Fishbowl is back, of course; it took 3 weeks and many lurching, roaring experiences in a forgotten replacement to drive home the point.
10 minutes, a moment to catch one’s breath, somewhere out there, by the river, looking back on a blog-void (collect them!) of 2 months, thinking if there really is anything to be said here and now that I haven’t already quietly mouthed in the last few weeks. There will be respite soon, from the trundling momentum of event after event, but then I will literally be washed up on the beach, dripping, blinking, noting very carefully the sand between my toes and the sun on my face.
And now, they would say, it is the time for action. No longer can we stand balefully outside the window, no longer can we stamp our feet on the cracked pavement. No longer can we allow our brethren and assorted associated lumps of flesh and blood to breathe this putrid air, no longer can we tolerate ignorance, prejudice, and a litany of other half-misunderstood intolerances. We must stand up and be counted, there will be change, whether we want it or not. You are the key, the wretched instrument of my salvation. Your time is past, do something useful with what little you have left. Take this change, seize it with both your hands, if you are able, and hop around in a dance of euphoria, at least until the joint ends. Thank you! Thank you!