median

Um, yes, well, they tell me (my mother tells me) that there was thunder and lightning to greet me in the darkness of my small hours arrival. (Perhaps this irregular hour prompted my subsequent insomnia). The storm broke and I arrived in its wake. The preponderance of sixes in my numerology, the devilish permutations, were not, perhaps, a good sign. In the Chinese lexicon, children born in that year should have been placed on hillsides and left for the beasts, for if they lived they would cause trouble.

That was forty years ago. Time enough for me to have screamed for England as some child might do in less than a month's time. (It's still possible). Nearly forty years ago. A few hours short.

I wrote in the Dancer (mutant butoh) about life expectancy. In other epochs, countries, climactic ages, I would be an old man by now, having weathered all that the gods had to throw at me.

In this one, I am still within touching distance of youth. (The minute beckons as I write). Rather than feeling like it's all done and dusted, I still feel as though there's a galaxy of items awaiting attention. (It manifests itself).

Ho hum.
Bring it on (and other such positivistic phraseology.)

The second half.
The next definable chunk.

See what this one has to offer.