Good Food

Lunch with Sam -- friend of sixteen years or so -- and talked about the indefinable nature of relationships and experience, about the warring instincts of wholesomeness and sordidness. Riding in his new Cadillac SUV, we listened to Mobb Deep, hip-hop act of the mid-90s. Crisp production, minor key loops, light voices, light but menacing music. Good groove. You could sit in the groove, you could lie down in the groove, you could dance in the groove, you could contemplate the groove.

I will head down to the jazz festival again tonight and engage in the perilous games of my existence and the minor but significant pains they cause, the feeling behind the eyes. There are canoers out on the river. The river is no longer iridescent and the sun has receded slightly behind some clouds, although this would only be a partly cloudy sky. In fact, this is probably the epitome of a partly cloudy sky. The clouds have a gray film over the bottom, like they just ate a large order of McDonald's fries.

There is an inherent sense of the tragic in all experience because of the unavoidable awareness of time passing. Everything you do could be the last, or second-to-last time.