I just wanted to raise my bruised head out of the glurp, the cloying, syrupy goo of unemployment and desperate destitution and stationary panic -- if only for a moment, to suck down a few pointless breaths before resuming the long, steady sinking into . . . whatever it is I (we) am (are) actually sinking into. Could be anything. Anyway, trying to reconcile the indistinct implications of “Independence Day” with the crumbling existential sewer in which we find ourselves is difficult enough; understanding how the noisy, stench-riddled expenditure of platitudinous bullshit and cheap Chinese-made fireworks fits into the picture is, well, quite beyond my rather limited imagination. It all must mean something, right? It must.Then again, maybe not. Whatever. In any case, days like today always seem to put me in a mood. Particularly when said day is just another in an endless procession that has gone on way too long. I wish I had an answer to this nonsense. Anyhow, for reasons unknown I was put in mind of the following quote from Dalton Trumbo. I’m not sure if it has anything specific to do with the Fourth of July (probably not much), but it resonates with the times nonetheless, somehow, someway. From the introduction to Johnny Got His Gun, he writes:
“Why should I look, it wasn’t my fault, was it?” It was, of course, but no matter. Time presses. Death waits even for us. We have a dream to pursue, the whitest white hope of them all, and we must follow and find it before the light fails.
So long, losers. God bless. Take care. We’ll be seeing you.
Have a happy July 4th, everybody. I’m going back to sleep.
