King of Pain

    I saw Sting perform live for the third time in my life last Saturday. It has been six days since then. I have listened to his music most of his life. I cannot tell you how many times I have heard his songs and his albums, partially or completely. His words and tunes haunt and inspire me. Sometimes they sooth, sometimes the messages or thoughts tantalize me. Sometimes they seem to explain or heal me. 

    His song, "King of Pain" seems to be what he tries to achieve through his art. He told us last weekend under a wet, dark night sky that love stories where the people love each other unequivically (my word) does not interest him so much. He cannot get into that "close loop".

    Messy love is his forte, it would seem.

    Thus we are: broken, bruised, needing of a balm and calming tones and assurances.

    It is okay. We can be fragile, and hurt, and penitent.

    We love it, Sting.

 All the good, the scary, the forlorn, the nostalgic, and the pleads for relief.

    Thank you!

    Thanks to my lover and my loved ones, too. My higher powers and life itself.

    Art and beauty.

    It sums up Sumner.