"You're just a virgin who CAN'T DRIVE."
I've driven more in the last week than I have in years. As I am not a sexually active person, it would be safe to say I have driven more than I have had sex. Both activities are metaphors for freedom and later, responsibility.
So this week has been filled with crashes of all sorts, financial and helicopter and the world spins madly on. Even from the safety of my air-conditioned tomb and rapidly expanding library, current events seep through with the circulated air. These are dark times. While they are no darker than periods previous, it seems like the atmosphere is tinged with a bit more anxiety and the whiff of fear is redolent on the sporadic summer breezes.
There is a large framed portrait of Marilyn Monroe that my niece and nephew have recently noticed. Biz, 5, remarked on her beauty as did my nephew Roman, 3. They asked me when they could meet her. I told them she was dead. They wanted to know how. I decided not to answer that question. Then we spiraled into a frank discussion about death and dying. All this while making Mac n' Peas. Rationality is not lost on children. They know they will die. I will die probably before them and so on.
The future is happening and there is no return policy.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Friday, August 5, 2011
Rear Window
It is not inertia alone... (Rilke)
The patterns of alienation and ethnography that mistake themselves for progress appeared today, slow and simple like the dropping temperature of late. A new place and the oft repeated phrase of going out and making friends, widening the pre-existing circles we find ourselves surrounded by. Much like the rings left by discarded cups, we can only guess the circumstances of the fading stains. The new person dynamic, the evolving hierarchies of favor and fortune is enough to ensure I will spend most Fridays in my own company. I seem to be the one that is forever unaware of time zones, National Holidays and the ilk. I suppose unaware isn't the right word, unimpressed would be more accurate. Observe and report, kvetch and retort.
The patterns of alienation and ethnography that mistake themselves for progress appeared today, slow and simple like the dropping temperature of late. A new place and the oft repeated phrase of going out and making friends, widening the pre-existing circles we find ourselves surrounded by. Much like the rings left by discarded cups, we can only guess the circumstances of the fading stains. The new person dynamic, the evolving hierarchies of favor and fortune is enough to ensure I will spend most Fridays in my own company. I seem to be the one that is forever unaware of time zones, National Holidays and the ilk. I suppose unaware isn't the right word, unimpressed would be more accurate. Observe and report, kvetch and retort.
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