Sunday again which means going through all of the meetings to see what's happening in six jurisdictions all around. At the top I make a reference to a poem I don't really understand but just know a couple of quotes from.
I've written about Nelson and now it's Louisa's turn and would it be better if I structured these like poetry? My form is journalism, an art just as dead as recrafting classical poems to sound modern, contemporary, or whatever word can be used to declare "now" is ours.
I'm stuck because the last thing I wrote was about direct air service to Boston and I think about how much more pollution that will put into the air and I wonder why people have to travel all of the time, anyway. Why does everything have to be fast? Why does everyone always seem so serious?
I think about how it's been over a quarter of a century since I was in Boston and how I doubt I'll be going anywhere anytime soon. I'm incapable of transferring my independence into wealth and it feels at times that everything could come crashing down.
And then I think how fast it would come down if I were a critic, if my words were barbed and designed to inflict damage. I don't think that's who I am, but I don't always know who I am. I go from moment to moment, the person in charge of the "now" always changing.
A song ends by a band I've never heard until this moment and I don't write it down because another song is playing and I end this entry so I can find out what happens next.
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