Poor Choices

Perfect timing. Got home just ahead of the rain. I wish the service had been done in Latin. Roll over and play dead. The shortest dress was on a chubby young woman who had to keep pulling it down. Too tight. The best fashion statement were the mid-thigh, synthetic, summer frocks. I hate this shit, generally, people dressing up like Barbie, ritual for no sake but its own. There was enough interesting footwear to keep my attention. Venus Callipyge, or Venus of the beautiful butt. All day with the letter V, searching out St. Veronica. Too much time in the stacks. I'm confused by the concept of venial sins, and am forced to consider which of my many sins might be mortal. By the end of the day I have dictionaries and encyclopedias strewn everywhere, and a slight headache. Hot and muggy, but I take a walk under the canopy of trees, and there's a light breeze on the ridge; taking the air clears my head. Several versions of the Veronica story, precursor to The Shroud Of Turin: she either wipes his face or he takes her proffered head-scarf and wipes his own face and the image is left, indelible, vera icona; which actually exists, if we're to believe these people, as a relic, in St. Peter's, Rome. What caught my interest, one of the things, was another St. Veronica. Veronica Giuliani, 1660-1727. In 1694 the crown of thorns was imprinted upon her forehead, and in 1697 she was in full stigmata. Her autopsy is still debated. She's my patron saint, July the 9th. This Catholic wedding has completely fucked me up. The Stations Of The Cross, all that shit, it's clogging my arteries. I know when we finished the structure of a house, sitting amid the rafters and collar-ties, we'd drink a cold beer, and celebrate topping-out. Fine words butter no parsnips.Took me several hours to figure out what I meant by that. Later, I kissed myself good-bye. I'd rather just retire. Ops, another fertility goddess, later identified with Rhea, often just disappeared, and I don't blame her. Another thing, that last couple of passes a Spanish matador makes with a bull, in close, slow motion, is called a Veronica, the way the head-print impresses the cape.