Since I missed yesterday’s posting time altogether and admitted [what you already know full well, if you know me in the least] today to my craving for massive amounts of sleep, I am grateful that today was a quiet, calm, fairly uneventful one spent recuperating from the latest adventures. And, more than that, grateful that it’s just about bedtime again. I seldom feel any sadness that any day is drawing to a close, other than the sentimental sense that a current delightful activity or gathering of friends must needs be discontinued, even if temporarily, for me to head toward sleep. So I am quite contented just now. Mother Nature has turned out the lights. I shall, too.
Pardon me for mooning you. [If my backside looked this fabulous, I might show you that, too. You are very lucky things are the way they are.] Lacking such stellar assets myself, I look to the sky for my inspiration yet again, because, well: that moon!!! It’s been showing off a lot lately, giving us so much indulgent, up close and personal, viewing of that wildly handsome face that I begin to wonder whether the moon doesn’t have a crush on us. Given the seeming frequency of supermoon approaches these days and this apparent increase of mutual attraction, I begin to wonder if, instead, it would like to crush us.
But I prefer to think that I’m living in a time and place where I can enjoy to fuller than usual advantage the beauty that is that big old hunk of reflective rock out there. To me, it’s a candy-coated, opalescent, crazily pretty artwork stuck up in the canopy of the sky just for my pleasure and amusement. It’s big enough, bright enough, and grand enough that we can all share it, so don’t be shy, you can gaze upon it too. And I will enjoy thinking of the silvery light shining on me being the same silvery light that’s shone on you.
Am I a showy character? It may be that I am…
A bold display of color makes me happy as a clam—
The splash of waves or fireworks delights me deep within
Enough to make me run and leap and wear a silly grin—
An anthem sung; a symphony or jazz or drumline played
Or children’s playground chanting—yes, by all of these I’m swayed
To passion and delirium, to ecstasy and dance,
But mostly, from the audience, where I can hide, perchance…
I have to tell you honestly, I’d rather you’re the star
And I the meekly happy fan who worships from afar,
For though I love the big and grand, extravagant and wild,
Though many may doubt it, I’ve often got something on my mind. Much of the time it is, as you might guess, quite frivolous and fantastical. But on occasion, I have actually, factually, genuinely had a thought or two of some depth and seriousness. Thankfully, these tend to pass without causing me too much pain, though like the aftereffects of an evening of overindulgence at the cheese board, the passing thereof might engender in others a certain degree of discomfiture, for which I apologize in general here and now.
Once I’ve recovered myself I will of course return to my normal abnormality and indulge in thoughts no more intense or impressive than wisps of fairy hair and glints of glitter, and I hope that you will still accept me, bird-brained and hare-brained though I may be. And may all of your ruminations give you more pleasure than pain as well!
When I think about it, I’m amazed at how many modes of transport exist. Contrary to the fantasies popular in the middle of the past century, we’re not all traveling in levitating cars and being atomized and reassembled on opposite sides of the world. But it’s still fiction-worthy stuff that emerges when I realize we’re within reach of fully self-driven cars and can already travel at light speed, drive under the sea, and fly to the moon and, yes—more importantly—back again.
Fiction, however, has always outstripped real-world progress, as well it should. If we don’t imagine it first, how can we build it? If we didn’t travel thus in dreams, what chance would there be of our ever doing so in life?
I have invented an item or two in my time, but my ingenious machinations have never yet been realized in concrete form, at least those unrelated to my art. Still, I hold dear the idea that ideation is the necessary precedent of exciting discoveries and meaningful inventions. As silly as they may seem, then, I’m unlikely to quit developing my odd creations of the imaginary sort.
To celebrate at breaking of the dawn
Or close of evening, or the stroke of noon,
There is no sweeter pleasure than a tune
Well sung by everyone, an antiphon
To peace, to sorrow, or to happiness;
No matter what the poetry or text,
It truly matters most that what is next
Is choral concord to renew, redress,
Resound through all the unseen years ahead,
A clarion, an anthem or motet
Grander than any ear has heard as yet,
And run to distant history, a thread
Of melody and harmony so strong
That no one can resist joining in song