Therein lies the true question

In Animals, Artists, Circus, Local projects, Music, photography, proto drafts on July 12, 2014 at 11:06 am

The driving rain has just stopped. Perhaps we’ll be as lucky as we were yesterday when the sun shone bright on the festival.

Everywhere I look around me in the apartment: things to do. A fresh harvest of dog hair to sweep up. Chairs and tables to clear of books, flyers, clothes, shopping bags. The walls: oh, but to have the energy to shop for paint, then roll it on, thick and creamy over the invasive entanglements of a busy-busy wallpaper pattern. I love Ernst Haeckel’s drawings of marine biota, but not as a Surround Presence everywhere I lay my eyes. There’s a kitchen in extreme need of new flooring too.  As for bookshelves –  one, two, three walls crying out for them. The sound of crying walls? Heart-rending.

Shot some five hundred and seventy-three photos yesterday – some dead, a few wounded, many so-so and a handful of the kind worth keeping. I keep most of them anyway, because of the look on someone’s face or a gesture, or something in the composition.

Damn. A fresh load of rain shoving in on low, brutish-looking clouds. This should delight a few locals of brutish temperament whose only concept of enjoyment is of the schadenfreud variety. I’ve come to the conclusion that these folks suffer from a chronic disease caused by toxic enzymes in their blood. The enzymes are a by-product of years of impotent rage and fear. The enzymes cause a loss of imaginative powers, shudders of disgust at the sight of laughing children and bouts of panic at the sight of adults in colorful clothes doing things such as handling musical instruments, dancing, singing, or flying above the crowd on a trapeze. I don’t know if the condition is reversible. Dickens claimed it was, at least in the case of Scrooge. But does one fictional miracle signal a real-life cure for others such afflicted?

Ah. The brutish ones: heading due east (the clouds, that is). Blue skies for the nonce. The festival resumes at three p.m.


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