Cold Wind

Brutal outside, my eyes tear up almost immediately. I thought to walk down to the mail-box, but I feared for getting back. A bit of broken blue, a few shafts of sunlight, and I think the chance of snow is gone. For the while. I had to laugh, sunlight through bare trees was blinding me and I remembered my sword-fishing cap, which has a long bill, and dig it out. Perfect, I can tilt it one way or the other and block the light. It's difficult to imagine a gallery in which there's a portrait of Trump on black velvet, or maybe not so difficult. The halls of justice. I think I'd be good judge, actually, I listen well. There are cases I'd like wade in on, but really, I'm just a fucking outrigger. I had intended to save some pate for B, and Cory at the pub, they're both serious fans, but it doesn't work out. I have a Jones for a thick layer of pate on toast, a sandwich which is about 24% fat and perfect for the season, like eating two avocados a day, or a pint of Ben and Jerry's. No intention of reading Dante again, but it's interesting to read about his life and times. He probably had a daughter, she probably died in a convent, and he did codify Italian, no mean feat, reaching for the vernacular. This period, early 1300's, though there were no paper mills, paper was being made, Dante made copies of his work and left it in monasteries. I've read about this period, 1350 to 1450, quite a bit recently, the last few years, the advent of paper and printing in the west. The hold of the church was lost. What is the church, other a crutch? The music is great, glory to god in the highest, but the very idea that there should be some mediation between me and the world is anathema. I have respect for all of this, the pope, Luther, small town preachers with snakes, but I just want to be left alone, A bowl of rice, nothing more, maybe a dash of chili oil.