‘Tis here. Again. Dreary weather. Aggressive commercialism. Synthesized prerequisites for communal happiness. And all the wonderful reminders of your own loneliness, a fear in perpetuity. Bah humbug, as said the classic holiday scapegoat. Not the green furry one. The one that’s pretty much C. Montgomery Burns, but in England and more covered in coal dust.
Category: sunday morning thoughts
Sunday Morning Thoughts: 11.25.18
There was a note this morning. Left from myself. Orange paper, stuck to the desk. It read, “it is good for a poet to wait in the rain.”
Sunday Morning Thoughts: 11.18.18
I do feel out of touch. That is not the debate here. Without much or any effort or attention, I easily find myself unconnected. Seeing so much of the world as on the other side of some glass wall. Or worse, a two-way mirror.
Sunday Morning Thoughts: 11.11.18
I am flawed. All are, in some sort of way. Can’t break the mold, as they say. But as my days past turn to years and those years start to pile, I have lost more and more of the fear of those flaws. For some of them can never change. And those that can change,…
