Sipping my Americano at the corner of Rivington and Clinton at the Lower East Side’s Marm Cafe, I finished one of my current reads; Dalton Trumbo’s “johnny got his gun”. It is my belief that by being exposed to the darkness every now and then we learn to appreciate the light that encapsulates us, the light we to often neglect and overlook. This book provides a healthy dose of the dark. Enjoy…
Is it possible for anything to resist change, even a mere commodity that can be bought, buried, banned, damned, praised or ignored. Johnny held a different meaning for three different wars. Its present meaning is what each reader conceives it to be, and each reader is gloriously different from each other reader, and each is also changing.
I’ve let it remain as it was to see what it is.
But exactly how many hundreds or thousands of the dead-while-living does that give us? We don’t ask. We turn away from them; we avert our eyes, ears, nose, mouth, face.”Why should I look, it wasn’t my fault, was it?” It was, of course, but no matter. Time presses. Death waits even for us. We have a dream to pursue, the whitest white hope of them all, and we must follow and find it before the light fails.
So long, losers. God bless. Take care. We’ll be seeing you.
January 3, 1970