Sunday Will Never Be The Same

Sunday morning quietly slips down the hall as new stream of early dawn carry dust motes in a cascade of Red Sea waves breaking upon Pharaoh’s Army.  The cat sleeps curled in the warmth of covers I left rumpled lest I disturb her rest.  Thoughts sift themselves from out of the remnants of dreams as I pour the water and measure the scoops of ground coffee beans.  Then I set both to on and let them perk for the several minutes it takes to wake up and seem alive.  The sky has grown brighter and the clouds fewer, the birds have started their early morning singing song.  Some sound like a rusty swing that a child so often tortures his parents with delight as the seat swings back and forth with renewed joy each time.  Spring has arrived unless you live in striking distance of polar vortexes and I hear the squirrels give chase through the trees, often stopping to complain about the unfairness of their station in life.  Only a car or two stir the air as they drift towards some church destination, we have many in the area and I suppose one must decide which one is most worthy of god.  I do not attend, I prefer to keep my gods before me and not put them on parade for all to see.  Let each man find his own god is my motto.  I do not share my god for fear that I shall not get him back or that some great damage will be done to him.  “It must have been a factory defect,” one may said when he returned the last one all broken and ragged.  No, the violence men do to their gods I do not want done to mine.  They act as if there was an endless supply, but I know they will run out when they least expect and then what will they do?

Mid morning and Sunday is slowly leaving my coffee as the day warms up and liquids cool down.  Perhaps they will both reach midpoint about noon if there is any poetic justice in this world.  But let’s face it, if we all got what we deserved humans would have died out eons ago.  So here we are, stuck with each other in a perverse hell upon the earth.  Oh, I know, some of you think that too forbidding a thought.  We should believe in bright cheery promises about the world and living to one’s potential, and all that positive stuff.  Seems like it was just a century ago that Sunday preached such lessons all through the lands and minds of the people.  The hope of the world was reaching its zenith then, we were still wide eyed and bushy tailed.  But slowly Sundays changed, inch by inch the discontent crept through the land, and one by one each of the old gods was replaced by a new one until there were no more left to substitute.  Oh, we still had religion, we will always have religion of one thing or another.  But our once strongly defined and chiseled gods started to become lumps or their former selves.  Now there are little more than quivering masses.  It must be jelly because jam don’t shake like that.  No rock star ever sang,”please don’t take my god away.”

Yeah, I do have a Nikon camera in the house somewhere.  I rarely use it.  I keep telling myself that I might take up black and white photography again.  I did when I was a teenager simply because I couldn’t afford the color film or the equipment to develop color film.  Black and white was pretty easy to do as a hobby.  Dad had even bought an enlarger back in the forties.  As camera went, I had to make do with an old Brownie, the box type that was hard to hold steady and was always a pain to carry.  But I always used Kodak film and paper, very good stuff.  Photographs were special then, they meant more,cost more.  People bought good frames from them.  The world of digital has changed all that.  The photographer has changed places.  Interpretation is what the camera sees, not the photographer.  The photographer is almost extinct as a source of life.  Ones and zeros are the only life left in the universe.  A flat screen is our mirror now, no wonder we have trouble recognizing ourselves.  Do I really look like that?  Is that me?

Mid morning, at least the television is off.  I find my laptop on more and I’m not sure that is a good sign.  It hardly feels like civilization is advancing, certainly not on all fronts.  Outside of movies I have little use for television.  If you had watched the sitcoms of the late forties and early fifties then you have seen all the possible combinations of comedy.  Even drama has not changed much.  We are all still waiting for Godot.  Real life drama based on real life situation and sanitized for out protection, brought to you in living color in the safety of your living room.  We celebrate diversity in all its falseness.  We sanitize it first so that it will not infect us, then add a diaper so that it won’t make nasty messes on our just waxed floors and clean carpets.  Gosh, everyone is just alike, until we travel to the third world countries and see the filth and squalor others just like us live in.  The stench overcomes us, the filth is unimaginable.  Don’t bother with cameras, Nikon or digital, neither will capture the live experience.  What did you think diversity was?  Children’s story books are filled with lies and they teach intolerance.  No, but they teach acceptance, don’t they?  Really, will you accept living in squalor, in filth, breathing that stench every minute of your life?  That is the reality of diversity.  You don’t live that way but others do, so how are you alike?  The fact is, you wouldn’t trade places with them of a week, not even a day.  Time to cut the bull.  Life is different for different people in different places on this planet.  Yes, everyone is human and everyone has experiences, but those experiences are not the parts of a standard issue rifle.  Once you’ve been to some of the places Sunday will never be the same.


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