In Which There Are Code

Air is quite an evocative term bearing a lot of imagery, and I think that is well-deserved. Because we are a self-aware and sentient species, we are jealous of those breeds which can manipulate it. We long, sometimes, for the relative freedom of the birds. This, however, is tangent to my point. The point being, we need air. To breathe.

We breathe. Sometimes we cough, sometimes we sneeze, sometimes we find ourselves being choked by strange men in alleys or large snakes native to the Amazon River basin. But the expression "a breath of fresh air" is tellingly expressed to describe when someone is encountered by a person, place, or thing which pleasantly contrasts with the hum-drum of their daily lives.

For the past couple of years my life has felt fairly stagnant. Occasionally, I've had my encounters with something fleetingly interesting and, also, the periodic hangover. There has lately, however, been a whipping of the winds somewhere in the valleys of my mind and in the events of my life. The stagnancy is bubbling from underneath with fermented product. I am feeling a breath of fresh air. Perhaps more than one such breath -- or one such air -- I think when we are dealing with pluralities the expression starts to self implode. Bottom line: I'm feeling pretty vital.

I have determined that at some point this blog will be connected to Martini's, so I'm going to start giving people codenames, Martini being one of them. I am not an explicitly private person, but codenames can be fun and I sometimes need to handle things... delicately... for the sake of others.

Since Psyche, I have interacted with many different women on a purely platonic level. Gunrack was sweet, even kind, and will do some man rather well, just not me. After all, I do not own a gun, let alone many guns to necessitate their racking.

Now, somehow, there is a strange whisper in my heart. A glimmer at the corner of my eye. Things are happening. The world is turning again. Psyche is a painless memory. Gunrack, a friend kept carefully at a distance, for whom I wish all good things. And everyone who proceeded them I bear no ill will, just a future of success and happiness with someone who will help them achieve it. I will wait for that person now. And I will know her when I see her, not her face, but the depths of her. I will stare at her and through her. And I will commit to nothing as I commit to recognizing the difference between wanting to see her, and seeing her.

It is a strange thing to be human. Quite a bit more bizarre to be the person I am. I reflect on my own psychological geography and wonder at how life is colored by our perceptions. It is strange, too, how a chance encounter or a road not traveled (yet) can reveal so much more than we anticipated.