Pirate Papa Takes Seattle by Storm

My first real vacation since my girls were born! Five days in bustling city of Seattle. Quite a change from my normal rural setting. I keep pretending all the people are leaves on a tree blowing busily in the wily winds of change and chance. Slightly inebriated at 2:56 in the afternoon, my weekend was enjoyably spent in the company of my dearly beloved orange-haired urban goddess Crystal, attending a concert of our friends' at the Mars Bar and then graduating to The Crescent, an extremely radically colorful gay karaoke bar where we spent the duration of the evening. Slowly/quickly I grow reaccustomed to the idea of bachelorhood (A male animal that does not mate during the breeding season, especially a young male fur seal kept from the breeding territory by older males.)

ha!

I miss my medium sized ladies but this trip is quite liberating/invigorating I must say. Laid back, relaxed, full of thoughts and fresh ambitions, old soils turned over into new light. The word culture literally means the turning of the earth, take it as you will.

Just finished reading Brave New World overlooking Seattle's Sound, in the heart of the concrete jungle, a perfect finish to a perfect book. How timelessly strong our words may seem when held up to the ravages of clocks if we but speak what lies within our hearts and talk in truths about that which we see before us. Who knows what people thirty, eighty, three hundred years from now may derive from our scattered prose, our songs of praise, our tragedies and triumphs.

All I know is that I love life, and love loving life. Some days are dark, others awkward, but my essential human spirit seems virtually indefatigable. I wonder how these processes continue as the body and the mind age, foment and ferment and frolic and fill with endless experience. It will be strange and wondrous to see I am sure. But sometimes here, in the center of constant change, the symphony still sounds silent, static, a body at rest amidst incessant motion, capable only of the most pedestrian observational skills, the basest emotional impulses. I learn from my own poor example what it is I want to be and ceaselessly attempt to better myself in my own eyes.

Life is fluid and I a fish. Would that my pockets were as bottomless as my soul, my essence, my umbra, my very marrow. Then could I share to the extent my dreams sum up. Surely brevity is not only the soul of wit, but the widow of waffling frustration, the decanted spore of a life well lived and shrewdly packaged morals. Like a classical kids book, simply written but ingeniously constructed.


"All my doors are open."
"All my eggs are broken."
"Now my prayers Awaken."
"Drink me when you're ready."