Under a nihilistic cloud
Rock music has given us some lyrics that are terrifying, if one takes the time to consider things. A good example is The End by The Doors. Not many fun images in there, thank you. And as I read the daily news, I can’t help going there.
Think about it. We have our regular briefings from the pubic health office, reminding us that we’re engaged in a marathon. OK, So be it. I always wanted to run an insane distance. In Ontario, the critics are saying that their version of pandemic slap down is “out of control”, while their premier warns his faithful not to make big plans for the holiday weekend (as the possibility of restrictions is floating in his brain.) Hey, that’s two days away. Could we be a little more precise?
We’re almost done, here, with the renos, but I have a niggling fear that even there, we don’t know the whole story. And my eyes are tired, so things are blurred. Not much in that to inspire long term confidence. Somehow, I feel old. Perhaps what I really need is a vaccination, to perk me up. Or a late coffee.
On the bright side, I picked up one of the guitars this afternoon, and it was almost in tune. You know, that state of synchronicity where one of of six strings is good, and the others are close. A bit like my life. If only I could find a pitch fork, and be sure. Is this what thirteen months of staying at home has led me to? A need to check relative tuning?
