Top down lights off beauty aloft skirt tight lips glossed shades on flouting as if the sun were shining oh, it really is
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My love How can my love be true While I am not true to myself
The Long Goodbye
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I reluctantly accept myself Crotchety father reluctantly embracing gay son swallowing private tears farewell society and cherished hopes for this
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Without, the old storm dooms Within, the wee soul blooms
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Foom! Pine needles thrash me with its limb of snow Foom! Again Foom! and I look up from my jogging, from eyes down against the drifting flakes The elegantly dressed forest standing still — a white stag — blinks at me content to be finally seen
Jogging In Snow
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I’d take a fall for snow
Fall for Snow
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Truth on paper what a mess Me, Othello, longing black and white in real life I'm colored
Color Theory
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I have a small part in a movie “Doing Australia”.
The film has these inane catch-phrases shared as an inside joke ending in “Doing Australia” or just, in non-sequitur, “Australia”.
Example:
Main Character: The car was going so fast it was doing Australia.
We are decorating my house. It’s not my house; it’s my character’s house.
It’s not a house; it’s a room. It’s part of the movie set in an office building.
I walk around the room with the well-dressed lady interior decorator. I suggest a few alterations.
She deftly explains the reasoning behind the design; at once I am educated and, without qualm, abandon my earlier line of thinking.
I comment on this, admiring for the skillful tact she must have to constantly employ to surmount the power plays by famous actors and respected directors. She gives a knowing assent.
I’m happy to have a part in a movie. Then, I pause and sadly consider I have separated myself from so many others, I now have no one close to celebrate this good happening with.
As we casually exit my house — the room, rather — some forlorn actors begin to gather their things to leave. They are leaving for good, out of a job. Perhaps they are leaving their profession. Boohoo.
I lightly join some fellow actors in nearby room. We gather to gab. Ah, here’s the famous co-star now.
“Would you like to ???? Australia?” he jovially asks.
I return with a surprised, unknowing gesture.
He adds, “Night, eh?” as if to make it clear.
My prolonged reluctance to accept the jest unnerves him and he goes off in a huff.
I’m mad. I stew, then I pound my fist into the chair over and over.
“It’s good to express my anger,” I think. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spy the director observing me.
“Perhaps I have acted well and have pleased the director,” I wonder to myself.
It’s Doing Australia
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After getting hooked on Bowie’s “Is there life on Mars?” for a couple weeks, came across this in The Portable Jung
It is particularly fatal for such people [those who sequestered their youth] to look back. For them a prospect and a goal in the future are absolutely necessary. That is why all great religions hold out the promise of a life beyond, of a supra mundane goal which makes it possible for mortal man to live the second half of life with as much purpose and aim as the first. For the man of today the expansion of life and its culmination are plausible goals, but the idea of life after death seems to him questionable or beyond belief. Life’s cessation, that is, death, can only be accepted as a reasonable goal either when existence is so wretched that we are only too glad for it to end, or when we are convinced that the sun strives to its setting “to illuminate distant races” with the same logical consistency it showed in rising to the zenith. But to believe has become such a difficult art today that it is beyond the capacity of most people, particularly the educated part of humanity. They have become too accustomed to the thought that, with regard to immortality and such questions, there are innumerable contradictory opinions and no convincing proofs. And since “science” is the catchword that seems to carry the weight of absolute conviction in the contemporary world, we ask for “scientific” proofs. But educated people who can think know very well that proof of this kind is a philosophical impossibility. We simply cannot know anything what so ever about such things.
May I remark that for the same reasons we cannot know, either, whether something does happen to a person after death? No answer of any kind is permissible, either for or against. We simply have no definite scientific knowledge about it one way or the other, and are therefore in the same position as when we ask whether the planet Mars is inhabited or not. And the inhabitants of Mars, if there are any, are certainly not concerned whether we affirm or deny their existence. They many exist or they may not. And that is how it stand with so-called immortality — with which we may shelve the problem.
Life On Mars
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…
The tree was artificial. To save myself embarrassment and to avoid the sad truth, every day I’d water the tree, hoping the damp earth that supported lifeless limbs would detract and speak care where there was no life to care for.
Watering the Artificial Tree
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