Okay, first things first...

I gave some links a couple days ago, for writers, my stuff, Sympatico's stuff and Lostboy's stuff. I was really an idiot and gave the WRONG links. *chuckles* So, here we go again...

Lost Boy's stories and poetry. This is a writer that I just... *shrugs* He writes from within me, it seems. Kinda like I wish a man in my life would feel, I suppose. Suffice it to say, he's great in my opinion, and I don't think your time would be wasted reading his stuff.

Sympatico You all know that I love this guy. He's just the coolest. So, read his stuff and find out why Longing has been one of the most popular stories on the entirity of the Stories.com Site.

My own stuff Yes, I want you all to read my stuff too. And comment on it. I post a brand-spankin-new piece about once a week or so. Posted two new pieces this week, in fact. So, yes, I'm still writing. Read my stuff, please.

If you are a writer and want some exposure for your stuff, go there and post. It's a really cool environtment and it's free. Stories.com It's well worth your time, in my opinion.

I want you all to know that I am desperately in love. Yup, you heard it here first. Of course, the one I'm in love with is rather unconventional. No, nothing like me being in love with a gay man... nothing quite that unconventional...

I'm in love with Eric Clapton's music. I swear it. Really. Promise.

I've been listening to the CDs that Brian (Spectre Of Life) sent me. I can't believe the intricate beauty of the last song on the Lizard disc. *smiles softly* I've been listening to it on repeat for a while now. It's one of those pseudo-sentimental pieces. Instrumental all the way.

There are no words to tell you to be depressed... and the music isn't depressing in and of itself. But it does lead one to introspection and soft smiles when replaying memories in your mind. I just can't recomend Clapton enough. If you have no idea who Clapton is, then either you're younger than 10, or you have had no exposure to music whatsoever.

Clapton has been performing in one band or another, and solo, for over 30 years. One of his first bands was Cream. Derrick and the Dominos was another he was in way back. If you still have no idea who I'm talking about, because you listen to nothing but Top 40 "hits", then think back to a couple years ago when Tears In Heaven came out. That's Clapton.

As it sits right now, and I know that I'm pathetically minimal in my Clapton repitoir, I have 7 clapton disks. Solo disks. Between my mother and I, we've got aproximately 15. 19 if you count repeats.

He's incredible, folks.

I would so dearly love to just sit in the same room with him and watch him play.

No audience, no fan fare, no hyper-tense "Oh I'm your biggest fan" bullshit. Just Clapton, his guitars and me.

And this brings me to something I've been trying to talk about for a while, just haven't been able to put into words....

I used to play piano. Not just sit down and rink-a-tink-tink on the keys, but lights off, no one around, eyes closed, soul-brushing-the-keys kind of playing.

It's very personal and private to me. When I was in college, at Cornish in Seattle, I would go into that room with the grand piano... there were actually about six grands in there. Stienways included. But I didn't like any of those. I would sit at the black, baby-grand K. Kawai.

I would walk into that room late at night, when no one else was around, or rather, when they were on the other side of the building or whatever....

I would walk in, go to "my" piano, walk slowly around it, dragging my fingertips along the edge. Very faint, light, delicate. It was a love relationship with the instrument which could so expertly play my soul.

I would gently, reverently, raise the lid, propping it open to its fullness. I would then move, delicately around the piano once again, moving toward the bench. Adjust it, sit and close my eyes. I would sit there for sometimes a few seconds, sometimes a few minutes.

Then, I'd open my eyes just a little, smiling softly as the moonlight filtered through the trees, into the four windows along the outsidewall of the building. I'd look at the keyboard, placing my fingers upon the keys. Then, I'd close my eyes again.

What happened then, was never quite the same twice. It always seemed to pour out a little differently each time. Sometimes the music would flow for 20 minutes. Sometimes it would flow for a couple hours. I never knew, when I sat down, how long I'd play. And, to be honest, it wasn't really me playing at all, but..... *shrugs* It just.... sorta..... happened.

These experiences were always very.... well... I guess spiritual would be the word. Tho I didn't know that's what it was back then. Regardless... I've recorded myself in a few of these instances. The music was always very George Winston-ish.

The point, however...

There've only been a few people I've actually done this for. Only a few people I"ve actually allowed to come in and listen while I was in this........ zone.

My ex. And one friend from Cornish.

Sometimes, there would be someone listening out in the hall. That didn't bother me. They were in the hall and didn't know who was playing, they were just listening to what flowed. But, there's only one person, to date, that I ever invited into any room where I was going to do that sort of...... zone playing. That was my ex.

I haven't invited anyone else. I don't know if I ever will. There's a diferent person when I used to play.

I dont play anymore.

I stopped before the ex and I got hitched. There just wasn't anywhere to play.

But, I get the desire to do so every once in a while. I kinda think it's like my personal spirit trying to express things that can be expressed in no other way. Words help with that desire.... but... there's nothing that works quite the same way.

so why don't I play anymore?

*Sighs quietly*

That part of me died after the first little bit that I was married. That part of me hasn't been resurected yet. I don't know if it ever will be.

And, much as I love you, Sympatico... as wonderful as you are and as much of a friend as you are..... *smiles tenderly* I don't think I could play for you. Not yet.

Someday I'll have a house. And in that house, I'll have my very own K. Kawai piano. And some night, it will just feel right. I'll leave my bedroom, follow moonlit halls to the piano room. I'll walk around that piano. Slowly raise the lid and prop it up, sit upon the bench and allow my soul to reach out and caress those keys.

Someday. In the dark. Lit only by stray moonglow. And I will awaken once again.

Maybe, someday, I'll play for someone else.

Who knows.