WORLD SWEEP DAY

 

Friday, March 15, 2024

WORLD SWEEP DAY? NO. SLEEP DAY. OH, NEVERMIND!

          60 in the air. 61 in the pool. Degrees to or through which we navigate, contemplate, the breeze light, sky, appearing ‘sky’ blue, because we just can’t capitulate to cornflower blue being the color of the day, because, you know, CORN. It’s yellow, and the sky here even though it actually isn’t blue (The trick is the light and our eyes.), it’s on a color chart comparison, titled thus, and close enough to what we’re now and have been witnessing.

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Saturday, March 16, 2024

          PARSIFAL Mozaic? No, that’s not it. Pernicious. Perfidy. Untenable. WHAT is the deal that gets you out of bed going so full of “?” that you simply must MOVE? Some way shape form of pattern(s). SPRING? In the air? IN your step? Practicality. You would feel much more at rest and at ease if simply it would be (you consider), that asleep you slept until only one time, hours ahead of where you were or are now taking yourself to the toilet say and writing describing in great detail how only if you could at Peace just stay asleep from when initially @ 8 or 9.40 PM went under, and then @ 7.30 say or 5.00 gently wake-oh-hey. I am alive. OKAY. Let’s … I’m thirsty-must poop, or micturate. Must hit our grocery by around 6 when it’s most @ peace & you can meander, gathering your necessities in a calm cool comfortable non rushing judgmental manner. The roads to/from calm as well or at least uncluttered. That’s the thing. The real deal of continued peace bliss. We’ve so much to be thankful for. We don’t live in the UKRAINE, Middle East-Haiti! Good LORD! We ARE with so much FUNCTIONING infrastructure here now. PEACE. Blessed. Fortunate like we don’t even care. It’s absolutely insane out and about. Who cares, right? We complain because the heater keeps coming on and waking us up.

          Know a woman whose kids and spouse the spouse doesn’t hardly recognize. A worker who’s caring for an Aunt who might just need hospice housing at this point. Sister with dental work, implants, cavities, bone loss, needing mending, reconstruction? Papa who’s probably never going to be able to drive an automobile again. Mother who’s being attacked by the skin on her body as are we a bit, but with this lady like JOB of the bible, being severely tested.

          But who am I kidding? I have it made in the shade so luckily ‘blissed’. {And spoiledly blessed.} Don’t we? Of course. Of course we do. It’s not like a or the devil comes out of the blue to test you and if you fail…if you fail? What does that even mean? Where would you go? Where does anyone?

          We live we die. We came from nothing and perhaps will return. Why do we persist? Why ask why? Why not?

          We’re all the same and love is blind...We’re all facets of God experiencing life, as near as I can determine, and that’s about it. This thing called life. ON. Or at least here now this. And when the body ceases to function, well, it’s all over. The world ends as far as it is, goes, concerns it, as far as I know, or we can say.

          Why cover up the corpse? Look at it. Mourn. Get all bent out of shape, into a rage. Scream and yell. Jump up and down. It’s not fair. No. It’s not you. Count yourself lucky? Maybe. Yes. I guess it’s true. The flesh after awhile gives up or can no longer be sustained. It ceases to function. That’s the fact, Jack/Jill. It will fetch no more pails of water. One day, one fine fantabulous sky, lit up cloud, morning has broken time, it’ll be that you’ll break your crown. You’ll fall on your cracked and holy arse and be down for the count. You’ll be no more. Join the choir invisible. Become an ex-parrot. And so what? It is a good thing. Truly. To have lived. As best you are able. Why not? Why not indeed?

          IF you want to spray rubbing alcohol on your bed at night and watch what happens, go ahead. If you think you must wrap your doorknobs with aluminum foil, be our guest. Sure. Why not? Put your vehicle’s side mirrors into plastic zippered bags. Who cares? Take a toothpick to the bottom of your Android phone occasionally and clean out pocket lint. Who gives a rat’s posterior? Not everyone is doing it, but who knows?

          People write letters. Who knows just how it affects us or contributes to the world? Maybe it doesn’t add one participle, hanging, dangling or otherwise. But is fun. It is something at least while it lasts, isn’t it? I think so. I believe it is. It does for me. And that is important. Enough. So there. Good On You. Good for all as far as we are concerned. Why not? Why not indeed!

 

 

 

 

 

Parsifal, (opera by Richard Wagner)

Parsifal Mosaic, (novel by Robert Ludlum)