October 3rd, 2014

Gmar Chatimah Tovah

It is 10:41 AM Friday morning in the flow of the Plan of God. Because God has a plan for our lives life has meaning. It is rainy gray dreary day here by Lake Michigan. I feel like I have not woken up yet. I got up around 8 o'clock AM this morning. We had a quiet morning thus far. Same old same old.

I got up made a pot of coffee and then messed with our main computer. Carol got up and I wrote in my paper diary. Carol made a pot of oatmeal for breakfast. Due to being on a diet I no longer eat a big breakfast. I used to eat for breakfast two eggs, sausage, toast and coffee. Now I eat a plain bowl of oatmeal and an apple. I will soon cut out cereal from my diet. I have cut out bread and sandwich meat for lunch. Eating rich food for me was something I enjoyed, now I am down to nothing. No sweet rolls, cookies or candy. No hamburgers and no hotdogs for lunch. I have maybe lost five pounds since I stopped eating comfort food.

So the morning goes by. I have been reading my Reformation commentary on John 1-12 this morning. Not much else to report.

I do not remember much about last night. Carol worked last night from 4 o'clock PM till 8 o'clock PM. I watched some professional football before going to bed around 10 o'clock PM.

music Apparat "Walls"

Well I suppose I will close to drift into the afternoon hours. Existence keeps decaying.

"[16] And therefore did the Jews persecute Jesus, and sought to slay him, because he had done these things on the sabbath day.
[17] But Jesus answered them, My Father worketh hitherto, and I work.
[18] Therefore the Jews sought the more to kill him, because he not only had broken the sabbath, but said also that God was his Father, making himself equal with God.
[19] Then answered Jesus and said unto them, Verily, verily, I say unto you, The Son can do nothing of himself, but what he seeth the Father do: for what things soever he doeth, these also doeth the Son likewise.
[20] For the Father loveth the Son, and sheweth him all things that himself doeth: and he will shew him greater works than these, that ye may marvel.
[21] For as the Father raiseth up the dead, and quickeneth them; even so the Son quickeneth whom he will.
[22] For the Father judgeth no man, but hath committed all judgment unto the Son:
[23] That all men should honour the Son, even as they honour the Father. He that honoureth not the Son honoureth not the Father which hath sent him.
[24] Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that heareth my word, and believeth on him that sent me, hath everlasting life, and shall not come into condemnation; but is passed from death unto life.
[25] Verily, verily, I say unto you, The hour is coming, and now is, when the dead shall hear the voice of the Son of God: and they that hear shall live.
[26] For as the Father hath life in himself; so hath he given to the Son to have life in himself;
[27] And hath given him authority to execute judgment also, because he is the Son of man.
[28] Marvel not at this: for the hour is coming, in the which all that are in the graves shall hear his voice,
[29] And shall come forth; they that have done good, unto the resurrection of life; and they that have done evil, unto the resurrection of damnation." John 5:16-29
  • Current Music
    Richard Buckner "Your Blood"

The Day of Atonement

It is 4:56 PM Friday evening in the flow of life. I am down in the lower level writing on my old lap top computer. I have been reading today about the books of the American writer Alexander Theroux. I recently ordered a novel by Alexander Theroux titled, "Laura Warholic: Or, The Sexual Intellectual". I am tempted to buy all the writings of Alexander Theroux for our library. But I will wait for next month to come before ordering any more books. I also ordered the other day a book titled, Postcards from Ed: Dispatches and Salvos from an American Iconoclast" by Edward Abbey.

I think I have next month coming in the mail a new Will Self novel.

This day has been normal thus far. I basically have been reading this afternoon a biography on the life of Gustave Flaubert by Benjamin F. Bart.

Carol goes back to work tonight. There is nothing on TV tonight so I should mop the kitchen floors and read my books. Tomorrow morning I once again volunteer at the Herrick Public Library used books store from 10 AM till 1 PM. I might watch college football tomorrow afternoon, it all depends how I feel inside.

I have to confess I did leave the house this afternoon with the purpose of going for a walk at VanRaalte Farm county park, but threatening storm clouds caused me to change my mind. While out I did stop at a local thrift store to look over their selection of used books. Sadly to write I found nothing to add to our book collection. Maybe next week I will find some used books to add to our library. One can always dream. I need to find used books every week to add to our library to feel normal. Next month around the first of the month Carol and I are going to a used books sale in Grand Rapids, Michigan.

So this day has gone by with any awareness of my inner pain. There are times I hate life in America. But where else can I go, but up.

Well I suppose I will close to drift.

"[37] In the last day, that great day of the feast, Jesus stood and cried, saying, If any man thirst, let him come unto me, and drink.
[38] He that believeth on me, as the scripture hath said, out of his belly shall flow rivers of living water.
[39] (But this spake he of the Spirit, which they that believe on him should receive: for the Holy Ghost was not yet given; because that Jesus was not yet glorified.)" John 7:37-39
  • Current Mood
    contemplative contemplative

'September 1, 1939' a poem by W. H. Auden

September 1, 1939

I sit in one of the dives
On Fifty-second Street
Uncertain and afraid
As the clever hopes expire
Of a low dishonest decade:
Waves of anger and fear
Circulate over the bright
And darkened lands of the earth,
Obsessing our private lives;
The unmentionable odour of death
Offends the September night.

Accurate scholarship can
Unearth the whole offence
From Luther until now
That has driven a culture mad,
Find what occurred at Linz,
What huge imago made
A psychopathic god:
I and the public know
What all schoolchildren learn,
Those to whom evil is done
Do evil in return.

Exiled Thucydides knew
All that a speech can say
About Democracy,
And what dictators do,
The elderly rubbish they talk
To an apathetic grave;
Analysed all in his book,
The enlightenment driven away,
The habit-forming pain,
Mismanagement and grief:
We must suffer them all again.

Into this neutral air
Where blind skyscrapers use
Their full height to proclaim
The strength of Collective Man,
Each language pours its vain
Competitive excuse:
But who can live for long
In an euphoric dream;
Out of the mirror they stare,
Imperialism’s face
And the international wrong.

Faces along the bar
Cling to their average day:
The lights must never go out,
The music must always play,
All the conventions conspire
To make this fort assume
The furniture of home;
Lest we should see where we are,
Lost in a haunted wood,
Children afraid of the night
Who have never been happy or good.

The windiest militant trash
Important Persons shout
Is not so crude as our wish:
What mad Nijinsky wrote
About Diaghilev
Is true of the normal heart;
For the error bred in the bone
Of each woman and each man
Craves what it cannot have,
Not universal love
But to be loved alone.

From the conservative dark
Into the ethical life
The dense commuters come,
Repeating their morning vow;
“I will be true to the wife,
I’ll concentrate more on my work,"
And helpless governors wake
To resume their compulsory game:
Who can release them now,
Who can reach the deaf,
Who can speak for the dumb?

All I have is a voice
To undo the folded lie,
The romantic lie in the brain
Of the sensual man-in-the-street
And the lie of Authority
Whose buildings grope the sky:
There is no such thing as the State
And no one exists alone;
Hunger allows no choice
To the citizen or the police;
We must love one another or die.

Defenceless under the night
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere,
Ironic points of light
Flash out wherever the Just
Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them
Of Eros and of dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negation and despair,
Show an affirming flame.
  • Current Music
    The Kingsbury Manx "Aztec Discipline"