Sunday, February 28, 2021

Being Cool Under A Not So Cold Snow Moon

 


Did you get to see the full moon last night?  Me, neither.  I went out for a moment, but the sky was cloudy.  Perhaps I gave up too easily, but I hadn't the energy for waiting.  I mean, I had things to do.  Ha!  

I probably did have things I should do, but I did nothing.  That pill I took the night before must have been a 24-36 hour thing.  I didn't wake up all day.  Oh, I got up in the morning and did the usual in a very thick cloud, and I even walked to the FedEx and UPS stores to see if they had boxes the right size for shipping my prints. UPS did, and I told them I'd be back.  Then I went home and made a big sausage, egg, and waffle breakfast.  I wanted mimosas but had no champagne, so a beermosa had to do.  Afterwards, I was too tired to even clean up.  I went back to bed and didn't wake up until after four.  Of course UPS was closed by then.  Closed Sunday, too. 

I showered and went to see my mother.  

Then I ordered food.  

Of course it is important for me to show you a photo of my meal.  That is what people do.  It is like you didn't even eat if you don't share a picture.  It is important not only for you to see the photograph, though, but to know that I got my meal from a very hip hipster place, and that I was cool there.  That is so very important for you to know.  Coolio.  I even sent the photo to my buddy who says that those kimchi battered extra crispy wings are the best you can get.  Yes, only that could succor the fact that I was eating alone in front of the television watching a reality t.v. show.  I should leave out that last part and just go with the how hip I am stuff maybe.  

The lost point of it all, though, is that I never woke up.  After more beer and a couple of scotches and several back to back episodes of "Below Deck Mediterranean," I hit the CBD oil and was off to bed.  

All by way of saying, I did not see the moon.  But I did sleep a full eight hours.  

I am a drug wimp.  I don't know how people do what they do with drugs.  I can drink fine, and I enjoy it, but drugs fuck me up in ways they don't seem to effect others.  As much as I admire Uncle Billy in "Love Actually," I am not like him.  

Just say no, kids.  

Except to opioids.  There, just remember--Safety First.  

I just looked up "opium overdose" on Google.  I wanted to see if it is possible to overdose smoking opium.  Here is what it says on the Drug Free Partnership to End Addiction website:

Opium can cause euphoria, followed by a sense of well-being and a calm drowsiness or sedation.

Well, that doesn't sound awful.  

The sun is shining and the sky is blue and it will soon be over 90 degrees.  Snow Moon?  People have fled their cold and damp homes in the north, it seems.  Hotel and motel prices along the coast have doubled--if you can even manage to get a room.  Pandemic?  Not in this state.  The governor says that sunshine and liquor will cure anything, especially an ailing economy.  

I need to see if it can cure me.  

3 comments:



  1. "Oh wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind."

    That Mr. Shelley. Poem friend Mushika is part-Shelley.




    I had to go read him. And bring him back. Hope you don't mind.

    I didn't leave the sofa yesterday. Only late, to take the whining dog out and play ball in the leftover mist of an utterly dank and rainy day. I know it could have been worse - it could have been snow. Alas, it was 55 degrees upon entering the gloam. It was a strange day. I guess my body just needed to do almost nothing. I am fully Vaccinated you know.

    But my 89 year old mother has only had 1 shot with no details about her second. WTF. THE WORST ROLLOUT OF A PUBLIC HEALTH PANDEMIC IN HISTORY.

    Oh there was no pandemic. It's all made up.

    Don't get me started.

    Every once in a while I go down and play with my collage creations. That's fun. I'm very messy though.

    Today I did some visiting. I went to the Shop which hasn't had a very productive month. Short and February on Cape Cod and all. Stopped in to see my girl Charlotte. Etc.

    Tomorrow is March 1st. Holy Shit! I walked the yard this morning and found it - Spring. I pushed dirt here and there. The Snowdrops are up and I have one delicate little blossom. And the Sedum is getting little baby sedum heads. Nothing on the Rhubarb yet.

    I miss walking my dogs outside. They are going to fuck with the Clock soon right? Well. My car clock will be accurate again that's something. At least when I get home it will be light and I can go out.

    I'm making Ma & I dinner. I have had a spiral ham in the downstairs fridge - needed to be cooked. So it's in the oven. It will provide many, many meals that can be frozen. Pea soup Ma will make with the bone. I'll cube some for mixing in anything. It's close to bacon but. Whatever. It isn't like I'm going to eat it every day in huge quantities. I haven't had a ham in the house since Easter - when did we last have Easter? I mean with people. The Lord doth Risen Every Year.

    Oh tonight I'm making risotto from scratch. Ugh. It's hard - so I'll toss into the risotto, asparagus and some ham. Top with pepper and parm. Comfort food. I better go get stirring that risotto.






    Melusine

    The untuned music of a mouth clasped key,
    Seals my mountain prison, the last sound
    But that of my thoughts, and the rot
    Of all these riches coiled and piled
    Like snakecharmer smoke.

    Keep me company, now, by reading
    My palm or telling wild fortunes
    From a brightly bannered wagon.
    Foretell some curse, some ancient doom
    And make me tea in my solitude.

    When to draw water from and empty stream?
    This night the castle’s turrets tumble,
    Ravaged only by awkward silence and flight.

    I Imagine the dorymen on the river cry:
    “Serpent, flesh tongue and beauty,
    No stone could sink so slowly.”

    Their voices consumed by moth and moon.
    As they ply their course through Éislek
    To weave strange songs in Picardy.

    ReplyDelete
  2. The Snow Moon, eh?

    “Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the woke.”

    The woke have gone completely over the deep end. Well, that is not entirely true – they started at the deep end and have gone completely over – where?

    Did you know that if you are a white person and post a picture of a black person that is JUST AS BAD as doing blackface???

    It’s what the woke are saying. I think people who cannot distinguish between a picture of Al Jolson in Sambo makeup and a picture of Idris Elba are intellectually stunted. Oh and someday look upon the whole controversy on non-binary lesbians. There is i internecine war among the woke in how women who might like to fuck other women are labeled. Of course the whole business is amusing to me. Like watching an alley cat fight when one has no vested intertest in either of the cats.

    I grew of age in the hippy era but was self-aware enough to recognize the irony of the youth of America all dressing exactly alike , talking alike, and listening to the exact same music in order to separate themselves from the conformity of their parent’s generation and be unique “individuals.” I was as disliked among my fellow hippies as I was among the older generation for those observations.

    I only mention this a am means of justifying my disdain for the current woke generation’s search for unique identities by labeling everyone. A unique person would eschew labels. I do not think they are awake at all.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Oh my literary friends. . . I am dry.

    ReplyDelete