… Phantom Captain by Kim Rosenfield.
… Yellow Brick Pilgrim by Joseph Farley.
… there are people who don’t get on with music even though they’re not deaf, stupid or ignorant.
Compare the response to George Floyd’s death with what happened when a pro-Palestinian demonstrator, Loay Abdelfattah Alnaji allegedly murdered a Jewish man, Paul Kessler.
Old age is a slippery slope, but if you enjoyed sledding as a kid and improvising ever since, it shouldn’t be degrading. A pile of books-on-tape or unread magazines, a dog learning that its once-wise owner, huffing and puffing, has become worryingly fallible. No more “bearding the lion,” so to speak; we’re in survival mode, our eyes with crow’s-feet around them from squinting. Old age is not for sissies, the saying goes, though sissies undergo it. Passively, however, there are rewards, like no alarm clocks and the precedence given when traveling. Young folk feign curiosity asking about family history. Dozing off is forgiven and often a pleasure, and bores aren’t insulted.
There is no denying the loss of cultural salience of the book in our world. The evidence is everywhere. When I travel on the Paris Metro, for example, I look around me to see who is reading a book: to which the answer is, usually, no one. By contrast, it is not unusual—in fact it is usual—to be surrounded by ten or even twenty people all to a man or woman glued ocularly to their telephone screens.
… the Hamas killers 80 years later attached GoPro cameras to their helmets so they could livestream their atrocities over social media. Although the Nazis burnt Jews alive in barns on their retreat in 1945, they did not film themselves doing it. There are plenty of photographs of Nazis standing around death-pits full of Jewish corpses, but these were taken for private delectation rather than public consumption.
V
Nothing wrong with changing the subject,
Especially if it’s back to the original one.
We’re meant to harness and mount
Thought, not be trampled
Or dragged through the dust,
The choking cloud of plausibility.
And when we figure something
Out, we had better giddy up
Not just sit there.
IV
He kicked a stone along the sidewalk
For a bit this afternoon, while walking back
From Center City, where he went looking
For a book, which he found, but found as well
He didn’t just now want after all, which is not to say
The trip was a waste of time, since
He did, in the end, get a kick out of it.He kicked a stone along the sidewalk
For a bit this afternoon, while walking back
From Center City, where he went looking
For a book, which he found, but found as well
He didn’t just now want after all, which is not to say
The trip was a waste of time, since
He did, in the end, get a kick out of it
It is embarrassing that America ranks 25th in education in the world. As states like New York and Oregon redefine and/or eliminateproficiency standards, this decline will accelerate. With our public schools producing a lower-quality student body, our global university rankings continue to decline as they lower standards in response to students’ capabilities.
Recent college grads I have encountered have seemed remarkably ignorant — though they sure had some firm ideological beliefs.
… I recommended an insistence that students and administrators alike are aware that shout-downs, disruptions of events, and mob censorship will not be tolerated. Every time there is a shout-down, a de-platforming, or a canceling on campus, the school needs to do an investigation asking two questions: Did administrators do anything to stop it? Did administrators do anything to encourage it? Failing at the first should get an administrator in trouble. Failing at the second should get them fired. Donors, with their immense power and influence, can do a lot on these fronts.
Observation
Now and then one needs a bit of chaos,
Even when grown old, perhaps then
Most of all, end time nearing, though questions
Still can be answered. Things seem so strange now,
The way they did, most likely, at the start.
In between, he’d acted like he had a clue.
Now he knows he never did, and sure
In hell doesn’t have one now. Little’s left
To happen, but something could prove momentous.
These days, brushing his hair, paying attention
To each stroke, he drifted into feeling
Without words, and simply was, alive
Past comprehension. That was the hard part:
Just saying yes. Leaping into being.
I am about to take off for a visit to my dear wife, who is currently in a nursing home. Blogging will have tomtake a back seat for awhile.
III
Walking home the other night
A whiff of mown grass
Sped him in a moment elsewhere
Only for a moment
Years past.
The Miracle of Breathing
By Jennifer Knox
Behold the miracle of breathing.
The bliss of nearly sleeping, dappled vision,
Spinning amongst carnations, lilies, and roses,
Remembering beloved faces of children.
She can't see, but imagines clouds above
Of sun-drenched apricot, ecstatic birds
Flying together above it all.
A heart can dream, even when it's in shards.
The food is not good, but somewhere there is love —
A family waiting for her to come home,
And meanwhile the miracle of breathing
Serves as the last bastion of joy.
“She's unresponsive.” Her hand feels more like a claw.
“Shall we turn off the machines and let her die?”
The Ultima Thule of Gettysburg fandom is embodied in a Pittsburgh man who has amassed a stupendous collection of its props and costumes and who says that he has seen the movie (which in its briefest version runs 254 minutes) an astounding 3,000 times — a claim reminiscent of Wilt Chamberlain’s boast that he had conjugated with 20,000 women. One may admire the dedication of both men but…really?
The actual anniversary was yesrpterday.
I introduced Antonia at the Library a couple of times, and we had dinner together a couple of times She was a delightful person. Eternal rest grant unto her O Lord.
Ii
The poem he was looking to write was one
Somebody who had never met him
Could take as an introduction
I
Habit makes things you don’t want to do
So easy you do them anyway all the time.
It’s like finding out very late
You’ve taken a wrong turn
And must go a long way back
Before you can even start
Heading for home.
You can imagine the brainstorming for County Highway: “Remember when Rolling Stone was cool?” “Remember when you could say whatever you want, like the early days of National Lampoon magazine?”
Dandelion seed puffball you are mine.
Ghostly halo of love's beauty, you are
Like my love limed in moonlight when he comes,
When all is silvery shivers blown away.
Dandelion seed puffball you are mine.
Both of us used to mirror the sun.
Now being a shadow of what once was,
Silvery as the mirror of my love.
Dandelion seed puffball you are mine.
Blessed with wishes for the offering to abound
A dark listening mansion in my dreams
With a table set for loves long lost.
Someday they'll say: “When she grew old her hair grew dandelion gray,
As if her every wish could catch the wind and fly away.”
I am about to take off for a visit to Debbie. That takes priority over blogging. Back later.