If I believed in magic and religion and goblins and fate, I'd believe the world is talking to me tonight. The wind is fierce, ripping and tearing limbs of huge trees as if they were scraps of paper. It's coming out of the south, adding the blast of a southern wind to the awfully heated air. I don't like this; I never have and never will.
It's as if the supreme booggity shepherd were saying, "You're going to pay, motherfucker, for what you'd done to this earth." And I can't help but believe the supreme booggity shepherd is right. We're going to pay.
Maybe not yet. Maybe not my generation, at least any more than we already have. And we have. We've paid by living in crowds while staying in family farms that, half a generation ago, would have been utterly private.
I could go on. I won't. I miss the real world of my childhood. It's gone. Oh, shit, it's gone.
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The guy who writes this...
- Springer Kneeblood
- The purpose of this blog is to give its keeper a place to record his thoughts, a place to learn from his visitors, and a place to learn from himself. I am a man who knows little of himself, but much about little.
3 comments:
It doesn't seem to be gone in Nova Scotia (yet!), but yup, in my travels, I've noticed it gone just about everywhere else. I must say that, on this spring's homeward bound trip, I saw much to discourage - but that's a topic for some other day.
Some really hard stuff you're plowing through there,Springer. Here's me cheering you on in the background.
;-)
Some days I feel so much gloom and hopelessness. Maybe tomorrow will be better.
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