January 1

Some people confuse inspiration with lightning not me I know it comes from the lungs and air you breathe it in you breathe it out it circulates it's the breath of my being the wind across the face of the waters yes but it's also something that comes at my command like a turkey club sandwich with a cup of split pea soup or like tones from Benny Goodman's clarinet my clarinet the language that never fails to respond some people think you need to be pure of heart not true it comes to the pure and impure alike the patient and impatient the lovers the onanists and the virgins you just need to be able to listen and talk at the same time and you'll hear it like the long-delayed revelation at the end of the novel which turns out to be something simple a traumatic moment that fascinated us more when it was only a fragment an old song a strange noise a mistake of hearing a phone that wouldn't stop ringing