Now, I'm An Atheist. I

What I've Discovered And Really Confirmed To Myself Is That Opera Really Likes Loud Colours, And You Need Something Bold, Something Savage, Unpredictable, Passionate. You Can't Really Run A Two-hour Opera Round Some Muted Murmuring.

This Commonplace Cycle Of Falling Asleep And Waking, In Darkness, Under Private Cover, With Another Creature, A Pale Soft Tender Mammal, Putting Faces Together In A Ritual Of Affection, Briefly Settled In The Eternal Necessities Of Warmth, Comfort, Safety, Crossing Limbs To Draw Nearer - A Simple Daily Consolation, Almost Too Obvious, Easy To Forget By Daylight.

Shall There Be Womanly Times? Or Shall We Die?

Oh, I've Become Immune To The Booker. I Think We Need Something A Little More Like The Pulitzer Prize, Where There Isn't This Great Race.

I'm Holding Back, Delaying The Information. I'm Lingering In The Prior Moment Because It Was A Time When Other Outcomes Were Still Possible.