Spiraling downdowndown roundroundround as the wheel turns
relentlessly across the vast indifference of the cosmos,
a lone small voice calls out in the chaos:
The time, the time! What TIME is it?
Is it time to splash across the firmament in a gaudy crescendo of color,
unmistakable and wild,
or is it time to be stone, mosscovered, unremarkable except for the
solidity?
Who is entering through the revolving door – who is heading out to where
no one can see the end of all the light there ever was?
Is there time enough to live without regret, or have there been so many wrongs
that nothing we can ever do will right them?
Is it time to give up, taste the bitter powder of defeat,
or time to batter 'gainst what crushing odds crouch, silent?
Is the clock ticking doubletime now that the tunnel shortens,
or is that simply the perception of the ones who walk on farther?
Secondsminuteshoursdaysweeksmonthsyearsdecadescenturiesmillenniaeons
pass as slowly or as swiftly as we let them.
We can't stop Time; he races with the sun and always wins,
but we can be immersed, afloat, surrounded
in his generous embrace.
There is always time for living.
There is always time to feel.
There is always time to give and time for taking.
And no, the graysuits down on Wall Street can't invest it,
can't hold it ‘til the time is right to trade it;
no yellow howto books for dummies on this subject.
Alone we occupy our carrels in the millionmaze of mayhem,
striving mightily to ravel out, judiciously, our efforts.
This is going to be a long tweet, and it’s not new news, but it’s new news to me, and I think it’s especially important for everyone, and especially those of you who support
the now indicted @realDonaldTrump to become acquainted with the class of people who worked for and… https://t.co/6uLkazc2fRtwitter.com/i/web/status/1…
•1991: A book by John O’Donnell, former president of Trump Plaza Hotel and Casino in Atlantic City, quoted Trump’s criticism of a Black accountant: “Black guys counting my money! I hate it. The only kind of people I want counting my money are short guys that wear yarmulkes every… twitter.com/i/web/status/1…
But when you put all these events together, a clear pattern emerges. At the very least, Trump has a history of playing into people’s racism to bolster himself — and that likely says something about him, too.
And, of course, there’s everything that’s happened through and since his… twitter.com/i/web/status/1…
A priest went to see his Bishop and asks if he would hear his confession
“Of course,” the Bishop said and took out his rosary. “And what do you have to confess?”
“Well Your Grace I used profane language,” the priest said, shifting a bit in obvious embarrassment.
“I understand,” the Bishop said. “And under what circumstance did you use the profanity?”
“Well, Your Grace, I was playing golf and I stepped up to the tee on a par four and I hit what is probably the best drive of my life. Long and straight as an arrow,” the priest replied.
“Well surely there was no cause to blaspheme then?” the Bishop said with a frown.
“Well no,” the priest said, “but as it flew down the fairway it hit an overhead wire and dropped down only a hundred yards away.”
“Ah,” said the Bishop. “So that’s when you blasphemed.”
A truck driver and his pet parrot were hauling a load of chickens. He stopped to pick up an attractive hitchhiker, swung the door open and asked, "You want a lift?" “Yes, thank you!" she said and started to climb in when the parrot exclaimed, “Wanna fuck?"
“No!” she answered and the parrot screeched, “No fuck no ride!" and fluttered like crazy, scaring the hitchhiker off.
The truck driver was appalled. He told the parrot he should be ashamed of himself and not to let it happen again. The parrot squawked his call of agreement and nodded his head.
Pope Francis knocked on Heaven’s gate after his death. Saint Peter opened the door, looked at him and said, “Welcome to life after death. What is your name?" The Pope, slightly irritated, answered, “I am the pope." "Pope who?"Peter asked.
“Pope Francis! You should know who I am!" the pope snapped. Peter looked in his book and said, "Hmm, I can't find a Francis Pope in here. Are you sure you’re at the right place?" The pope replied, "This must be a misunderstanding. I am the pope, god's representative on earth!"
Peter said, “Oh. I'm not aware the boss sent somebody down to earth to represent him. Please wait a minute, I'm going to talk to him."
Tonight my husband was acting weird. We had made plans to meet at a nice restaurant for dinner. I was shopping with my friends all day long so I thought he was upset at the fact that I was a bit late but he made no comment on it.
Conversation wasn't flowing, so I suggested that we go somewhere quiet so we could talk.
He agreed but he didn't say much.
I asked him what was wrong. He said, "Nothing."
I asked him if it was my fault that he was upset.
He said he wasn't upset, that it had nothing to do with me, and not to worry about it.
On the way home, I told him I loved him.
He smiled slightly and kept driving. I can't explain his behavior.
I don't know why he didn't say, “I love you too.”