ABANDONED CEMETERY DEEP IIN MISSISSIPPI

If this had been a set designed for a Hollywood movie, I could imagine the director taking a look at it and saying to the art director, “Oh come on, Rafael! Spanish moss? Really?” But that’s Mississippi for you. If I may generalize, and I may, this being my blog and all--despite the fact that I find generalization to be in the main a hindrance to true perception of reality, but when did contradiction to the point of hypocrisy ever stop me?--the culture of the deep South suppresses a lot of dark material, and that suppression, among other things, results in a measured, decorous demeanor among its native people, but the hidden brew seeps through their pores anyway, lending them a rich, pungent presence that infuses everything that emanates from those precincts, especially their music and literature, of which I’m a big fan, in all their forms. It reminds me of the cultish women of earlier times who removed themselves from society and bound themselves up in harsh religious constraints and then produced wildly flamboyant and colorful quilts. Which modern people now collect and hang in museums every bit as austere as Shaker meeting halls. And that’s what’s left of them. Mortality has been climbing up my brain’s list of musing topics lately--go figure, huh?--and is now number four with a bullet, closing in on Can I Eat A Bag Of Potato Chips Without My Glucose Readings Going Haywire. An old acquaintance of mine died the other day at the age of 53. 53! If I had died at 53, think of what I would have missed! My life has gotten much more interesting in recent years. The odd thing is, I wouldn’t really have missed the things I would have missed, since my belief system doesn’t allow for a post-mortem sentience, where I would sit on either my cloud or my Weber grill and whine over all the things I could have done if I had only let my doctor stick his finger up my bum. Whereas now I’m in the midst of doing and being all those things I wished I had been alive to do and be. There! I’ve just talked myself into being happy again. Yay me!

I attribute the tenor of this blog entry to a new strain of coffee beans recently obtained from Cafe Stella. Earlier entries I have no excuse for.