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rejectomorph

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Decline of Season [Oct. 21st, 2018|08:02 pm]
rejectomorph
It's getting dark so early, and in a couple of weeks it will be getting dark even earlier. That's the thing I have the most trouble getting used to in autumn. The upside is that there are more hours for watching the moon. The other downside is that it will soon be too cold to watch the moon for long. The other upside is that it's very nice to go back into the warmish house after moon-watching in the cold. Especially if there is soup. There will be soup.

I think somebody has a band in the neighborhood east of my house. I've been hearing what sounds like band practice in the evenings. The drums are most noticeable, but there is a bass and at least one electric guitar. The sound is quite faint, and I have to listen carefully to hear the music and the interruptions. I don't recognize anything they are playing. I'll bet their nearer neighbors hate them.

Shorty, the black feral back yard cat, was missing all day again today and showed up again after dark, plucking at the screen door when he heard me stirring in the den, and eager to rub his head on my legs and shoes when I went out. He didn't eat much, which makes me suspect that he has found someone who feeds him by day. I miss seeing him lounging about the yard when I go out in the afternoons, but if he is getting fed at least it is saving me a bit of money, and since he still wants to come back and visit me at night I can't complain. In any case, Porky, the other back yard cat, is delighted to have the place catless (other than himself) all day, and spends more time hanging out with me.

Shopping didn't take too long today. I didn't have a very long list, and the stores were not especially busy. It was a bit too warm in the car, which lacks air conditioning, but the breeze through the windows was nice. It would have been nicer if cars still had wind wings. Why did they stop putting those in cars? Maybe it was their tendency to make
a whistling noise at high speeds if they weren't tightly closed, and that when they got on in years they could never be tightly closed. It never bothered me, but I know some people found it irritating. I don't mind wind wings whistling a bit, although it annoys the hell out of me when television commercials do it.

What else was I going to say? So forgetful these days. But it's almost eight o'clock anyway and there's something I want to watch on television.




Sunday Verse



The God Who Loves You


Carl Dennis


It must be troubling for the god who loves you
To ponder how much happier you’d be today
Had you been able to glimpse your many futures.
It must be painful for him to watch you on Friday evenings
Driving home from the office, content with your week—
Three fine houses sold to deserving families—
Knowing as he does exactly what would have happened
Had you gone to your second choice for college,
Knowing the roommate you’d have been allotted
Whose ardent opinions on painting and music
Would have kindled in you a lifelong passion.
A life thirty points above the life you’re living
On any scale of satisfaction. And every point
A thorn in the side of the god who loves you.
You don’t want that, a large-souled man like you
Who tries to withhold from your wife the day’s disappointments
So she can save her empathy for the children.
And would you want this god to compare your wife
With the woman you were destined to meet on the other campus?
It hurts you to think of him ranking the conversation
You’d have enjoyed over there higher in insight
Than the conversation you’re used to.
And think how this loving god would feel
Knowing that the man next in line for your wife
Would have pleased her more than you ever will
Even on your best days, when you really try.
Can you sleep at night believing a god like that
Is pacing his cloudy bedroom, harassed by alternatives
You’re spared by ignorance? The difference between what is
And what could have been will remain alive for him
Even after you cease existing, after you catch a chill
Running out in the snow for the morning paper,
Losing eleven years that the god who loves you
Will feel compelled to imagine scene by scene
Unless you come to the rescue by imagining him
No wiser than you are, no god at all, only a friend
No closer than the actual friend you made at college,
The one you haven’t written in months. Sit down tonight
And write him about the life you can talk about
With a claim to authority, the life you’ve witnessed,
Which for all you know is the life you’ve chosen.

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