Laughter of the Eagles

Thick chunks of turquoise covered their bodies. A wail like wind was their song. It drifted across desert plains.

If we wait too long we all become laughter of the eagles.

Nobody wants to be reminded of the future,

or listen to the echo of eagles picking at yak flesh.

Fear intrudes.

It Still Felt Good the Morning After

ON the morning after a black man won the White House, America’s tears of catharsis gave way to unadulterated joy.

Coincidences

I must confess I am a collector of coincidences.

Some addicts keep personal logs with newspaper cuttings to prove their point that coincidences 'have a meaning'.

Others regard collecting as a vice in which they indulge with guilty knowledge of sinning against the laws of rationality.

El Odio es santo. Es la indignación de los corazones fuertes y paternos.

Es el desdén militante de aquellos a quienes la medianía y la necesidad enojan. Odiar es amar, es tener el alma ardiente y generosa, es vivir holgadamente, despreciando las cosas estúpidas y vergonzosas.
-- Emile Zola

The Last Men

“A little poison now and then: that makes for pleasant dreams. And much poison at the end for a pleasant death.

They have their little pleasures for the day, and their little pleasures for the night, but they have a regard for health.

‘We have discovered happiness, ’ - say the Last Men, and they blink.”

A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything --Nietzche