Creation, Grace, and the Hunter's Moon

I fall further out of grace with the powers at the factory.  I can tell.  It is in the mouth and in the eyes.  They can't lie.  They don't think I am cute and funny any more.  They don't even think I'm smart.  How do such things happen.  As Hemingway says, two ways, first slowly, then quickly.  None of what they think is true, though.  I am.  Still am.  Unbelievably am.  They are very mistaken.

Torpor.  There are different kinds.  My creative torpor may be ending as I pass into social hibernation.  I must be a social ghost to do creative work.  Periods of intensity followed by a night of social drunkenness.  Then isolation, meditation, a cleansing and a hollowing out.  Wash, Rinse, Spin, Repeat.

Last night my body hurt so badly, I took some old codeine I found in a drawer, pills a coworker gave me man years ago.  I don't know if it helped.  I need to gently stretch for a long, long time.  Yoga without all the hard moves.  Yoga for two by fours.

Just now, some sunlight grays the skies.  A rainy day is forecast.  I would like to just sit at home today and let my imagination wander, but I have a brutal schedule at the factory all week long.  It will have to suffice that I bought a loaf of "breakfast bread" that I will toast with an olive oil topping and eat with coffee or maybe milk.  It is autumn.  I must pack on some fat for the winter.

The cat has come in this morning for a little while.  She stays outside most of the time now.  She is old and wobbly and doesn't like to be inside.  Ili spoiled her by giving her cans of wet food every night.  She just wanted to make her happy here at the fin de vie I guess.  Now the cat is ruined and I have to continue with the new tradition.  But this morning, she wants some love.  I reach down and pet her where she leans against my leg, she now all bone and skin, so frail to the touch.  Immediately, my face begins to swell.  I am terribly allergic to her.  The cat, I mean.

If it is not rainy after work, I will take a long walk.  The gym seems to ugly and violent just now.  It seems terrible.  I want to go see things.  Tonight is the full moon, a Super Moon, they say.  The Hunter's Moon.  I will try to revel in its might and submit to a lunar healing.  It is such a melancholy thing filled with searching and longing.  That is all we can hope for like these woodcuts from Kent.  It should be enough.