Unfortunately, the last three days I’ve been too slow to give a shit on just about anything — even doomscrolling the news is ho-hum with frightening mental spells — and I couldn’t get my desire up to scale to post shit on the ton of shit taking place all over the shit place.
What happened was I sat next to an open window last Saturday evening, I got sick. The next day I had chills, aches, and was running a temperature — felt hot but was freezing cold. Pretty-much been the scenario the last three days.
I took a COVID test this afternoon (my daughter helped) and it came out negative — it was one of those in-home tests that are reportedly un-reliable, so we’ll wait and see if I take a turn for the worse or not.
And to the way-tiny handful of people who visit this tiny blog, hang in there and stay safe.
Just to be on the safe side — Miss Emily Dickinson and “The Soul has Bandaged moments”
The Soul has Bandaged moments –
When too appalled to stir –
She feels some ghastly Fright come up
And stop to look at her –
Salute her, with long fingers –
Caress her freezing hair –
Sip, Goblin, from the very lips
The Lover – hovered – o’er –
Unworthy, that a thought so mean
Accost a Theme – so – fair –
The soul has moments of escape –
When bursting all the doors –
She dances like a Bomb, abroad,
And swings opon the Hours,
As do the Bee – delirious borne –
Long Dungeoned from his Rose –
Touch Liberty – then know no more –
But Noon, and Paradise
The Soul’s retaken moments –
When, Felon led along,
With shackles on the plumed feet,
And staples, in the song,
The Horror welcomes her, again,
These, are not brayed of Tongue –
Playing me out is one of my all-time favorite songs from the 1990s, probably the best decade for music (and this coming from a Boomer Beatles fan!):
Despite the sickness, once again here we are…
(Illustration out front: Salvador Dali’s ‘Tête Raphaëlesque éclatée [Exploding Raphaelesque Head],’ found here)