RISQUE REVUE

upon wonderments if honors bestowed are well-deserved?
Pshaw!
Of course.
(these things being small matters of personal opinion) arguments are the mere chaff cast aside from the gleaning of the crops.
And incidentally - I couldn't agree more with that motto beneath the inspirational picture...it's entirely why I write.
If such was not the case, I'd no doubt spend all my time in rather narcissistic pursuits, admiring my scribblish profile in front of the mirrored font, all the while preening upon hysterical musings of authorial glory, no doubt.
But enough of that!

Ah me - I wish I were in possession of a lofty high-ceiling'd barn...with acres of headroom and no end of spaces and places to put things. Such is not the case. My writing room is by far the smallest room in the house, and although cozy, has hardly the room to spare for pigeons or otherwise.

But upon reflection, one is always free to create, in print anyway, any sort of space that fits the requirements.
Perhaps a Carnegie hall, or any sort of convocation hall - especially when conventional users have departed for other pastimes....
Or perhaps the hallowed school auditorium, the kind with a raised stage well worn from patent leathered Christmas pageants and crushingly out-of-tuned brass ensembled unjoyful noises...
any sort of space found still ringing hollow after the janitor slammed the door on the way out.
And seeing as pigeons are known to insinuate themselves into just about anywhere, they are at least the urban bit players, the cast of thousands, the backdrop against which the headliners recites their lines.
Traffic noise is just one big insidious fact of life, it seems (unless removed to the backwaters of the Alaskan interior.)

Joy always seems to pack more punch in the morning.
Evening joys appear wasted on nothing more than very good dreams.



Captain Midnight
Just let me laugh when it's funny
and when it's sad, let me cry