I had a nice visit last night with two Round Bend contributors who hadn't seen each other in, they guessed, nearly twenty years.
K.C. Bacon and Charles Lucas were regulars at a couple of beer joints I worked at in the old days in Northwest Portland, before the neighborhood was infiltrated by its current mass of boutique owners/shoppers and trust fund wastrels.
The old neighborhood changed from working class to speculative shit hole in what felt like days, though it took a little longer than that in reality. For various reasons the old gang split up, only to be regenerated here recently.
I took great pleasure in seeing K.C. and Charles re-united for a couple of hours as we tossed back a few drinks and discussed their recent and current art projects.
It didn't take long for their conversation to turn to matters I am completely unqualified to delve into. You see, both of these artists were once seminarians, albeit of differing disciplines.
My contribution to a discussion of religion can be summarized in one short phrase: "I don't get it."
Then the conversation turned to a text by Huxley which I have had the good fortune to avoid for many years.
But what a great pleasure it was to listen to my friends mull over metaphysics and much else for however long, until I could no longer digest what they were saying, and took leave to go pee.