Quondam obloquy

 The moon and Jupiter to the west and
 Venus there, so close you can drink her out of your hand.
I don't understand why we get mad at things that we don't even care about?  What was it about the essence of triviality which makes it so vital towards a comprehension of the truth? At the shelter they only rescue mutts.

I have been reading too much news lately; perhaps I should read more fiction next week.
Fiction causes friction. In any case, this is an excellent opportunity: you are free to do whatever seems right. Such moths as one finds in Panama.  An airport lounge listening to the clinks of other glasses
Is that a man singing or a woman?  In 2023 who cares?

Tik Tok is essentially hypnosis. The stump in the yard makes me nauseous. Danielle's hair is turning gray.  Gerald had an apartment off campus, whence I heard I immediately loved it.  The pomegranates are in season, the only color left.
What fruit have we left, what color have we wrought into the world?

Quick as sand and thrice as slippery. This before the paralysis of turning 22. Mint pedigree in the city of language.  What was I so mad about?  What was that dark secret bottled up?  A low volume buzz.  Workmen are repairing the boarded-up window.  The carrots in the crisper drawer are moldy. Perhaps I've made the wrong choice.  Perhaps I've done what I wanted instead of what God needed.
But why did he make me in his image if not for such purposes as these?

"It's time," his wife said. Thus sayeth his wife. She stood beside him holding our two suitcases. "We're ready."  Down down down.  Et amas en flammes. For a long time he watched the lightbulb hum. One of those whisky hangovers that makes you question your life choices for a year. Why does it feel bad?  Does it matter what anything feels?  Do feelings matter?

The song ends on a long low note.  The store was out of eggs. Lewis took off his hoodie and turned around slowly. Smiling cheerful, with a carefully sustained intelligent broken down antirationalism. At night the sprinklers burst. The invisible world within has, at best, a mossy accuracy. 

Pastor says that sacrifice is an ancient act, carried out in many cultures. His sky project, in the red. The Winters Tale is Apollo. The wax and the gold of hermeneutics. Perhaps death is full of despair. Death does not concern us, declaimed Epicurius.  Outside the wind whips around its lonesome sorrows.

This is not my life. There's a voice, whispering, this is not right. Deceptive immitations of the same thing.  And then, owing no one nothing, as Virginia Woolf said, "you deserve a spring." Let us ascend towards a shared experience. With the other items with which I stuff my pockets on my way out the door.
I needn't reach for my mask anymore

He looked us over again politely and led them out. Not an act without self-interest, whereas here, champion of the slinks, Gerald arranges the new arrivals into groups.  The pomegranates taste of folly. They walked quickly through the lobby and disappeared from sight behind the glass door marked one way.