2nd December 2021

It is suddenly the beginning of another new month, yet rather sadly find myself becoming more and more bothered and bewildered. I struggle to remember exactly when this pandemic commenced, how many times I have feared infection, raised hallelujahs for being spared, and if and exactly when we can expect the monstrosity to be cast aside to leave our lives once again more or less in comparative peace.

I am certain we did know satisfaction at some point, perhaps not as absolute as might be, social and political pressures are inclined to give the most well-mannered of beasts occasional jitters. Yes, we knew challenges, were asked multifarious questions that could not always be correctly answered, but in general life jogged along, perhaps not sauntering blissfully exactly, but with enough muscular command to have each stride inclined to move in the right direction.

Today, I am unsure about tomorrow, having witnessed life stutter and all but halt, for fear of a virus beyond our capabilities to repel. Fallen foul to a self-manufactured petard.

1st December 2021

The start of the cold times, winter has come, and is running her icy fingers up and down our spines to chilling effect. Not the iciest of times, those will come later, around the turn of the new year, when knitted hats and thick underwear become de rigour.

I love the wintertime, when a cracked door leaks chill unto my face, awakening the skin with frigid blast, coxing muscles into activity with the terrible consideration of being suddenly frozen into a block of ice. The frigid air is pristine, refrigerated, crisp and fresh, each breath voluminously enriching the spirit, till discharged in a cloud of condensation.  

The very practice of keeping warm, standing in front of a blazing fire, or just a most practical toasty electric radiator, becomes an exercise in sublime pleasure, a feeling only sometimes matched by the unhindered rays of the noonday sun. A slow steady roasting of flesh and blood, sufficient to make an ogre drool with unembarrassed appetite.

Winter, the season of magic, fairy tales, unbelievable stories, blessed happenstances.

30th November 2021

A constant foil in the daily chore of preparing and consuming cuisine is to attempt to measure up to the appraisal of imagination, that strange truth that food stuffs partaken seldom measure up to in taste or appearance to the memory lingering in the mind’s eye. This tragic reality is a constant disappointment to us all, for do we not all in concert seek the succulent flavors, aromas, and textures of the ultimate perfect creation.  

Any simulation of perfection is most problematic to achieve, invariably some small portion of the whole will fail the test, mar the feast, spoil the dish, by perhaps just the tiniest of measures, a grain of salt of sugar, a drip of lime, a dash of sauce. The simple task of recreating the perfect cocktail evades the most accomplished of barpersons upon a momentary basis somewhere upon the globe.

I find an answer is to concentrate the pallet upon a single component, something non-exclusive, additional, say a brand of mustard, ketchup, a mass-produced product that will never disappoint through global availability.

29th November 2021

Distraction is a most irritating condition, one that only becomes more persuasive as the vagaries of the world in all their fascinating glory come more easily into focus. Our world is awash with information, good, bad, indifferent, a zillion pieces of detritus to direct our attentions in any direction but the most pertinent or useful.

Much of the specifics we inhale, for to absorb and weigh facts is our minds main function, was truly designed most singularity for that purpose, and does automatically with our attention or total disregard. We are a sponge permanently thirsting for refreshment, absorbing more than we can easily recall, but miraculously storing away any surplus to produce magician like at the most improbably and unsuitable moments. I forget the exact proportion of our brain matter we actually use, but it is a small percentile when compared to the whole.

Imagine the ability to utilize all that possible power for but one moment, and then consider that perhaps there exist those who can, the mega beings of fiction and fantasy.

28th November 2021

Small inconsequential irritations vex the soul unmercifully.

That itch in the most inaccessible part of the back, almost immediately between the shoulder blades but sufficiently centralized to make an arm stretched upwards from the waist or downwards from the shoulder unviable. In this particular annoyance the female do have a decided advantage, Thet miraculous ability they have to reach back to undo a brassiere fastener must make that area far more accessible to an appropriate well-manicured finger nail.

The inclination we all have to sweat in the most delicate of areas of skin, in folds that really should not anatomically exist, beneath outcroppings of hair, easily viewable or not, moisture that mysteriously collects in a volume unrelated and unrestricted to the amount that should be possible.

Completely human annoyances, failings that confirm our true bestial state, rather than underscore the intellectual prowess we are more inclined to braggadociously advance.

27th November 2021

I have passed beyond the feeling of loss, instead I am inclined to recognize negative space, a gap that was once filled by someone’s knowledge and understanding, a person upon whom I could rely in times of need, confusion, and uncertainty. Existence is filled with too many chasms, far more gaps than I am comfortable facing alone, spaces through which the cold winds of ignorance easily blow and wholly innocent souls are crushed beneath the weight of general foolishness.

