Time Goes By
AprApril is the cruelest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain -T.S. Eliot, “The Wasteland” Today, I am hiding out from the atrocious pollen count in California (I always thought that Elliot was talking about allergies--as it turns out, he was talking about the cruelty of hope in a hopeless time , according to Michael Austin (thanks Google!)) by staying in my apartment with the blinds drawn and furiously eating bee pollen to try and force my immune system to bee friends with it (get it?). It has been more than a year since I have written a blog post. I can't seem to crack the algorithm on the old facestergrammers, and, at any rate, there is no slowness there, no space for thought and reflection, for development, for depth. And, so.... The Post Covid Post, or, Unfinished Business I chose a profession that is also a dream. That is an interesting metaphor-- A dream. [It is hard