City of Legends

Not the poem, TRIUMPH, but the sense of victory I have and had enjoyed so much over the past months.  A part of me is still in shock, a part of me still writhes in pain, but a part of me is intent on locking in t mountaintop moments and feeding me the morsels and mould of those times.

I don’t claim to know anything about anything, I just feel that, I know that, as sure as God is in the rain, love is more than a transient state.  There is much I would do to heal the wounds, much I would do to make things right, much I would do to acknowledge that I have lived, not an illusion, but something so powerful that every atom of my existence is changed for all eternity.

I may feel this alone.  But I feel this.

And by this awareness, I am humbled and exalted.  I am broken and purified.  I understand a depth of emotion I had not known and probably a sane man should never touch.

I had a good working session with Tag yesterday.  One question came down to the name of the press.  I told him I was uncertain, as I had no indication, no sense, of how keeping the peacat name would be received and whether I would be doing more harm than good for and to people I honestly care about the feelings of.  His response?  (He’s getting cheeky in his old age.)  He told me that every time I work on a project to for or with the press I would be reminded of something, of someone, and I have to ask myself if that’s what I want for the rest of my life and legacy.

My answer, after a moment’s pause, was "Yes".

A look to the heavens, a gesture followed by my now familiar cry of defiance:

"If you want me dead, you have to come for me in person."

Now that is triumph.

Barring a specific request to not use the name by the one person who I would listen to on the topic (and not some asshole who thinks they are speaking for another, I can talk directly to God (the priesthood of the individual is a cornerstone of the Protestant faith, for those of you who didn’t stay awake in Sunday School), no human is too good for my countenance), which I would accept, without question or rancor, peacat press lives.

We have two projects in the hopper, I am awaiting manuscripts on both, including a very exciting combination short story and poetry collection from Dan McTaggart entitled Best Man in Albuquerque.