got up later than usual, and usual is late.  So, forgive my rushed assemblage of not-quite-just-right words this morning.  Even though more time doesn't ever help my word selection, it does let me reject more prospects.  On those days, I am more guilty for the words which appear here.  Today, I run and snatch, and hope nothing valuable is left behind. 

Sex is spectacular among all that of which human bodies are capable.  Lonely people stroll about, like violins, violas, and cellos, sweet string instruments unemployed; like trumpets, trombones, bassoons and french horns, a fanfare's vigor unreleased; and like oboes and flutes untouched by human lips, those men left uncaressed by another are like tied-up butterflies and hummingbirds restrained from flight. 

All this is more than lamentable enough, if for only the passions left behind, and eye-to-eye embraces lost.  But so many have been taught that the heat of sex and the warmth of touch should be left to freeze.  Many taught to repress sexuality believe duets should make no sound, much less music, and that's tragic. 

I gotta go, but the thing that got me started thinking about all this is this line from Eduardo's e-mail to me, which I read this morning: 

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