Tuesday on a Midnight, and my thoughts waver. I am laying on a hotel bed in New Jersey, gathering lucid thoughts that interspersed a drive up the NJ Turnpike listening to a Rufus Wainwright CD from 2003. Remembering past trysts in New York City, days of youth now burnt-out filaments of a bulb no longer lit. Dramatically said but not far from reality - and in the best sense of the analogy as I am unequivocally happy in this current life.
I try to catalog these thoughts for further inspiration as I realize their reminder is but a passing ghost. Thoughts such as Central Park coincidental meetings and all-night Alphabet City revelries are enchanting as they saunter through the mind in time with the soundtrack; I am speechless for their occurrence and mindless for what I try to remember of their essence as I drift asleep in this midnight dream state. Some day, I will have nothing left of this remembrance nor the half-coherent states of mind that produce such thoughts. I anticipate, though, that these fleeting thoughts will pile up like firewood for the winter, and their contribution will be much like wood on the fire to carry me through the cool of the late autumn of my future life.