Pesky reality...

Officially. The bees have made us crazy. Think before you beekeep. You know not what you invite into your life. Move a bee. The bee sting... Full moons and corporate mazes pale in comparison.

Evidence: The cat crawls urgently on our shoulders and whispers in our ears in mysterious cat tongues. Sarah hears bears (or is it mice?) attacking the hive in the night. Ten year-olds spray painting our fences in the alleyway. I keep finding streets in Venice that never existed before. Oh, and... there are bees in my brain and bee venom throbs in my veins. It goes on...

We have crossed into some very interesting territory peoples... And as happens with all temporary madnesses, a confession escapes and drops onto the floor...

What I seek and what i find... the discrepancy is infuriating. Heartbreaking. Disbelief. Can a life so dominated by dreaming and yearning be so excluded from action and realization? Somehow the calling to make music again... summoning the aural enzymes to melt the fat that has encompassed and buffered my recent experience into passive irrelevance.

Hark the Harold. Motion. The moving of notes. The moving of bodies. Saturated yogic ecstasies. Sonic Booms. It's all very hard to explain with all these bees buzzing and banging through the caverns of this corpus colosseum. But I know you know what I mean...

Can one embarrass oneself to the point of enlightenment?