Inspiration

Romance always seems to fall into my life at randomly consonant intervals. Its been about a Major Third since I was involved with anyone, and now the time is around again. The inspiration seems endless (*), like poetry is destined to fall from my lips with every new thought of her. Matters of the heart just don't seem to be easy patterns to follow. No classical masterpiece by Bach here. Waiting on your tip toes for that perfect resolution, only to find out your listening to free form jazz... now that's love. Straight from the heart to the page, poured forth on the fly in one of the the most powerful improv sessions ever. Loving and living this life of leisure has lead me to these kinds of konkreat konklouzins, though they may actually be less than a mix of stone and ideas. Or more, interpret ideas in a way that is ideal for expression of the I, expression of the me. Abstract and floating, floating, floating along the perfects (*), allowing each aspect of her very real remembrance to dance along the heights of my creative and vivacious vision. Every thought through the daily ritual has been konklousivly koloured by her presence in my imagining. The building of tension and the release of it, each dissonance resolves into consonance in its own overtly satisfying manner. Whether its the feather touch of a lovers skin, leading sensually towards the fulfillment of expectation, or its the feather touch of a dominant fifth resolving into the tonic. Its all the anticipation, knowing what's coming but... guess what? Your drawing at strings to guess a pattern that dances around you. It teases you with thoughts of its indefinite relaxation.
Together it is, you and eye... we swam through hours of artificial darkness, enveloped in only our own enigmatic emotions. So comforted, so safe, so alive that the rest of the world forgets our existence.

From time to time our lips touch, stealing us from the cold world of absolutes, of black and white. United for a split second in supreme musical consonance, with our hearts leaping octaves, upward and upward. Here we wander between mild meadows of perfect peace and brilliant fiery peaks of the most expressive passion. In the silence connecting these two beautiful states the mind is stacked with as many emotional revelations as can be entertained, taking care not to lose the sense for our roots (*) , but failing and falling into profound atonality.
How can just the being of another ignite these flames, so filled with a desire, or even more, a fierce need for more intense modes of existence?
After such an experience, normal life seems rootless, the day to day so filled with trivialities that it can no longer capture our hearts or our minds.
Or is everyday life brightened? Carried upwards on that one rogue wave? Can just one brief riff permanently change the ambiance of all further rhythms?
As much as an addict, I am truly addicted.
Looking into your eyes I see the reflection of my dreams.
Feeling your skin close to mine, I resolve myself only to being, to existence, because nothing can be more sublime.
Breathing you in intoxicates the mind, leaving me in a state of euphoric world delusion.
Listening to your voice comforts me, and hearing each excited breath escape those soft lips brings me closer to the ideal.
I taste you, allowing my tongue to articulate a far more sensual desire for erotic truth than words could ever imagine.
I feel most in the realization of your feeling. Enjoy the most in your expression of enjoyment.
All five of these senses root me into my minds deepest recesses, hiding in the only place where we can meet during the drudgery of ordinary life.
A hug, temporary unity with another. Breaching both the physical and spiritual boundaries, all of life's problems seem to melt away, even if only for that brief moment.
Its appropriate we are both children of the arts, blessed and cursed with the life changing highs and earth shattering lows that are characteristic of our souls profession. Given to being captured by the inconcrete.
Let us melt into the Abstract together. Inspire each inspiration to true dichotomy, uniting the audial and the visual, the Yin and the Yang.
You have burned out the bright eyes of my false idol, and released me to take joy in the worship of a goddess of my hearts own choosing.

Fín