New Year’s Eve 2019

When the music’s over…turn out the lights.

Everything has its time, every-thing comes to end, such is the nature of things.

From the smallest grain of sand to the largest galaxy; from the tiniest of ambitions to the dreams of dynasties. Everything has its moment, and then those moments are gone.

They are done.

We mark the end of things on this, the final day of the year. We celebrate their completion, or their continuance if they are carried over into the next year.

We come to the hard stop, and then we start anew.

When the music’s over…turn out the lights.

I look back on the past year and see the end of many things, many people, some friends and some family, so many beings…some inspired me, others I was reviled by.

Count the dead and bless them all.

They met the hard stop, and they continue as something…

Turn out the lights.

Do you remember our republic?

We lost that, the great American experiment is done. Perhaps it never was?

That is for someone else to say, but if we did not lose the thing itself, then we lost something else, the potential for a better world, one governed by the people, for the people, a government of the people, a society of law; the arc of justice, as Martin called it, its trajectory has faltered and failed.

It has been replaced by oligarchs and autocrats. The mob has proven Plato right.
There is no pity for fools.

Turn out the lights.

Drink a cup of good cheer, eat trifles, languish in the comfort of amusements.

Turn out the lights.

Ring the bell and drop the ball.

The glass will chip and shatter.

This is the end, the end is here.

Daydream Number Two

Sitting on the curb
Day dreaming in the city
Shaded by the elm

A boy sits with legs
Resting, elbows on his knees
His head in his hands

He opens his eyes
Looks beyond the passing cars
His spirit settles

He mutes the shrill noise
Comes out of the cloistered shell
Into a new world

Engulfed by vision
A city in chaos, burns
Monuments falling

Flags torn by the wind
Reason consumed by terror
Engines stall and choke

The city dissolves
In a wash of blood, murmurs
The entropic mob

Revulsion follows
Nauseated and alone
Sitting on the curb