Excerpt #2 -- Tsunetomo, Yamamoto. Hagakure: The Book of the Samurai. New York: Kodansha America Inc., 1979. p 17 and 18.
It is so very grey outside. I am looking out my window at the lawn and the street, and everything is so thick and wet and heavy with rain. When I was walking to the bus stop this morning, I realized that I had a few minutes yet to wait for the bus, so I walked on past my stop and did another tour around the block.
I felt like my head needed clearing. Or that I wanted something but didn’t know what it was. Longing? Not quite. It was something I could not place, something less tangible, something more like turning a corner and then forgetting where it was I was going. The buildings looked as though they had shifted somehow and were less familiar. I was half of the round back to my bus stop with my finger nearly put upon the thought that swung murkily beneath my consciousness when the mist in the air turned decidedly into spitting droplets.
Who can fucking think when there’s nowhere for your eyes to go?
I stopped walking and looked up into the fathomless sky. It did not even admit to the morning light. I felt soured with nowhere to go but work and lit a cigarette. Just give me a taste of nihilism and I will leap to the hook before it has even entered the water. And then the rain began, graduating from a drizzle to a full on soaking spatter. Still a block away from the bus stop shelter, I trudged ahead, concentrating on keeping the cigarette firmly between my fingers to avoid letting the rain get at the filter. Despite my efforts, the cigarette had broken off at the filter because of its increasing dampness before I even reached my stop.
Who can fucking think when there’s nowhere for your eyes to go? Sky, pavement, windows, cars – they are all reflecting the same grey light, reflecting it from one thing to another with little variation in depth and colour. Maybe this is it. The summer has passed more cool days from one week to the next with too few sunny days to inspire much life in me. I am at the mercy of the sunlight.
A young man is standing on the sidewalk outside my window now. He is facing me. I think he thinks he is staring at his own reflection in the glass. He doesn’t know that I see him. I am invisible. I am having an invisible kind of day.
On a more positive note:
I first met this man about a decade ago, and he did his name and numbers game on me back then. Gross.
The oldest ice core ever drilled holds out some environmental hope for us humans.
Ha! I freakin’ love cats.
Spending money just keeps getting easier.
The occupation headquarters have been attacked in Baghdad.