In the Basilica

In the Basilica... It's so strange to be back in Washington again. It reminds me so strongly of the last time... even the smell of smoke on my fingertips calls back the ghosts still lurking somewhere int he L-shaped studio ceiling corners. Remembering the drive down and those sparkling eyes.

Now I feel dislocated-- like all that resides in a sealed and dusty gilded volume of fantasies that never happened. I'm not quite sure whether they did... or not... where memory stops. Anyway, I was just interrupted to sing (and stare at the mosaics of flame and gold) and so I've lost my train of thought.

I keep thinking about drinking hurricanes with PhysicsGuy in New Orleans at Pat O'Brians and I don't know why. Chain smoking and giant 32 oz slushies made from orange juice and Everclear and a sepia picture of me and GoldenFinch and the slashes and the broken wine coolers on the floor of ChoirMan's hotel room.

It's all coming back to me starting in the fall with AIR7 and Scheisser and my Washington ghosts.