To muddle through. To find a way, despite daunting circumstances. To overcome terrifying obstacles, sometimes with nothing more than a dream. To find a shred of light in a sea of darkness. To hear the one true note of music in a cacophony of noise. To inspire when everyone around you is falling down. To make the most of what you have, putting one foot in front of the other, transforming the scraggly tree life has given you into something beautiful. To muddle through…somehow.
I get my fair share of kooky emails from conspiracy crazies, neurotic nightcrawlers, and tormented trolls, but none so bizarre as the one I received the evening of June 14, 2021.
I see long lines waiting for your rationed drop of lukewarm, brown swill made from leftover grinds, massive reductions in white collar productivity, withdrawal headaches, and widespread snarkiness. I see madness and mayhem.
Music by the artist Jaspertine using my poem “O Cool Electric Blue” about the atomic bomb dropped on the Japanese city of Hiroshima by the US at 8:15 a.m. on August 6, 1945.
While I was in South America, people asked me about Donald Trump. “We don’t understand,” they would say frantically. “Why are the American people interested in this madman? How can you explain it to us in a way that makes sense?”