Wednesday April 6, 2005 JST

Cold metallic grey and sticky blood red: A new world under one old sun

Join me. One party one path
Tory Labour Liberal Laugh
Vote for legal evil hearts
These’ll be all people’s pa’s

Brothers big to smother small
State intention’s silent sprawl
Violent brawl is nigh on course
Have nots have not, siblings force

Will surely rawly warly shame
Bawling babes will grow in chains
To maul appallingly the weak
Circle soon to be complete

Again for now is unto then
Mend the stitch in time my friend
The end is rich and kind to them
That greed and envy micey men

So nicely we walk onto trains
Destined for no hope again
Smoke in distance, taints the rain
World alone in space the same

But for the sun and rays it beams
Hope takes 8 minutes to reach
The beach, the path, the field, the grave
Depraved, the loved, the weak, the brave

For us and them the end is nigh
So then so now the trend is lie
But times are far we’ve made our bed
It’s hard and shiny grey and red

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The year of magical thinking // a woman’s tale following the sudden death of her husband I think I am beginning to understand why grief feels like suspense,” CS Lewis wrote after the death of his wife. “It comes from the frustration of so many impulses that had become habitual. Thought after thought, feeling after feeling, action after action, had H for their object. Now their target is gone. I keep on through habit fitting an arrow to the string, then I remember and have to lay the bow down. So many roads lead thought to H. I set out on one of them. But now there’s an impassable frontierpost across it. So many roads once; now so many cul de sacs. (263)
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