My so-called friends have fallen under a spell
They look me squarely in the eye and they say, “All is well”
Can they imagine the darkness that will fall from on high
When men will beg God to kill them and they won’t be able to die?”
~ Bob Dylan ~ Precious Angel ~ 1979
So my morning starts with coffee and Bob Dylan, a bright and cheery sunshiny morning, a happy parakeet who loves any kind of noise, and a feeling of being well rested.
A mild back and forth with another blogster on Islamic Terror and Saddam Hussein. A comment here, a comment there. A new item posted in my labor of love, Akashaic, soon to be the Great American Novel. It is just as easy to wish for a billion as it is for five bucks, I guess.
Half of America is pissed at Benjamin Netanyahu speaking at Congress without getting the White House’s permission. The other half wonders where in the hell is it written that anyone has to get the Presidents permission to speak before Congress. I stand with the latter.
Another birthday came and went, marking yet another year of survival in my humiliating slow march to decay and death. There has been [mumble] sunrises and sunsets in my life. One great war, and untold military actions. Twelve Presidents. Two wives. Two arterial bypasses. Uncounted angioplasties and angiograms. 12,486 pots of Snookums flawless morning coffee.
Today is Sunday. My day to prepare the meals. It is time to begin Sunday brunch. I have a craving for waffles, but even the thought pegs the meter on my glucose reader. So. Ersatz sausage and eggs it will be.