Straight No Chaser

Jeez

someone's asthma attack preempted our phone date tonight. totally his fault, of course, because he's doing too much, and with no regard for his obvious fragilities. but still, obviously, i feel bad, and worry, and want to punch something, because if nothing else, his airways should be clear. his calendar is clogged to high heaven with shit he should be doing instead of sleeping, now, four o'clock though it is, but he deserves to at least be able to fucking breathe.

but, again, it's no one's fault but his own, because he's lived with asthma for twenty years, and he knows damn well that stress triggers attacks. he can't push himself that hard, that consistently, and not expect to feel consequences, eventually. and he's not the panicking type, not the type to acknowledge mental or emotional pressure, so his psyche has to knock him out physically to get any significant point across, and it does. all the time. i talked him through the worst of it, waited till he was on his inhaler, encouraged him to get some FUCKING sleep and let him go. perfect setup for a blissful, fret-free slumber of my own, of course.

i wrote him a poem instead. not going to win any pulitzers, they never do, but it was slightly more effective than tossing and turning all night.

basically, ernie, i want him to find his peace in his highest-valued constants (me, music), rather than breaking his life up into little pieces and watching them all scatter. it is not healthy and it wears him (and me) out, and i know him, and he just absolutely does better when he paces himself, when he manages his time like a normal person instead of like a speed addict.

here it fucking is. good night.

"My rhythm draws its harmelodic swell
from modes and measure. Should you hear the hum,
remark upon intensity of thrum,
I'll tell you it's a meter mastered well--
for even great symphonic pulsar drum,
when turbulent appendage does impel,
is overpowered by the trifling bell
that finds its anchor in a steady thumb.
Your sweet chaotic bedlam does compel,
but leaves the players' pipes and digits numb;
they vie for regularity of strum
that only kind conductor can foretell.
Combined, we find strange concord in our sum--
yet notes of thankful fervor come, and come."