Memory. Nostalgia. Forgotten Harmonies. In search of Lost Time & the Remembrance of Things Past...It is easy to become coldly haunted and lost ghostly in what was and yet fully warmed by the fondest of dive-bar recollections. You begin to recall strange lights. You try to understand the Logic of Being in some stranger's living-room well after the midnitehour, just a quarter past closing-time and yet seemingly hours before quietambientpurpledawn.
Your cock only gets hard stolen moments now. You realize that you were a goodheartednegro in enaromed in love goodtimin' womyn. But the MondoHomoCondoms have long-since expired and dried-out: the thought of jizzin' inthesefreecondoms while dreaming of erstwhile Twisted Pleasure seems pathetic to you, and just makes you sad...
Yes I remember. You do not have to ask. Sometimes the memories are vague and distant and take some-time to recall; but yes, the barechest, the bowie knife and the rambling wreck (my precious darling Betsey...) that was mine and that a I loved dearly and was so proud of; yes, i remember...without somber kaddish or Hennessy libations or faithfully attended golden shrine: to disregard...to forget...to take for granted...no...this is something that I cannot do--
Ah yes. Something Lost. Something Gained. Balance. No. I wish it were that simple. But sometimes, while surrendering to the oddest flashbacks, there is solace. Plus, it seems abhorrently fruitless to become frustrated when the chips fall where they must; if anything, I wonder if there will be somesortof electric rebirth: it wholeheartedly makes-sense and seems perfectly Logical considering the Phoenix is duly incorporated in the seal of the City of Atlanta: RESURGENS...Firebird...Isaiah 61:3...et cetera...Makes sense right? Signs and symbols? Seek further and one is likely to find an untold number of secret histories, sub-rosa Mysticisms and strange cabarets (& whatever smootherdandcovered lost orgasms...) that one is wont to discover or stumble upon. Here. Now. Seek and ye shall find. [Obscurum per obscurius]
But for now. There is springtime in the South. This particularly wanderlusty Season of Aries, listening to Ravel seems so decadent and sensual and oddly sublime; such a perfect soundtrack for optimism and open windows, moreso than Stravinsky's Rites of Spring. Ethereal...
And the Dogwoods...ah the triumphantly blooming Dogwoods...solitary beauty...harbingers of vernal serenity standing in start contrast to still bare leafed trees and the groundcover of last autumns fallen leaves. pine cones and dead branches that will eventually compost back into the Earth. It is so easy to romanticize the beauty of the Dogwoods because they invoke what fall and winter slowly took away and rendered temporarily dormant. Those Dogwoods remind me of sweet-tea, Bourbon cliches, the seductive fragrance of freshlymowngrass and the gold sight of firm Southern thighs barely curtained by jean cut-offs and freeflowing sundresses. Yes !!! Such foolish optimism...as it were...But here, there are cycles...
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