Saturday, August 16, 2014

Coming to you live from a majestic, midnight Elsewhere, I'm peering through strained, yet somehow relaxed, eyes. I believed that the insomniac in me was long gone, but he's visiting me in my new Elsewhere abode. Mr. Moon above, do you kiss my countenance with reflected sunlight? I know you do, and should I howl at you, I know the alley cats would mosey down to the midnight boulevard, where you can find the lady and the tramp sharing a plate of spaghetti and meatballs. The candle wax is melted in white globules like cartoon teardrops. The cartoons are wheeling through the remainder of summer, edging toward some autumnal significance, some celestial nod to the odd ways of the world. Just the other day I was mountain biking the scenic Ice Age Trail, and I dashed on the turns with free excitement from the marrow of my bones. Though, I did have a healthy level of caution in my trailblazing trajectories. On a few occasions I convinced myself not to ride the bike down steep declivities. At the summit of a steep hill, with makeshift concrete steps embedded in the dense dirt, I took an inventory of my mountain-biking prowess, and knew that I would fly headlong over the handlebars if I tried to roll down the tricky tilted topsy-turvy terrain. And so I dismounted the bike and walked it down instead. I'll have you know: I had a childhood of minimal injury. Now an adult, I'm looking to maintain my poise and durability. No extreme sport for this ol' sport. Which brings us back to the matter at hand, which was..... I forget. Hand me my horn. The lotus flower of the night breathes through the window. The jazz man blows through an agile number of tunes, even singing the vocal parts between trumpet arpeggios. Deep down in my heart I play and I pray for abounding health and happiness for all those in this Elsewhere neighborhood and beyond. We share a bond that goes beyond. The DNA in you sings the same songs of the human condition, of the jazz and blues musician. And I wink, close up shop, place my brass beauty in its sleeping case, grab my hat from the coat rack, and vanish into a Spanish Elsewhere. Hey, how about we meet for breakfast at the Sunny Side Up Diner, where the coffee's piping hot, the paper's hot off the presses, the rotating maroon leather stools have the shiniest silver finish, and your order's up at the most impeccable point of time in an otherwise auspicious morning. So, did you hear about....

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