John Galsworthy talked about the beginnings and endings of human endeavors in this manner; an eminent untidyness.
Writing Novel’s.
Voyages.
Demolishing Bridges.
Building Houses.
I don’t know if I agree.
I have never actually built a house or destroyed a bridge, however the last Voyage I completed I felt such an incredible satisfaction that I’ve not had the desire to leave home since.
Also I am editing the only novel I will ever write and feel more elated every day as this decades long journey comes to a conclusion.
Maybe it’s death thats the untidyness Galsworthy spoke of?
It’s cooler on the shady side of the street where I am. The lady on the radio said zero humidity for the next few days.
The butt picker is in top form, stooping and selecting the juiciest moist discards in front of the laundromat flicked from the participants of the suicide long game.
With no regard for health or pandemic he lights and sucks, feeding that addiction I remember like a distant movie with actors I don’t recall.
Coffee is the only addiction I currently feed. It’s been this way for a while now. A man collecting beer cans passes by me at the cafe and I think of poorer times in a not so distant past and realize, but for the grace of God, there go I.
And my mind drifts to childhood… long ago and far away.
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