broken glass

I don’t think there is anything more to say. Or I can’t remember why I thought this was important. You wake up and it was not a dream. The world is turned around, and you can’t turn it back. Alone, or in the many. This is the unimaginable. Maybe there is a hush outside before it happens as people clear the streets. Maybe there is the sound of thunder. I recall the sound of the tremors, earth roaring, windows blasted out, the foundation doesn’t hold because it was never bolted in place. Just a pretence of structure, blown over in an ill wind.  because its cheaper that way. And winds like this don’t happen every day.

I am mixing metaphors. All the disasters come together. Including those I didn’t go through.

______________

Watching the movie version of Hair — a hatchet job on an effective play. I saw it when I was twelve. And after, I listened to the Broadway soundtrack incessantly. Let the sunshine in. It moved me. It was a soundtrack that made sense to me then. Much of it is dated now and uncomfortable. But maybe there is a wheel or more there that will need reinventing in the same terms as the original.

Reading in the news about school children weeping in the aftermath of the election. They have much to weep for.

_______________

All the comedy seems off as well. Nothing funny anymore from this vantage point. True of many parts of the world, this one now too. Analogy to me. Suffering is everywhere. Now me too.  Am I railing at the injustice of it? Or am I just too tired. Do I remember better times? Not so much. It’s like all the talk has changed. The dreams make no sense, just pass the time and then jerk you awake with a start. The temperatures are all wrong. None of the muscles work right.The mess in your own house.  It gets on top of you. Conversations are all pending a day that won’t come. And still, it takes too damed long.

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