Wednesday, June 16, 2010
What shall we do with the boyish head of BP (the S.O.B who said: “I want my life back.”)? Here is an idea: Until death he must pick up tar balls off Louisiana's shoreline; and when he is done with that, he can move on to Alabama's, and then on to Florida's, and then farther afield. ... A better idea, however, and I shouldn't say this (actually I do.): let's hang him—only if we were China. Now you know how I feel.
Posted by anonymous at 9:07 AM
Sunday, June 13, 2010
At the moment I am at the neighborhood's coffee shop. I sit down to read. ... But instead I find myself writing. ... By the window a young man is confessing his love to a shy girl, she looks uneasy. To my left a man and a woman, with age and pain creased on their faces, hold hands as they bow their heads to say a prayer, before they take a sip of their lattes; they gaze at each other's eyes as lovers' first sight. Across from me sits a woman, oblivious of her surrounding, with her exquisite legs well displayed under her yellow skirt, typing on her computer. ... And I read, “Drink to me only with thine eyes. ..." It's an intimate evening, and I am happy to be here.
Posted by anonymous at 7:50 PM
Saturday, June 12, 2010
As the Gulf blackens, and the fishermen don't fish—but disperse chemicals on the dark waters of the beautiful Gulf they once fished—and their tears darken by the hour, there is no one to blame but us: Our sybaritic life and, therefore, hunger for oil. And in the spirit of our mediocrity and I-only-care-about-me patriotism, I intend to go have a glass of wine and listen to Mozart.
Posted by anonymous at 10:06 AM
Thursday, June 3, 2010
As long as you're not always stock with misfortunes, life is good. But the cruelty of life ordains that someone has to be at the very bottom of the pit. You just hope it's not always you or your tribe. No humankind eludes injury, whether physical or emotional; the Cruel God makes sure of that. To hurt is to breath, and to breath is to live.
Posted by anonymous at 8:41 AM