Most disappointingly, those I once considered   to be the future pillars of knowledge, sensibility, considered opinion, have departed the true path and are become inescapably marred in the briars surrounding Camelot’s glistening walls, imprisoned by debilitating mundanity, the need to prevail against unnecessary ogres and dragons, monsters bringing no real threat to that gloriously gated mount, ‘cept averageness, tediousness, carnality, temporal materialism.

I showed you the heavens, illumination, the possible. Yet you chose to walk in dark shadows, repose in pointless daily oblivion.

26th November 2021

The premise of the traditional ‘Thanksgiving’ is unfortunate, for the false is inclined, as is always the case in life, to mask and distract from the truth, the worthy, those intrinsic ingredients that make special days especial.

Any claim of a biblical foundation for a state’s existence, foundation, continuance, precedence, falls upon profoundly impaired ears, the precarious condition and continued instability of Israel must surely bring into question any footing for that hypothesis. Countries, nation are founded for many reasons, most often for defense, preeminence, or on occasion as an escape from seeming intolerable conditions. The bedrock of the colony that would eventually begat the United States of America had none these initial purposes, although the concept of ascendancy do have a certain veiled reality.

I celebrate the Thanksgiving holiday in the company of a dear friend, partaking in a feast of small excess, but enjoying the wonderous gift of companionship, affinity, even the practice of heritage, our particular gathering is perhaps a decade old. A celebration of peers, of ‘family’, ebullience, the very best ingredients of human society. Those positive elements that enhance, enrich, foster worthwhile and constructive attributes. Putting aside a whole day for such optimistic and affirmative activity should ever be considered worthwhile.

Naturally, I recall family, present and past, am unashamedly grateful for the elements that have made my continuing journey entertaining, mainly enjoyable, but ever memorable. But these are feelings I am inclined to reflect upon each and every day, not just when the calendar requires me to focus upon those sometimes fortunate, but ever odd circumstances that have brought me to this mainly comfortable place and moment in time.

‘Thanksgiving’ should rise above the momentary, the mundanity of the familial, pious, authoritarian, ceremonial. Be glorious, acclaimed, supreme by itself alone, without historical precedent or paradigm, ‘cept for the unabashed camaraderie of all those participants in the majesty of invaluable fellowship.

25th November 2021

On reflection, it is quite clear that my sometimes-visceral verbal meanderings are sublimely cleansing for the malevolence that often rises uncontrollably in my being from the misguided erroneousness’s, inadequacies, of my fellow creatures and the undoubted turgid society we all so blithely inhabit. Being able to expunge the bile is two-fold healing, firstly removes those cancers that would otherwise grow unsolicited in my every momentary reflection, tainting opinion and perspective without recourse, secondly removing the rails that future happenstances or notions are obliged to travel along without any glimmering hope of correction, reappraisal, or reconsideration.

The negative we are forced to imbibe from media, rumor, supposition, has great intrinsic weight, for often the sources are ones we rely upon in times of extreme stress and danger. A well told lie of animus is so much more persuasive than the blandness of uncorrupted truth, our protective shields of sensibility, our absurdity filters, must be consistently and constantly fully engaged.

24th November 2021

In finality, beyond the trace lingering flavors, exists something completely new and independent of anything that has been created before. This is the magic, the wonder, of the story teller, the creator of fiction, that unique individual in whose lies our mundane and often uninteresting lives become washed away by a marvelous soup made up of characters, events, happenstances, a recipe that was only previously served in one especial place, within the restaurant of one individuals furtive imagination.

We all on occasion have little glimpses of this process upon our own individualistic theater screen, perhaps in a dream, in sleep or torpid wakefulness, visions of what might be, should be, could be, in a universe somewhat improved or worse than the one that truthfully exists all around, anchoring our feet of clay.

Such little fights of fancy inspire us to marvel, read, watch, listen, incredulous at the improbable web the wordsmith weaves, spiderlike, for our education, edification and amazement.

23rd November 2021

The point of civilization is to be a unifying force for the better, or so my better considerations suggest. The fall of such a state of amalgam seems to forego the ends of edification, enlightenment, predisposing the return to dark ages of division and despair.

Darkness serves a purpose. Many ideas, like seedlings, shoot best in the shadows, too much early light making any growth weak and spindly. So from any forthcoming regression we can expect, in finality, a new surge of culture and advancement. History, rather than being a chain of ascending circumstances, would appear to be cyclical, revolving constantly in tune with, but not in time with, the rotation of our home sphere. The past is most decidedly assured to reoccur in future times, the present simply being a transition from the same to similar.

Hopes, disappointments, wishes, and regrets are but fleeting human reactions to a pattern unavoidably affixed in the natural phenomenon that is universes evolution. Quietly accept and enjoy, or noisily complain, the difference is meaningless.