Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Poppy Tears

(Afghani Dreams)

I don't want to leave the bed in winter. When I do, I only wish to return. If I had a fireplace then I would sit next to it nightly in a big chair, wearing slippers and a robe, smoking opium, if I can get it.

I know now why my friend told me not to look at the tv or internet last night. Ferguson. There are a variety of ways to feel about what is happening there, then there are two types of people that insist that you feel just as they do, without variation. It depends on where you see injustice. Some people are all for law and order, and some are a little too much for it.

One thing that I did find humorous about all of it was an online post I saw: If you were killed by a cop, which store would you want looted in your memory.

It all seems senseless, particularly the part about the grand jury never indicting a cop. I wonder if there has ever been a grand jury that didn't indict a cop killer. That should help serve as a comparative basis when considering what justice is, or should be.

I might write about it more. I just don't feel up to it now. 

Today is my last day of work for a little while. Tomorrow we leave to visit my father's family for Thanksgiving. Cusicks meet Cusicks, familia y familia. We will drive west from Denver through the Rockies tomorrow when we arrive. It is a beautiful drive. I look forward to it each and every time that I've done it. It offers a true sense of passage.

That's all there is to report from the personal essay desk this morning. If anything changes then you will be the first to know.

Keep your eyes on this blank space: