Thursday, September 13, 2012
Fear Not the Tarnish and Diminishments of Age or Its Insane Revelations as You Creak, Leak, and Freak Your Way to the Grave
So I went to bulletpoint today's links. I bold them all then hit the bullet option on blooger's toolbar but I brainfarted and hit the Link link which ate all the links, hours' work poofed. Here's what you're missing: Teacher pay versus selected others. Two visions for Chicago schools. Class warfare in the classroom. Carbon Democracy. Spooked-up asshole. Villager Court Jester dances on Romney's grave. Professional progressive dances on Romney's grave. For the record, I've been offering 4-1 pint bets since 2008 that Obama wins POTUS 12. Ring of Fire. Krugman's obamapostasy will never be ready. Look! Corpse of bin Laden! Obama lies too. Same as Bush (with more killing). Compromising positions. My future hell. Some poems, some songs. You know the lyrics, can fill in the (b)links all by yourself, but blessed serendipity of a brainfart, I'm reminded of a lesson in dance and damnlessness I already knew but mostly ignore.
Fear not the tarnish and diminishments of age
or its insane revelations as you creak, leak, and freak
your way to the grave. Never relinquish ties
to exiles, to juiced-up boozers and the bamboozled.
Like you, they're solid citizens anguish nearly polished
off (but not yet!), burnished veterans gilded by loss,
who glint like old bowling trophies in the right light.
"Extinguishment is still far away," we repeat under
our breaths at bedtime, like children who can't
remember their prayers. Come morning we'll step
out for a meatloaf sandwich (one our grown son
dubbed "meat-load" sandwich back when he was a ticklish
kid squishing it flat with his little hand so it'd fit into
his mouth). A humble dish with radish garnish,
it gives sagging spirits a life and beguiles our tongues
with onions, mustard, and mortal sweetness welling
up from deep in the beef, which, if meat could speak
might moo or sigh: "Yes, I too was well fed in my time."