I have had a pleasant past two days. I put on my mask and went grocery shopping. Oh. . . I had forgotten the joys of Fresh Market. I hadn't even known some of them. Since I am free, I was able to go at a slow hour. The store was fairly empty. I got to peruse the produce, pick through the meats, buy some bread and breakfast loafs, get yogurt and cheeses. I hadn't been since the last time Ili and I had gone, however, and there was a sadness there. Then Publix, the all-purpose store. A new toothbrush, some canned goods and bags of beans. It was more crowded and not as much fun. Still, I won't need to go for a very long time.
It reminded me of normal.
I went to my mother's house with beer at the appropriate time. It was fun, then the storm blew in. Rain, sure, but lightening like you wouldn't believe. I have been hit indirectly by lightening twice. Neither time was fun. I have been at 17,000 feet in a whiteout in an electrical storm with nowhere to hide. I am not a fan of lightening.
When I came home, I made a fantastic dinner and turned on the news. That was a mistake. CNN. It was all about the Minnesota killing and riots. You are either on one side or the other, it seems. Everything is polarized. But I am not the type. I hate both sides. I watched it all, but then I felt horrendous.
I cleaned up to the news.
I am tired of the word "community." I am tired of emotional arguments. I am tired of white people and black people. How can you stand on one side or the other? It is idiotic.
I'd rather slice my cucumber and dab a bit of my privileged bleu cheese on it. I'd rather nibble at a date nut roll.
Hell, I'd rather eat my Ruffles Cheddar Cheese Chips.
I can't fix anything. I've tried my whole life. It doesn't work. Now I'm lucky to just move along.
The rain continues to fall. My house is a mess and only money will fix it, but I no longer work and have that income. If I can't fix it, it may not get done. And even if I can, it mightn't.
I've been beaten by black people for being white. I've been beaten by white people for being for civil rights. I am on a federal watchlist for being a radical. Nobody likes me.
As The Wicked Witch of the West opines, "What a world."
Yup. What a world.
.*.*.*.
I woke to a world worse off than when I went to bed. Now they are arresting journalists in the street. Trump fuels hate and fear. It seems to be all there is now, hate and fear.
This is not shaping up to be a good year.
It is the summer of 68 only both sides have more lethal weapons and 24 hours coverage.
ReplyDeleteMy brother and I were foolish hillbillies who liked to sneak out at night and walk around the city in which I was born and raised. In the summer of 68 we both barely escaped with our lives when the rollercade down the street along the railroad tracks went up in flames and some of the more enthusiastic members of the revelers started chasing after us. We escaped through underground culverts we had explored along the Little Cuyahoga.
One summer of 68 is I think enough for a lifetime.
But Holy Fuck, this one is hotter, in the midst of a pandemic, a real fucking fascist controls the executive branch with most of his party fully behind him, and everybody has a bigger arsenal including rocket launchers and automatic weapons.
It is a good thing they taught us "duck and cover" in grammar school.
ReplyDeleteNothing from Eden in three pictures
1.
I think she's shy.
Staring at the note,
I know it's wrong,
Maybe I misspelled something,
or left something out,
or lied,
or was just mistaken,
2.
I was in the marketplace
bartering for souls,
selling cheap wine
with a fast line
and counting on my toes
and when I found my self
at home,
a curious place,
I lit some candles
wondering
as the world beat itself to death
wailing outside my door.
3.
Yes,
I hear the cat,
15 years and no tail,
been gone all night,
and looks like hell,
what do you expect me
to do
Tell her she can't go?
she'd only growl
and disappear
for a while,
again,
not my style anyway
I just put the dishes out.
I was scrolling Tom's poems this morning - he certainly has enough about Murica. But this rolled up in front of me and it seemed right. This was writ well over 15 years ago.
It is in a category called: Autobiography containing Scattered thoughts
I attempt to remain stupid and uninformed. It hurts too much otherwise. And what can I do?
This is no place for old people, this world. We must remain young.
ReplyDelete