I love the feeling of otherworldliness that occurs at dark o'clock on some nights. It's a feeling of magic, of connection, some almost-reachable enlightenment. Tonight, it was spurred on by a conversation with my vulpine love, a closing of feathers and foxe-fur. If I had poetry in me for that, it would have started with feathers and foxe-fur. But instead, my thoughts turned to the nature of the Random Blonde Presence. And I dutifully wrote out a description on my web page that I've been meaning to do ever since I started it two years ago. It's a very naked description, and I'll leave anyone interested enough in it to find the link themselves. I don't want to lead straight to it....it feels too personal for that, to just broadcast without some buffer in between.

Contrary to some beliefs, I don't broadcast to the top ten radio stations always.

I can't believe I'm still smarting from that comment from ages ago. And yet I am. It hurt so much, like many other things said during those times. I think the hurt comes from the fact that I don't broadcast every last detail of myself out. Just the things I want others to know. The rest is for a private journal or the sanctuary of my own thoughts. So that impression is mistaken, and yet comes from someone who I thought so perceptive and all-seeing.

So, of course, the above is meant for the one who holds that belief. Meant to show that I still remember, I suppose. Or something. There's been a definite resurgence of ill feeling lately, anyway. I wish I knew why exactly - perhaps having had time for introspection, I have the time to re-examine things which have been buried or carefully ignored.

Of course, introspection often leads to these feelings of late-night magic. Or perhaps that's late-night madness. Thoughts do tend to go a-wandering when the brain is tired. Evidence this journal entry.

But I should probably conclude, then. These past few hours have had the sparks of magic from which creativity comes. May such hours come more often.