"Full stride" some call it. Others call it "the top of one's game". I prefer "being in one's element". At the ripening age of 27, I can now feel the sweet nectar coursing through my veins. Gone are the bitter memories of yore and the sour notes that befell an amateur voice. The chords--now attuned--will not waver for yet another score perhaps. Bellowing harminous, waxing ebullient, until gleaming like a bright shiny tuba in a triumphant marching band--heretofore, a life, in slavish abidance to a bedeviled, woe-stricken mind, steps out from the inferno of black flames into the irridescent, shimmering music of novel gaiety. Come one, come all. It's a three-ringed affair. What's about to happen next will likely blow your mind.
Deep in the impenetrable forest of "George's Would's" there was--and is--indeed, a 'did'. Before you know it there will be an
action figure replete with bendable limbs, nifty little nerd tools, and cardboard packaging. The voyage of discovery has resumed (after a brief 9-year interlude by my sponsor [the hairy, little, decrepid, snaggle-toothed, neurotic monster hiding in the corner]). No, really, everything's okay. I'm not going to be flipping pancakes on the turnpike tomorrow.
But I might be fabricating monstrous circuitry, depraved cyborgs of disreputable reknown, tomorrow, as I've been steadily learning and tinkering (once again) with eee-lectronics. Or you might find me down by the river, soaking up the natural wonders of our watery backyard as I once was wont to do in my more tender years, meditating on the likes of Thoreau and Emerson. Or you may pass me on my cyclopod, chiseling myself to a bygone form, traveling to and fro. And if you're lucky, I just may serve you up one of my many wonderful culinary artworks I've been simmering all the while just on the periphery of life.
Alas, brave new things are on the horizon. The stirring wind beckons at my back. And the bags under my eyes are filled with faerie dust.
© 2005 George Czar
