab onto life. We must cherish the ethereal bits of transience where bonding can be found. These moments nourish us.
The choice is difficult. Surrounded by choice, we sometimes smother. I remember simpler times in such a way as my ancestors must have. Already, I feel an artifact as artists and creators I have grown up with in childhood disappear (or die, which is a far more permanent disappearing act). Maurice Sendak? He was my friend in my youth, though I know I didn’t quite know it. The Wild Things comforted me and made me less afraid. The town I live in is changing. Places I went to in my youth have been swallowed whole by time. The landscape changes. My favorite cousin, Beth Ann, died last week. I remember hanging out with her in the hammock when she and her family came to visit from Wichita, Kansas. (I remember they were my first contact from the exotic land where Dorothy lived.) She was cool. She was pretty nerdy too. She went swiftly. Though I hadn’t spoken to her in years (shame on me). I was overwhelmed with sadness. Then Donna Summers, the Queen of Disco dies, and the world weeps. I mourn her loss more objectively as another milestone passed on the road of my own mortality.
While this sounds maudlin, these things, these darknesses, conspire to inspire me to live a richer, more fuller life, each and every day. I try to avoid a Quentinesque obsession with time (as Faulkner unleashes in The Sound & The Fury), yet sometimes I succumb and feel every second of every clock in the world tick quietly away.
Regardless of your philosophical bent or religious outlook, it’s agreed by all you only get this NOW once. Make the most of it what you will. In the end, what you choose to do defines you.
Until next time, I bid you, dear reader, adieu!