Deep into the night

Trying to catch up with all that other stuff I let go by in April and May and feeling itchy about not getting new words down. I think it's mostly because I've been burning the candle at both ends far too long and can't quite get my stride back. I feel the words rumbling there behind my daylight stunned consciousness. There's a wall of stubborn cellophane between the fingers and the flow.

And the pressure to publish again grows like a cancer in my brain. A cure of chemo and targeted radiation just out of reach. I distract myself like a drug addled oxycontin addict, powdering the markets and sniffing for faded highs. Using google like a heroin junkie uses methadone. Is there a Bette Ford clinic out there for users like us?

The work cruises across the the ocean of life in the same way an iceberg cruises the shipping lanes. Looks harmless enough from afar, almost serene with it's wind sculpted ridges, until you decide to tackle it. Then what's underneath rips your day open and sends you to the bottom, drowned in the cold unforgiving sea of responsibility. In the darkness of the waves beats the heart of the universe. That pounding in the ears, reminder of life going on.

So you learn how to breath water, eat salt, and swim with leviathan.