Sep. 8th, 2017

monk222: (Global Warming)
Grocery day. So, it's not that my blurty mood was a quickly passing thing. Just busy.

Clearing my way through my backed-up Twitter feed, I come across a nice quote on the record-breaking hurricanes and tropical storms and runaway wildfires we are experiencing lately.

Patrick Monahan tweeted, "The planet is rejecting the human race like a bad organ transplant."

Komala Hayes responded, "That's straight up George Carlin! You rock!"

For a lot of us, this shake-up of the environment is still mostly just a wild spectacle that we can watch on TV, so that we are free to just banter about it, the ultimate reality-TV. But it is like gallows humor. We might not be caught in it and getting torn apart in these planetary gears quite yet, but I think we feel the uneasiness of knowing that it is only a matter of time and our turn is coming.

Sometimes the sky really is falling. I know I am braced for the blade to drop on my neck at anytime, perhaps not by flood or fire, but a very old man's health and my poverty will work destruction well enough, even if it doesn't make the news.

monk222: (Primal Hunger)
Baudelaire's "Flowers of Evil" is back at the top of my little stack of poetry books. I have the tendency to stick it back in the bottom rather than read from it. I expected something very different. I thought I was going to hear the voice of mean poverty that mocks all the conventions and all the gods, and understands that life is a sick joke. Instead, you could have reasonably guessed that you were reading Byron, if you were not told the writer beforehand. The translation is well-rhymed and metered, quite pretty, but ... paeans to beautiful women just fall flat on me at this time.


Sep. 8th, 2017 08:40 pm
monk222: (Mori: by tiger_ace)
Pop returns late, after getting Kay's groceries, and he informs me, "Carlos is losing two of his toes." Diabetes, presumably.

I said, "Oh, yeah." I said it so coldly that I might as well have said, "Who cares?"

Carlos and I were close in my childhood and teens, or that is how I felt. I sort of regarded him as my big brother. But I never really talked to him again since I began college. I guess that he did not feel that close to me, seeing me more as a distant cousin that he had to entertain when Art came to town. I suppose I resent it that he did not somehow help to pick me up in my failure, showed me that I had a friend. In truth, I don't see how we could have connected in any life-meaningful way, but feelings do not have to be rational.


monk222: (Default)

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