12-30-92

It's coming!  It's near!  It's going!  Let's cheer, drink beer, and confront the surprised fear where it sits, patient and foolish enough to think we have no idea where it has planned to ambush us.  This year.

Where's the cheap, boxed wine?  Our conversations range:  metaphysics, philosophy, economic disaster talks.  All wrapped, wrapped in a reflective bag, giving bad blood to bright tupperware glasses, no larger than the drinker's hand.  Ah, it's like the garden of Athens.  We've come fullllll circle. Only it's not so flashy in the future, we'll look back and see it as ridiculous if not reckless in fashion.  But it's all like that, dear, it's all like that.

Generate the good now, secure it to the present, hold fast to the images, the sounds, expressions, and movement.  Save it all in a little brown book so some day the past can walk among us, dead, animated, and slightly disturbing.

    Echoes spread through the hall,
    The columns pushed them about,
    Until they were able to die amongst,
    The marble.
    The sounds were of clashing irons,
    Grunting and pained outcries,
    And finally, a loud and dubious laugh,
    Straight from the soul's gullet, dark,
    It stained the very walls with its plague,
    The mosaics were altered,
    To depict now the hound as dying,
    Now in the jaws of the great dragon,
    Its coils revolving down clear to
    Pluto's realm, where this home's master,
        now found his sorry self.
                                                Misery.

                                                                      Tangent #3478