the lost man chronicles
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the bemusing buzz

oh, i did it again.

this time though, my departure from my morning routine was accompanied by an opulent Brahms string quartet, the number, key and opus of which i easily forget.

when i was not wont of thought amidst meditation, the duet of violins inspired chase scenes of all sorts: cavorting mice running vigorously through elysian fields, lovers racing to one another against all odds, and even my own hurried spree of word-fashioning, the firebrand of which eagerly wanted the euphony to end, so that i might pen these sprinting thoughts before they eluded my enrapture.

and this time i lingered a little longer with my eyes closed, for it had been a frolicsome weekend, abetted, tainted and made more tolerant by bouts of intoxicating libation. thus, a little more for the weary, i did not force them open until 4:10.

being that the tempo was a bit more invigorating than the progenitor of a piano solo, i was prompted to spring from bed. and instead of a makeshift moment of yoga, i stretched through lithe fans of faux tai-chi, imagining my movements to be those of anxious yellow-tails in love.

once i arrived at the table with the bitter-sweet tang of Colombia to pique me through my usual sacred hour of silence and solitude, i sat still slightly hunched over in an eager pose of anticipation, waiting for the smell of coffee to inspire the swell of wisdom to overflow.

alas, nothing but a drip of musing seeped through.

eventually though, it pooled into the following: over the last two days i've pondered my approach, one which teetered on a perilous encroach upon sensibilities. it seems as if unrequited desire has been provoking the worst of me, already but a mere week into the new year. thus, i decided to steer my attention elsewhere, driving it to concentrate on the wordsórather than the bemusing buzz of queen bees and the lovely birds that inspire them.

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