Long Point, Friday Afternoon |
7:57 |
8:30 |
Another Crazy, Neighbor Bud |
Anyways, we were home by 1:00, in time for lunch, ham and bean soup and delicious quesadillas, with cheese and tomatoes. I was back to watching my show, Peaky Blinders, still fun. I am ready to give up on my book, The Topeka School, as its getting weird and otherworldly, not my cup of tea. It did, however, act as a soporific and I took a good nap, at least an hour.
The rest of the afternoon was spent waiting for Manhattan time at 5:30. Earlier Evie had pulled out a brie so it was nice and gooey, perfect for spreading on crackers while we enjoyed our drinks and listened to music. At 6:00, we put potatoes in the oven to bake and at 7:00, Evie fried up the Wienerschnitzel which she had breaded earlier in the day. With applesauce, we had another fine dinner. We watched another episode of Watchman, then the neverending analysis of the assassination of Suleimani, the Iranian general. The question should be not whether it was the right thing to do but whether it was wise. I wonder, also, if Trump had any idea who Suleimani was a week ago. I doubt it. By 10:30, I was happy to go up to bed and start a new book.
"This poem by beat poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti was written in 2007, but he might as well have penned it yesterday for all of the truth that it contains. The elements that Ferlinghetti writes about have always been there, but have flashed into flamboyance in the age of Trump."
“Pity The Nation”
Pity the nation whose people are sheep,
and whose shepherds mislead them.
Pity the nation whose leaders are liars, whose sages are silenced,
and whose bigots haunt the airwaves.
Pity the nation that raises not its voice,
except to praise conquerors and acclaim the bully as hero
and aims to rule the world with force and by torture.
Pity the nation that knows no other language but its own
and no other culture but its own.
Pity the nation whose breath is money
and sleeps the sleep of the too well fed.
Pity the nation — oh, pity the people who allow their rights to erode
and their freedoms to be washed away.
My country, tears of thee, sweet land of liberty.”
Lawrence Ferlinghetti |
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