Some days, I sit at my desk, skimming the latest data that claims to be news and contemplating the day ahead. And, then, when the world around me becomes too toxic to allow into my thoughts, I sometimes turn to poetry, because the language of poetry is clean and direct. It strips away unnecessary clutter, leaving only pure ideas and thoughts. But there are circumstances when poetry strips away too much, leaving only the remnants of a barren skeleton. Yet even in those spare experiences, poetry suggests those missing words or phrases or ideas. Poetry, whether one’s own words or the words of someone else, cleanses the mind. Poetry, when read aloud and alone, can transport a person from a mundane existence to a place where thoughts and emotions are rewarded equally.
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Let me embrace thee, sour adversity, for wise men say it is the wisest course.
~ William Shakespeare ~
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Today is election day. I will not go to the polls, though, because I voted early. I withheld my vote from a few self-proclaimed Democrats because they have done or said or supported things I find reprehensible. There was a time I would have voted a straight Democratic ticket, but no more. Republicans do not have a monopoly on corruption, nor does the mere fact that someone calls herself a Democrat equate to honor. Far too often, the decision about who should get my vote is based on a judgment about who will do the least harm. Despite my distaste in doing so, though, I always will cast my vote; voting gives me an opportunity to support incremental improvements in the political structure within which we live.
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There’s a fine line between indignation and rage.
~ John Swinburn ~
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This morning’s coffee is unusual. Its flavor is midway between bitter and metallic, leaning more toward bitter. And it feels thin in my mouth, as if some of its attributes have been stripped away, leaving only a brittle, foul-tasting skeleton in its place. This situation—in which the normally delightful flavor of coffee that welcomes me to the day is replaced by a nasty-flavored imposter—is rare, but not unique. I have never been able to determine what causes this hideous aberration in my morning routine. I just have to accept that “it is what it is” and move on.
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Exactly four years ago, I was almost as embarrassed to be human as I am today:
There’s “talk” among the other species about whether pine forests and tallgrass prairies should rise up against us. Most of the colonies of ants and the libraries of lichens argue against it, saying humans as entertainment demand they be kept as pets, if for no other reason. But, during a recent interspecies thinkalong, an exaltation of larks and a pride of lions spoke in favor extinction. Various kingdoms and phyla took positions simply for the enjoyment of argumentation. All of this right under our noses, as it were.
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Generally speaking, I think women are more highly evolved than are men. Men trail behind women in terms of emotional freedom—and the rewards that freedom offers. An open mind is like a door; ideas flow, like foot traffic, in both directions. Women tend to be more open-minded than men, I think; more receptive to unfamiliar ideas than men, who behave as if they are afraid of new ideas. Of course, there are plenty of closed-minded women whose stubborn insistence on clinging to fear-based lies slows progress to a crawl. I suppose my attitudes toward men could be called misanthropic. But it’s not so much the men themselves that I find offensive; it’s their unsophisticated simplicity and their dull limitations. Naturally, only a portion of the men on the planet qualify for my cynicism; I find most of the rest to be more or less tolerable. Uninspired, perhaps, but relatively decent. The same tendency I have to lump all men in the same basket (and, then, to backtrack and place them in separate places based on their individual attributes) is in play with regard to women. But I tend to view women, as a population, with undeserved favor. I must identify those relative few who merit my admiration and appreciation; leaving the rest as…ornaments, I suppose. The bottom line is that I find it easier to engage in conversation with women than with men; although I am not much of a conversationalist until I have become extremely comfortable in a person’s presence. Or in the presence of several people with whom I am quite comfortable. I watch. I listen. I observe. Whether that is just my style or is evidence of my fear of social engagement is open to debate.
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Youth is a blunder; Manhood a struggle, Old Age a regret.
~ Benjamin Disraeli ~
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Finally, the gas log insert was installed in the fireplace yesterday, giving us access to the beauty of warming flames. But the logs need to be “broken in,” which will involve burning the logs at full blast for five hours. We’ll wait until it’s considerably cooler, when we will light the gas logs, open the windows, and watch the clock for five hours. I do look forward to sitting in front of the fire, staring in mesmerized silence as I let the flames transport me to another dimension.
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All right, then. Time for me to work on Wordle.
