A Day in the Life of An Ongoing Apocalypse

Early this morning I thought about what to
post on *fait accompli* after a devastating
night like last night. Then I remembered
the writing of Susan Smith Nash, whose
grasp of unrequited love on the grand
scale such as we have just witnessed is
something that might help a bit. I couldn't
get into Blogger and had to leave early for the day
and I just got home. Here's a little SSN style
balm for apocalyptic agony-as much as I can type
in right now before a very late 9:30 pm dinner.

from *Channel-Surfing the Apolcalypse: a day
In the life of the fin-de-mlllennium mind* by
Susan Smith Nash (Avec Books, 1996)

"That night, she couldn't sleep. So, she sat in front of
her computer, staring for hours into the lifeless,
blue-gray screen, wondering what kind of pull it had
over her. If anything, it was the pull and promise of
communication- the possibly vain hope that words
were made of the stuff of stars and not of lifeless
moon or fallen earth.

If she could construct a moon and stars with her
words, she would put life back into the moon, and
a simple, quiet hope in his heart- that any time they
fall prey to the fluctuations of lunar tides or earthly
perturbations, they could sit outside on a patio,
drink champagne, devour quesadillas, watch the
moon rise, and feel its gravity pull love back into
their minds and hearts.

Perhaps it was too much to ask of an inanimate hunk
of rock- of a moon, a pile of space debris, or any
other satellite.

That night, the tides in Tampa set a record high as
a tropical storm dissolved itself over its beaches,
leaving a sky as moonlit as memory trapped in the
heart of pain and separation."
*******************************************************
One In the Hand


Need a break from the pundits and talking heads?
Try a little poetry- a little thought-provoking poetry, that is

Mappemunde (Tim Peterson} {click here}