truth...or...daring to be true

Had a nice evening last night. No, not evening, night. Er, no...make that morning.

Long and silly story, which I won't bore you with, but I managed to, in my spare moments, write some scandalously good poetry. So, a little lost sleep is well earned.

One of my companions kept asking me if I was sleepy. I told them I'd rather spend time with them than sleep. I should have said, with that raised eyebrow that indicate "target acquired" that I'd rather sleep with them than spend time, but that might've been too corny.

Besides, she knew what was in my heart. In some ways it is nice to be an open book, to have not the little, petty, cowardly secrets that everyone else seems intent on having and keeping and sweeping under the rug. Yes, it is a little scary, but I like the line uttered by George Clooney's Major Archie Gates in David O. Russell's classic anti-war film "Three Kings": "The way it works is, you do the thing you're scared shitless of, and you get the courage AFTER you do it, not before you do it."

Confessing affection is scary, breathtakingly so (ask the Mad Gypsy).

What if the other person out of hand rejects you? It happens, it's happened to me.

What if the other person gets in for reasons other than the happily ever after? It happens, it's happened to me.

What if you take that leap of faith and not only release your desperate handhold on the rocks of the high cliffs above Kyrienar but press outward with all your might, so there is no hope of brushing a tree or outcropping of rock as you descend for a last ditch stab at survival, to prove how committed you are to this moment, to this paramour in (you hope) waiting? It happens, it has happened to me.

I could live the rest of my life alone, or living on "mosels and mould" and be a traitor to everything I believe in and preach, just as any Christian minister who gets up tomorrow in front of their congregation and praises the execution of Saddam Hussein is a traitor to their faith. The man was guilty, we know. But pragamatism, judgement and Christian values do not belong on the same altar. Read the Bible guys, especially those books after the Maccabees. But, I digress.

Or I choose to live within my principles and beliefs and religion of love and hope and passions immortal. I have spent almost three years in exile. The return of the poet-king was inevitable, but only on my terms. "I will take no pretender, again, to my bed".

Besides, my readers love this part, most rooting for the happy ending, some rooting for roadkill, like the people who go to NASCAR events not for the competition, but for the accidents.

I do a great flaming chassis impression...SCREEEEEEEEEECH!