In my writing and my thinking and my work, I’ve thought of myself as addressing artists and writers. The rest of world can take it or leave it as far as I am concerned.
— Joseph Campbell
Life is art.
Thus, all of my friends are artists, a few of them writers.
Through them, I see the universe and I am the funhouse mirror that reflects back what I see.
The more I see, I more I want to see.
The more I dance, the more I want to dance.
With one, the dance is all.
With all, the dance is one.
We shall, to pair a phrase, follow our bliss.
With you…well, my heart skips a beat when I think of you.
And when I see you?
The earth stops spinning momentarily.
And when we dance?
The universe changes polarity.
We could here together all night send love notes across the airwaves, shooting arrows pointing to places where we can meet again (and again (and again)).
Yet, knowing what we share, interests both technical and emotional, our absence is our strength as much as our presence.
You are with me in thought most of my waking hours.
In my dreams, you are your true self, which is an amalgam of personality types speaking directly to me rather than combined into the one identity I see and here in person.
Should I dream of you forever more, knowing we had met only once, my life would be sufficient evidence of our acquaintance.
But to know we keep crossing paths, whether through friends, hobbies or ourselves…
What can I say that hasn’t been sung billions of times before?
How shall I speak to you and you alone?
Are not our plans to spread the word about love for dancing the same as our love for each other?
Is love too strong or direct a word to describe what cannot be described in alphabetic labels?
We never speak of love because we’re somehow higher than or above such language, more willing to put our feelings for each other in the abstract, out there in the artistic world of symbology and postmodern expression.
Our future is the fluid movement of a robot swarm like blood cells through the body — healing, relaxing, readying the corporeal being for adaptation to any condition.
Our future is in the eternal moment that is a few minutes together on the dance floor where time stops, although the beat goes on.
Why don’t I simply tell you I miss you and leave it at that?
Why? Because I write and by write I mean I think and by think I mean I can’t live without you, although I’ve tried.