There Could Be a Woman to Blame

Il Intermezzo, that’s the name that comes to mind as I contemplate my immediate environs, not only in time and space but in the emotive realms, most of all in the emotive realms: that “nanosecundic” eternity when all things are possible but nothing is probable, the segment in time never remembered but constantly relived. The original singularity from which all eleven dimensions spring, the fount, the source, the beginning and the end.

There’s a path I think I want to follow. I was sure once but I’m not sure now although it’s still compelling. I do know that right now no other paths beckon. I think I may already have taken the fateful first step but I’m not certain, at least not anymore.

I look within myself and comment “nanosecundic intervals last a lot longer than one might think.” Of course, as Jimmy Buffet might speculate, margarita in hand, “there could be a woman to blame”.

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