How I Wish That That Were True[1]

I love the strength and depth symphonic music generates when it plays a bit more slowly than one’s normal reflexes expect: especially in lower registers.

I was just fantasizing about conversations I might have with great writers and poets I admire.  I imagine wondering to myself, as my quick rejoinders remain unanswered, how profoundly beautiful the slower but infinitely more detailed and introspective thought processes that those I so admire use.

They’re epic conflagrations, holocausts to my sparks.  But then, in my fantasies, it’s my sparks that ignite them.

How I wish that that were true.