Sunday Morning

In Current reading, Food, Irish Mist, Revision on November 9, 2014 at 9:29 am

Making it down the hill to market, then back up again, should prove interesting. Slow, but interesting nonetheless. The fever broke at about three a.m. No truncheons needed to work up a good body ache: the flu obliges and doesn’t even care whether you vote to the left or to the right. (I see several notables are calling for a demonstration in Albi on November 15th. In favor of the dam at Sivens, of course. Will the riot police walk by their side or form a barrage of their own, to keep the non-notables away? Don’t put questions when you know the answer, child. Unless you’re studying rhetoric, of course.)

Wetlands. Doing their job. No, a dam is much better, they say. Anything man-made is better. How do I know? the bible tells me so. Proof? When arresting a ninety-four year old protester, man-made truncheons prove superior to nature-made skin. (No, that arrest wasn’t over the dam in Sivens. It was in Greece where keeping the banks rich matters more than letting the people eat.)

Read a beautiful passage in Steinbeck’s East of Eden last night before my eyes crossed over into sleep (I also liked the part where the car mechanic named Roy tells everybody to just call him Joe). The part I loved was the one where a number of Chinese scholars get together to study Hebrew so they can resolve a difference in translation between two editions of the Christian Bible. They even talk it over with a few rabbis, and reach the conclusion there’s choice involved in the matter of sin. Well, it sounds more than a bit drab when I write it, so I guess the genius is in the way Steinbeck brings it on.


Have I finished-finished-finished with the revision on this one? Not quite. Almost. The characters don’t seem too keen about laying it all out for the whole world to see. Plus the writer’s flu-ridden brain isn’t sharp enough to know if there’s more they might say if the brain felt sharper. We’ll see. Later this afternoon, maybe.


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