Did you hear the news? That's right. . . America has declared war on itself. What did you think, that the Great Experiment in Democracy was going to last? It was too much to ask. There is too much to know, too much to keep up with. People want a Fuhrer. Unless they are hippies, of course. They want something closer to a soothsayer. It is difficult to comprehend that we may be, according to some astrologers, in another Age of Aquarius.
But seriously, if you saw that woman with that backpack, would you be worried? What if you knew she had been out drinking with Rudy?
The markets are down. There's a mystery. What is spooking investors? As my republican friends say, where there is pain, there is opportunity.
I need to mention that if I were a REAL writer, one who wrote a thing then set it aside for a day and went back and edited it, I would have said that the road is both metaphorical and concrete. Man. . . I missed a real opportunity there.
I always wonder how many people click on the links I put in my post. I wonder how many people listen to the music.
The most immediate question, though, is whether those last two sentences should have ended with question marks. They are not really interrogative sentences. I am simply declaring that I wonder. Still, I'll bet many people would have ended with a "?". I am quizzical over the dumbest of things. I wonder, for instance, how many people would incorrectly have written "If I WAS a real writer"? And then. . . should I really use a question mark there?
As you can tell, I have no stories today, nothing to report. I don't even care to opine. I don't want to go to the gym, either. Today is the day I should go to the springs and swim again. But I think I would rather not do anything. Not because I'm depressed. It's because I feel good. I just want to walk around and see things, chat with people, be beautiful. What? Did I go too far? Well. . . that's how I feel. And maybe that is just what I'll do. I have a five o'clock appointment with the gym crew at the Irish pub, so there is that. A couple pints and some fried Reuben rolls.
Oh. . . the season has officially changed in my bedroom. The months progress from black and yellow to orange then red. That is how I experienced the months of autumn in elementary school, anyway, marked by colored paper and rolls of crepe. I remember how our bodies tingled with the anticipation of each holiday. Good God how we celebrated. But life was simpler and more primitive then. Analog, not digital.
I've grown jaded, I think, except in memory. There the old emotions are strong as ever. A gang of kids talking about how they would costume for Halloween. The school party beforehand. It was our heathen celebration before the patriotic and then the religious ones. Funny to think now that all three were sanctified. We lived in remembered/repeated time, sacred moments recreated year after year after year. Ceremony and traditions that would become overly commercialized until they meant little or nothing at all. But I'll still celebrate in my quiet way, changing the bedspread in my bedroom.
I may buy a pumpkin soon.