early this week in Rochester, a 14-year-old boy shot a cop in the back of the head.
boom. down.
my boyfriend can't understand why i'm not surprised. i ask, haven't you read Native Son? but he doesn't get it.
i imagine the boy trapped beneath the moonlight, a searchlight, after the drug bust. the police were gonna let the kids go, but the adrenaline was already pulsing full-force. what else can you do with a .22 shotgun other than aim & fire?
desperation is a funny thing. it can make you think you've got nothing to gain, nothing to lose.
20090205
.of.tunneling.natures. and.shadowing.futures
The groundhog, General Beauregard Lee, has been blind for years, a fact he has grown accustomed to. What does he need sight for underground anyway, he thinks to himself.
Nevertheless, he doesn't tell his friends or his fans.
Nature and natures favor resilience.
It's been a few days since Lee's big day, not quite a holiday. More of an omen, ominous festival, really.
It seems that the people have become fed up with the temples of Delphi, and oracles of riddles, and have moved across the ocean to something more natural: a temple tunneling downwards, a silent prophet.
Nature and natures favor zeal.
What does he care about his shadow? He lives underground, where shadows serve to remind him of patchy ceilings, holes in the temple domes. Shadows, General Beauregard Lee scoffs, are all light and heat down here, doing nothing but begetting more shadows. And how much easier is it for him to simply be blind to it all, and live in the simple darkness.
Nature and natures favor simplicity.
And this year, as he had regaled out of his home, castle and temple, his corpulent mass into the bundled masses of his Mass, as he capered through all the divinities of his insightful charade, he wondered if, this year, his shadow could see him.
Nevertheless, he doesn't tell his friends or his fans.
Nature and natures favor resilience.
It's been a few days since Lee's big day, not quite a holiday. More of an omen, ominous festival, really.
It seems that the people have become fed up with the temples of Delphi, and oracles of riddles, and have moved across the ocean to something more natural: a temple tunneling downwards, a silent prophet.
Nature and natures favor zeal.
What does he care about his shadow? He lives underground, where shadows serve to remind him of patchy ceilings, holes in the temple domes. Shadows, General Beauregard Lee scoffs, are all light and heat down here, doing nothing but begetting more shadows. And how much easier is it for him to simply be blind to it all, and live in the simple darkness.
Nature and natures favor simplicity.
And this year, as he had regaled out of his home, castle and temple, his corpulent mass into the bundled masses of his Mass, as he capered through all the divinities of his insightful charade, he wondered if, this year, his shadow could see him.
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