Open to page 147 of your hymnals. There is nothing to sing there for the words of promise once found there have withered and faded, carried off on now toxic winds, so hold your breath or whatever heaven you imagine will be too soon be approaching at a speed exceeding imagination.
You don’t remember how you got here, things happened around you when you weren’t paying attention but, you say, what can you do about it, it’s not your problem so you are happy to let someone else deal with it, you are sure it will be dealt with if you stay out of the way, do nothing.
So while you are blindly waiting perhaps you can join the others just like you, in your final prayers.
If Aristophanes were suddenly to arrive here, he would no doubt pause, but with the eye he had, would soon discover such a treasure trove of material, he could produce comedies to last several lifetimes.
The problem would be in finding the right audience, for here we have little taste and patience for the sort of comedy at which he was so adept, and wit in language has long been forgotten in our blunt, in your face world of entertainment, and his natural audience in ancient Greece would never imagine a world so badly screwed up that even Kubrick would be hard pressed to bring Dr. Strangelove into the present.
The problem with too many songwriters these days is that they either pose a question but demand answers, or only partially answer their own question, leaving the listener to guess at the balance of the answer.
You are atop my list, sadly, dear Alanis, for when you ask if it is ironic, for most of your examples I must respond that it is not so.
And Paul, nice song, but would you care to tell us the other forty-five ways to leave your lover?
But in the spirit of giving to Michael Stipe I say I spoke to Ken and we agree it is 88.5 MHz.
The rain came sideways today, or almost so. The cat decided that if she needed a bath, she’d give it to herself and opted to watch the storm through the sliding glass door to the lanai. When it ended, she ventured back out, checking out the various and sundry chairs, all hers she assumes, and settled for the recliner in the inner corner, as much for dryness as comfort, but clearly offering both. She invited us out to join her, but all of the other seats were damp from the storm. She didn’t see what that was a problem, she had only the one coat, we could change clothes any time we wanted. We decided to watch her through the sliding glass door.
Strange as it may seem, I was tempted to consider Catholicism, not the Roman kind but that of the breakawy churches who accept all, gay or straight, married or divorced, the whole lot of mankind just because.
They do believe in heaven which is a good alternative to the Bardo, and having choices is a good thing even in death.
I was truly tempted to give it my all when I realized that it was problematic, for it had led me into temptation and that is something you pray doesn’t happen, and if I want a conundrum Buddhism offers me plenty.
You want to shout that they don’t make movies like they used to, romantic comedies without R ratings for gratuitous sex or language. We both know this is true, but the problem is not that they don’t make those movies, that is the symptom. The problem is that they don’t make audiences like they used to, ones that loved thoughtful romantic comedies, and filmmakers always stoop to the mass of audiences o matter how low they have to go, for that is where the money is.