The old radio soundtrack spread its net over him as he sat naked upon the old broken down couch feeling the night air blowing over him like an early lover’s touch. Fifty years hence the immediacy of it’s former magic might have been chilled a bit but still pleasantly inviting. Dusk resting heavy upon the pillow of the horizon as the sun having a minute before sinking into the latest o familiar oblivion’s. He was feeling as if those two beers drained in slow succession at the local bar a half a mile down had done him some good. Their combination with the previous evening’s fresh cooked leftovers reviving that easy feeling of good times past. His old world had totally abandoned him. The once familiar faces for which he felt a need for a lifelong continued pretense extinguished. This current world was now solely of his own daily creation. The caress of the evening wind across his bare skin the only loving touch that he was likely to enjoy in life from this point onward. All remnants of things loving and feminine gone to glacial ice. He could clearly recall the film from which these orchestral passages had sprung from but the drama inferred seemed too overly dramatic and out of joint in his memory. Maybe he could no longer recall things as well as he thought? The Scotch taped bits and pieces were ever confident in their promise of clarifying but woefully inadequate in point of practice. Only in the experiencing of things familiar as with the cicada’s hushed cry grifting through an open window in counterpoint with a restless wind could he feel that absolute assurance of a relevance with times past. No composer’s score need arrange that recall!
His own life still seemed like to had some value as a drama in it’s own right. The synoptic exercise of relating some random episode had seemed to garner general attention over the bar. Maybe it was just well liquored enthusiasm? A camaraderie of a dying breed wishing to elongate the present tense as they had always imagined it. After all it had been lived by others, like these of former close confidents that by now no longer existed save for a few vague impressions? Simple names that he occasionally recited like a mantra until a startling realization struck that it was long past time to let go. Darkness now flowed freely through the windows overwhelming the dying day the light losing its energy to usably penetrate. It felt pleasant to have a full belly conjoined with the carefree content of mindful feeling. The same sort of moment once again resurrected as had so often been the rule in so many past lifetime’s long ago. The massed strings vibrato stirring romantic melancholy’s purring out gentler notions of latent softer times. He began to wonder what sort of night his own mother had experienced the night before bearing up to his ripe entry into this world? Had he lived up to her expectations? In so many ways no! Yet not a complete disappointment either. He was odd, that was true. But not in a malice held deep within. His despair was his own enemy, not mankind’s.
So many long misplaced experiences will come to reacquaint one with themselves in the dead of night when sleep won’t come. Those times when he was a quarter of a century old. The vague immediacy of standing naked in a shower with a woman nearly twice his twenty plus years. Taken aback with surprise by her screams as he performed as he thought he should. Her claims to unbridled passion being disturbing as her release followed no acceptable decorum like that portrayed upon a movie screen. Experiencing for the first time the devastation that the advance of age could beset upon any woman called into question for it. And she grabbing his joint unceremoniously with determined ire milking it hard to show him that she was still the boss. Proving to herself in some small way that she still had what it took even though some other guy had already taken it long ago. The stain of this sin remained with him residing just under the surface throughout his life though almost always, he was no longer aware of it. How that cinematic notion of carnal love performed without procreation had suffered! No enjoyment in the rote performance of the act but only a quick final fading resolution in the misspent promise of the chase ending unable to find final perfection. That any two desperate long tormented animals chained in a cave by fate could find some lasting solace in its brief heat? How by this time the artful application of a theatrical form of endless physical suffering, and not the cultivation of loving attraction, was posed as the only valid act promising a new fascination? Reality couched in that single quickly fading moment eclipsed forever, now the most authentic form of temporal passion. His universe having collapsed down from the constant worship of that long fabled two into the persistently melancholy one. No known form of language left at this point to ever successfully communicate across this immense gap of then and now coming at this late date.