Sunday, May 19, 2019

Fighting death and kissing nipples

I promise not to write about dub or reggae today, though it is almost all that I wish to write about. It is sad and beautiful and yet somehow triumphant and strong and filled with faith so foreign. 

I am standing up at an adjustable desk that holds my new computer. It is difficult for me to stand for any period of time. Something has changed in my lower back. It no longer has the will to negotiate. I need a desk and a chair, but I keep telling myself that standing is better for me, less sedentary, but the truth is that my body needs the sediment. Whatever sediment used to protect my aching vertebrae has long since abandoned me. One of the results of living is pain. So be it. Let it be. Let be be finale of seem. Keep on keepin' on, and don't ever stop truckin'... whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother... we are probably family, though there's less fish in the sea than there used to be. 

Great minds, quite noticeably, do not think alike. Though that is no reason to presume that you are great when everybody else insists that you're a twat. 

I speak God's truth, you see. 

I just read that this is the wettest year ever. Or, I think that's what I read. It was a headline only, probably about the east coast, but I'm certain the author lives in Sonoma, on my street. 

It is dispiriting, this endless rain. Shifts in weather patterns vex me and they should vex you too. It is an omen, I say, a portent of what will come. 

If you're not wet then you're not paying attention.