By Michael K. Gause
A new year and the jury’s still out on what will fire us in new directions, what axons will dwindle from disuse, and which comets will call us into the street.
“I open myself to the myriad and labyrinthine passages this city architects within me.”
I haven’t heard from you in a while, so I will assume you are doing wondrous things in the realm of art and love. Books, travels to urbane civilizations, invisible meetings with auspicious people. Huzzah. I have always respected a nose against the grindstone, even when my own actions seem to contradict.
“My path remains elusive, but I admit I miss you.”
c) Look, I…
As I write this letter, I am having a wonderful moment at the bar. Two older women (what this means at 42, one can surmise for herself), each a descendant of the other. One a 60′s activist the other a world traveler turned mail carrier. Their verbal leapfrog is enough to give perspective even to a myopic shite like myself, a perspective usually gleaned in more quiet, exquisite moments. But you don’t frequent the bars I do. Like I do. With good reason, I suspect. Quiet local legend speaks of your epic days, and you have to stop doing something for people to start revering it proper.
“Look, if you want to grab a drink sometime…”
b) Oh, now you come around
Have you seen the local literary projects around lately. Some are evolutionary steps from themselves, others are simply the reawakening after winter. They are wrapped in such beautiful colors. Like most presents, the packaging is the best thing about them. You get to the heart of it and you start feeling like you missed something still in the box. The idea seems to be that if you package something well enough, that becomes part of the present. I wish I bought that sometimes. So much seems to be just fluff with good PR. I know. That makes me elitist. That’s okay. I’m old enough to know
a) what to care about
b) what to leave the wind
c) time sorts it out
d) all of the above
e) my shoe size
I’ll end here, my friend. Drop me a line sometime, and tell your mother hello. Catch me up on things. You are still writing, aren’t you?
I guess I should have asked you that earlier.
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