IN THE TENTH YEAR OF THE PANDEMONIUM

IN THE TENTH YEAR OF THE PANDEMONIUM

Sunday, June 12, 2022

All Through The Night, or A Sunday Kind of Love

 Thoughts flicker through my semi-sleeping mind during the night as I think of things to say here.  As if it were of some importance.  lol.  But I do think on it.  

One of the things I was talking with my grandson about a couple days ago were artifacts in language, which don't actually mean anything.  He is in a position in life where it is very important for me to communicate real meaning to him.  He thinks communism is some kind of answer.  So I fight on.

The used to say "What is the sound of one hand clapping", right?  

Then I would say "What is the sound of one duck quacking".  Because you can say all kinds of stuff, arrange words on a page, but there is no meaning there.  I pray to reflect meaning to him, and he does listen to me.


But then I am distracted by the impossible beauty.



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