Hee. I ♥ you.

Thanks. Right back atcha.

Rassenfrassen outdated antiquated dictionary! Mine, I mean.

Actually, though, upon rereading, I think I may use your spelling anyway; it sets up a nice parallel with the next line (coincidentally/accidentally).

What was that rule about "as soon as you see it in print, you'll want to change something right away"? Argh.

I think I may use your spelling anyway; it sets up a nice parallel with the next line (coincidentally/accidentally).

I thought you had chosen the first spelling to purposely make the speaker/narrator sound less sophisticated. It certainly did to my ear. I'm torn on the stanza thing. I think the split where you had it makes sense, and kind of divides the poem into two worlds, gives an explicit separation, but it works as one stanza as well.

Did I mention I thought it was powerful and good?

t wink

Actually, though, upon rereading, I think I may use your spelling anyway; it sets up a nice parallel with the next line (coincidentally/accidentally).

That's what I would have suggested, for that reason, had I chosen to point it out.

Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, several others

Oooh! Happy sigh. Imagine the story you could write for "Thunder Road". Or "Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out". Or "Jungleland". Or so many, many others. And I bet you could get a great story out of "Tangled Up in Blue".

Hey, Teppy, (and Deb, actually) if it's not stepping on toes, maybe a future drabble could be inspired by a song title? Or just a song?

"Hungry Heart" You could go all kinds of places with that one.

"He's a litigator with a clotting disorder. She's a brain-damaged journalism student with delusions of grandeur. But together they fight corporate crime." You know, for those people that don't think Batman & Robin are fucked-up enough.

I love my internet wife. Love love love.

Also, love the song title drabble idea. I have the feeling my head would explode, in a very good way.

Nilly, that was damned close to perfection, and was all the way wonderful.

I love people's turning points, particularly ita's Monday. Nilly's turning point was an important one for many of us.

While thinking about what I wanted to write, I remembered a memorable turning point from one of my favorite books (The Education of Henry Adams), when Henry Adams first meets one of his best friends, Clarence King:

One of these men was Clarence King on his way up to the camp. Adams fell into his arms. As with most friendships, it was never a matter of growth or doubt. Friends are born in archaic horizons; they were shaped with the Pteraspis in Siluria; they have nothing to do with the accident of space. King had come up that day from Greeley in a light four-wheeled buggy, over a trail hardly fit for a commissariat mule, as Adams had reason to know since he went back in the buggy. In the cabin, luxury provided a room and one bed for guests. They shared the room and the bed, and talked till far towards dawn.

King had everything to interest and delight Adams. He knew more than Adams did of art and poetry; he knew America, especially west of the hundredth meridian, better than any one; he knew the professor by heart, and he knew the Congressman better than he did the professor. He knew even women; even the American woman; even the New York woman, which is saying much. Incidentally he knew more practical geology than was good for him, and saw ahead at least one generation further than the text-books. That he saw right was a different matter. Since the beginning of time no man has lived who is known to have seen right the charm of King was that he saw what others did and a great deal more. His wit and humor; his bubbling energy which swept every one into the current of his interest; his personal charm of youth and manners; his faculty of giving and taking, profusely, lavishly, whether in thought or in money as though he were Nature herself, marked him almost alone among Americans. He had in him something of the Greek,—a touch of Alcibiades or Alexander. One Clarence King only existed in the world.

A new friend is always a miracle, but at thirty-three years old, such a bird of paradise rising in the sage-brush was an avatar. One friend in a life-time is much; two are many; three are hardly possible. Friendship needs a certain parallelism of life, a community of thought, a rivalry of aim.

Yes, there's plent of hoyay there, but no evidence they acted on it.

that was damned close to perfection

Cut and paste. And mostly from Allyson's words. If it's in any way a drabble, it's hers, even though it was fateful to me.