Losing My Way

No one cares, but why would they? With so many going down, what's one more song unsung? The people will never know what they're missing.

Miranda was in her cabin reading when there was a knock on her door. "Enter" and some of her fellow passengers on their ship came in. She didn't know them well, but she would try to be pleasant, since the situation they were in was bad enough without her being rude as well. She kept reading as they looked at each other, which forced her to suppress a chuckle. Finally, a young woman stepped forward. "We were wondering if you knew how much longer we would be here?" the young woman wanted to know. Miranda closed her book and sat up. "I really have no idea," she answered. "My grasp of interplanetary spacecraft is somewhat limited. Is someone in a hurry?" An older man, nearly her age, spoke next, making no effort to be pleasant. "I'm in no real hurry, but I'd like to get going. You talk to that thing that runs this place. How can you have no idea?" "Thing? What thing?" So much for being pleasant.

I would tell the truth but you would cry/ & that would make me sad which I don't want to be/ so I'll tell you what you want to hear/ because a man should know how to please a crowd.// So there will no talk of doom/ only sweet words of love/ to hide all the hate in my heart/ & make you wish for another day.// I always expect the worst/ but I say the best is yet to be/ just hang on tight until then/ & dazzle me with your smile.//

Screaming in the wilderness, the echo is drowned out by the steady drone of traffic and is unheard, but somehow it is felt. Mr. & Mrs. Plastique shudder for a second, but they exchange no words about the sensation; they walk on, put the uneasy feeling down to the breakfast they had just consumed. Questions they don't want to ask pop into their minds, and they try to dispel them with their trivial concerns, but the exploits of the local football team and the latest fashions fail to dislodge their sudden input of thought. "For some reason, I want to see Reverend Dim," Mrs. Plastique says, and the hubby tells her that would be a fine idea. He plans on getting very drunk.

Time roars ahead, taking all along for the ride. WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Even the rocks and the waters, dimly aware of its passage, come along too, certain to always have a place in the march of eternity. The waters might one day be doomed, for it is certain that the sun one day become a red giant, vaporizing everything from Mercury to Mars, but then new worlds will come to life as ice giants thaw out, and new wonders come to pass. Very nice, isn't it? Thinking that way makes me feel impervious to time's merciless grip upon our lives, though deep within, a scientist prophesies doom for the universe that is me. How very sad...nothing to be done but put a party hat on the scientist and keep celebrating each breath, keep dancing to each beat of my fragile heart. I know, we'll make the scientist put on a pretty pink dress and the appropriate undergarments, and dance with my demon and surrender to his insatiable lust. If only that could be manifested in the phys

Ukraine gave up its nukes back in the '90s because Russia and the USA promised to respect their sovereignty. The fools! Given how Russia had abused them, I am certain they only agreed to surrender their security because they counting on the USA to protect them on that inevitable day when Russia would try to gobble them up again. The USA has broken most of the treaties they ever signed, so why would anyone trust them? When I see Ukraine being demolished, all I can think is they had it coming. Their leadership back then was foolish, because they gave the only guarantee of their freedom that they had, for some empty promises from 2 countries that had no respect for them.

I just finished reading Mason & Dixon by Thomas Pynchon, and I must say it is a fabulous book. His style was to emulate how the language was written in the 18th century, a feat he pulled off with great flair. I especially liked how he put in Ben Franklin and George Washington, and though the last 100 pages were anti-climatic, I found the ending to be very touching.