2016
Unreal year, huh? I find myself thinking about it a lot and like you, I can't believe most of what just happened.
I know I've had times in my life of true and pure, utter disbelief - but I will never forget watching the Election coverage in the daze of shock. And it grew as the minutes ticked by. At the shore before a tsunami, isn't it quiet? Perhaps not overstated, the pull of the tide out might be noticeable, but within the boundaries of acceptable. Those locals at the shore after the earthquake know better. They scan the deep part of the ocean, the ocean 3 miles out - the horizon ocean - for signs of what's to come. Is it getting choppy out there? What is Florida doing? Even the surfers are coming in. What is going on in Texas? The swelling. The gash over the left eye gets vaseline as the dominos fall. One, by one. The hemorrhaging is real now. But there is no tonic, there is no solution. You are on the right channel. It's too late to fix it.....If I may continue to mix metaphors - the rest of the night saw the boxer bleeding out. Hands down. Why are your hands down!! Swirling interrogation lights, canvas. What were we witness to? What is happening? The match was on pause. Surely there will be a catastrophic knock out blow. A mercy killing. They do that to dogs and horses. But things just stopped. In my apartment, anyway. I stayed up to watch The Illegitimate talk in the hotel and it was not real. To me the boxer just closed his eyes, and that was it. Where was the scramble? It's too late. The water's a quarter mile in now rushing past the tall buildings on 3rd Street and its rising. There's no letting up. It's irreversible. Everything is gone. It's too late. What can be done? All the might in the world. It's too late.
Nashville, Tennessee, 2016 — Photo by Ivan Clow