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rejectomorphBecause of supermarket sales peculiarly arranged, over the last few weeks I have come to have a freezer full of frozen food. I always thought my refrigerator disproportionate in its accommodations for frozen foods, and I had several plastic, half gallon milk jugs filled with frozen water to take up the extra space, but gradually I've removed most of those jugs and replaced them with various comestibles. Now I'm inclined when I look in the freezer to mutter Good God under my breath and close the door. All that frozen food is an intimidating sight, to be sure.
It is now an undeniable fact that I have enough frozen peas to last half a year, or to assuage the pain of any number of injuries I might suffer simultaneously should a package of fish fingers fall to the floor and I, before I can retrieve it, step on it, slip, and fall myself. The collection of ice cream and ice cream novelties has reached a level that could induce an epidemic of diabetes among the town's children. This is what my life has come to. I horde frozen burritos without noticing what has happened until it is too late. How can there ever be enough salsa?
Sunday Verse
by Lawrence Raab
You're walking down a road
which someone has drawn to illustrate
the idea of perspective, and you are there
to provide a sense of scale.
See how the road narrows in the distance,
becoming a point at which
everything connects, or flies apart.
That's where you're headed.
The rest of the world is a blank page
of open space. Did you really think
you were just out for an aimless stroll?
And those mountains in the horizon:
the longer you look, the more forbidding
they become, bleak and self-important,
like symbols. But of what?
The future, perhaps. Destiny. Or the opposite.
The perpetual present, the foolishness of purpose.
At evening they recede into the sky
as if they had always been the sky.
Is it a relief to know you'll never reach them?
Is there any comfort in believing
you're needed where you are?
It is now an undeniable fact that I have enough frozen peas to last half a year, or to assuage the pain of any number of injuries I might suffer simultaneously should a package of fish fingers fall to the floor and I, before I can retrieve it, step on it, slip, and fall myself. The collection of ice cream and ice cream novelties has reached a level that could induce an epidemic of diabetes among the town's children. This is what my life has come to. I horde frozen burritos without noticing what has happened until it is too late. How can there ever be enough salsa?
Sunday Verse
Vanishing Point
by Lawrence Raab
You're walking down a road
which someone has drawn to illustrate
the idea of perspective, and you are there
to provide a sense of scale.
See how the road narrows in the distance,
becoming a point at which
everything connects, or flies apart.
That's where you're headed.
The rest of the world is a blank page
of open space. Did you really think
you were just out for an aimless stroll?
And those mountains in the horizon:
the longer you look, the more forbidding
they become, bleak and self-important,
like symbols. But of what?
The future, perhaps. Destiny. Or the opposite.
The perpetual present, the foolishness of purpose.
At evening they recede into the sky
as if they had always been the sky.
Is it a relief to know you'll never reach them?
Is there any comfort in believing
you're needed where you are?
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no subject
Date: 2013-07-31 02:13 am (UTC)you're needed where you are?"
I see what you mean. I can still believe that of myself, too.