(21st century)
There was another fantastical sunset last night, on the drive home. It slipped from heaven's fancy. A consolation for the commute, I suppose. It started as a hint, barely breaking over the mountains. Then it must have dipped under a cloud line; without warning it stretched to the clouds above me in a layer of rippling red. I thought to take a picture but then thought again, and again.
Things come and go, let it be. Enjoy is my new mantra.
I got two more new books yesterday. Used books, new to me, that is. Now a stack sits on the dresser, awaiting my time, my life. I won't have to feel alone. Don DeLillo will be my new imaginary friend.
Soon.
He and I will poke fun at Jerry Stahl together. I, Fatty also awaits.
I will be clamoring for DeLillo to be a Nobel Prize winner also, sometime next year. With my recent history in picking conquerors, like Alice Munro, who knows…. If D.D. weren't American then he just might have a chance. I have tried to read David Foster Wallace, and will try again one day when I have run out of things to do and have resorted to drug addiction to pass the time, and... I don't understand why anybody would claim genius for him and ignore DeLillo. People must truly love a suicide. It is the final mark of a contemporary great. We are encouraged to secretly admire their commitment. What surer sign of lone intensity, Kurt C. taught us.
Too dark. The sun hasn't even arisen since yesterday's performance. Perhaps it will be in a very different mood today. It will be angry to find me here, writing like this in the dark, keeping secrets from the sunrise.
I turn directly around and drive back into the city today. I will reward my efforts with several coffees, all bunched up here towards the morning, and then a few spread out evenly across the remainder of what will be left of the day. My caffeine habits must be fascinating. Hundreds line up each day to hear my wisdom percolating.
I am in the mood to succumb to something this morning. Temptations dance. I wish to remind my weaknesses that they are still loved, also.
We are told the most absurd things about what it means to live, and then we are expected to believe.
I will ponder that at high speeds this morning, bursting past other cars as I race towards the city like a rocket with an aging payload.
.
