is a pome

Edit: It should have been a picture too, but I was too lost in the rich inner world moment to dig out a camera.

I went back inside, finished up my organizing, and got in the car.

On the radio, it was a local show, and the guests were two independent theater producers who were offering a take on Moby Dick.

The show played clips of dramatic interpretations of Melville’s words. It was transfixing and beautiful.

At the end, they said opening night was tonight, about an hour away.

I had a pang, wishing I was far less than an hour away myself, so I could just go, and listen at length, as if to a concert. Like Linhardt said, about the sunlight filtering down through trees. Mountain. Dusk Cloud. Venus.

I am still aimed at the small mountain college town across the border.

But I am reconsidering everything right now, and even that.

Keep seducing me, Tucson, Albuquerque, San Jose of Costa Rica. Keep wooing me with promises of my pension dollar going farther, and with the classics put on stage, and with the memory of savage lovely pourings of snow or rain from twenty years back.

I’m very Listening.

You know I wanted very much to love Andrew Yang. But he’s lost me completely–not because he turned out to be against real Medicare4All (pretty bad even just that far), but because he’s straight up lying about it.

You’re off the bus for this one, brah. Sorry and all, but the politics of bullshit are a hard limit for me, even if you promise to pay me a thousand a month to look the other way.

Beyond Venus, the moon tonight is additionally spectacular.

I am very much liking the way the markdown plugin handles horizontal lines.