House of Cards

The walls close in and I feel small, like a King of Hearts tumbling inward, watching his house of cards get demolished. 51 hearts should follow suit, but they cannot; the King of Hearts is detached from all the rest. He is the lone chasm destroying the house he built.
The King tries to find the rest, he needs to muster up his fallen troops. His house is in shambles, and there seems to be nothing he can do.
I'm the king of hearts, there has to be something I can do to rally my friends and family, the King thinks as he pours himself a drink.
Gin and tonic with a hint of lime, and he sits and ponders and wastes his time.
Like the diminishing ice cubes in his gin and tonic, so the King's hearts are losing hope, while he sits, waiting, wondering how he can rally them and rebuild their house.
The Queen of Hearts comes out of the rubble. She looks at him with sadness in her eyes, as he wallows in his misfortune cocktail.
The Jack of Diamonds sees the ruined house and wants to help. He shares his wealth with the King of Hearts. It's the least I can do, he says, gladly. He's worked hard to be where he is today, hoping one day to rise in rank and succeed the King of Diamonds, building his own house of cards. He feels he's almost there, just a few more months. But can he hold on, while supporting the King of Hearts?
And the King of Hearts doesn't know the Jack of Diamonds feels this way. He just sips away at his gin and tonic, wishing things were different, things were better. Hope is a far off dream. Hope is something in the belly of a whale, hundreds of miles out at sea, unlikely to ever be caught or wash up ashore. But it still exists.
The Jack of Diamonds understands that this swallowed, seaward, piece of whale indigestion still exists; whereas, the King of Hearts, who feels he has lost it all, is denying its existence.
Why wont Hope show itself, come out of the belly of the whale, and help the Jack of Diamonds rebuild the King of Hearts' house of cards?

Sunrise, Sunset

Stress overwhelming, unusual for a gorgeous autumn Saturday, I had to get out of the house. I was feeling the easterly direction. So I hopped in the car, plugged in the iPod and Martin Sexton carried me "glory bound" to some northern fork solace. Passing through wine country, I wound up in the old whaling and seaport village of Greenport. I stopped by the Greenport Harbor Brewing Company, newly established in July 2009, for a round of tastes. Their beers are quite delicious and I bought a growler of the Harbor Ale, which I intended to drink amongst friends that night at a dinner party.

I walked down to the harbor, out on the dock, watching the ferry carry passengers over to Shelter Island as the sun slowly set over the water, looking inland.

I walked up to Front Street Station, a restaurant on Front Street where I enjoyed a pint of Greenport's pumpkin beer, Leaf Pile Ale, and a delicious cup of french onion soup. The Suffolk County fire instructor next to me said he fuckin hated the Yankees, but said they deserved the title and he'd give credit where credit's due.

I enjoy the quaintness of this out east sea town. It was a welcome distraction. My sour mood was immediately uplifted as I scaled the lengths of this island singing Martin Sexton in my Nissan Altima, and I was reminded of how easy it is to change one's mood in order to channel more positive energy, as the sun set in front of me, driving back west on the then-ironically-titled Sunrise Highway.