There Is Too Much, I Will Sum Up

Six months ago, I wrote about how things were changing quickly. There was an inflection of excitement and hope.

Silence endured. You, fair reader, take that silence as an indicator of something. To a blog whose premise relied upon travels yet to be fulfilled (of an anonymous authorship), a silence indicates the possibility that this aspiration has been drydocked.

For the mothballs to persist for nearly six months, abreast such passionate lyres of yesteryear, hints that at least some of this passing of time has been of good. The burden borne of living in America is lessened, if not fully atoned. I now live in an historic core of an historic city. The work has become permanent, predictable but worthwhile. The car now sits for sale, made obsolete by a motorcycle. The cigarettes haven't graced my lips for over three months. I've shared in minds and passions.

But with great successes sometimes come affluenzas. I have taken too much to drink. I've spared the last five days, and it only brings to light the greater offense of how often I am in ill companionship. And perhaps of ill mind.

And, in the pursuit of how best to rewire, I turn to the meditation of making verse - in a public forum that is actually just an echoing empty cathedral.