BloggingTo Myself

9th January, 2014

Coffee, half a cinnamon role, same news I heard last night, yesterday afternoon, every outlet on the planet.

Stayed in bed┬áso long don’t have time to work on my novel┬ábefore work. Maybe I should just write poetry. Short, malleable, vague. Mysterious and deep, like Ulysses or a computer chip. Alas.

I could believe in something. Get a reason to get up, daily chores with aplomb, happiness. It’s a new year, after all.

Don’t get me wrong. There’s lots of fascinating things in the world to occupy time. And time’s, my time anyway, is finite, a necessary condition of mortality, uh, meaning.

I could believe in something. Helps with family relations, standing in the community, lessens tension at cocktail parties. Path of least resistance.

Another cup of coffee, half a cinnamon role, same news as last night, yesterday, same stories all over the planet.

A Funeral is a Family Reunion

A funeral is a family reunion
All the elements of love are there:
Deep Memories (Anger)
Surprise (Evolution)
Empathy (Emptiness)
Regret (Desire)
Sincerity (Latent Interpretation)
Ego (Agenda)
Forgiveness (Hierarchy)
Breaking Bread (Stirring the Pot)
Compliments (Envy)
Honesty (Novel Interpretation)

By now the sadness has passed, a half-life of reflection lingers, a posthumous friendship, mortality respected.
And a moment of joy may be as simple as forgetting the petty details, or waking up in the morning, not knowing why.