:mattLandia:

It’s a crisp air this mornin’ it is. Blowin’ in from the East, I kin most practically hear the creak of wood fighting off Mr. Jones and his bloody locker. Yet, hear I sit, high on sandy dune, sipping me fine wine while the Govenor fattens his reputation ‘bout gett'nme to sit still for a spell.

How’s a man the likes of me gon’ sit still like a sickly dog, licking his bone as if it’s enough to keep him from straying? For Peter’s sake, I was born for the shallow draft and a mischievous wind! I am born up upon the wings of impish nymphs, casting my hungry eye wheresoever I desire. That fool Swift and his sermonizing! “Your wickedness makes you, as it were, heavy as lead and to tend downwards with great weight and pressure towards hell… blah blah blah” HA! Bring me my head of smoke and I’ll show you the pressures of hell indeed!

But not today, I fathom. Today I am set upon by fortuitous circumstance, and were you to come near to my grape infused breath, you would see in the gleam of black eyes that I am in fact content to sit; to drink; to count my coin; and let another pass between me and a whimsical fate all the while singing, “More wine! More wine! More salty meat and concubines!”

~ E.D.

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A Loose Contemporary Translation:

I 'm in a good place. I enjoy my job. I have a great house. Ok, I have terrible, terrible commute, but the places I spend my time on either end of that commute are actually quite pleasing. I’m grateful for both and am able to see the glass half full most days.

But. (you knew there was a but coming…)

Every now and when my iTrip is at full volume, the car windows are down, and the wind is whipping around my head, my mind explodes into a visceral symphony of beats, guitar hooks, clever word play, video treatments, expressionist performances, and pangs to shave my head to the scalp along the part, bangs down to my chin. For a brief moment, I pause, hands clutching the wheel as I sit in traffic, wondering if I could ever put it all in PARK and tack hard into the wind, living the life of a bard; poet; singer; performer. Everyone is saying that 40 is the new 30 (whatever the hell that means), so maybe one day I’ll steel up and give it another try.

Or not.

For now I’ll just shift from third gear to fourth and pass this idiot in the Miata. Who the hell still drives a Miata?

~ ::mL::