We walk about our world. We seek the richer, tastier fruits of life. And yet again and again, a paradox presents itself. How can we be happy if our hope is only the unmitigated pleasure we perceive happiness to be, and not a true happiness that resides beyond, that we sense only through a dusty window, mutely...
Oh woe upon man, woe upon the woe of man!
I feel like we have passed something by. Something that we should have bought is now sold out. A fragrance we were to have concocted in our labs is still unsmelt. No amount of worrying or kvetching on our parts can make the past repeat itself, with a difference, oh a crucial difference!
If history is a wine press, and we the grapes of wrath, then our blood is the mixed in beaks of crows caught trying to steal a greedy sip.
Those were halcyon days, those days when the tremulous buzz of a constant bore wrought our minds over subjects near and far... You know what I am talking about. 2005. The greatest year ever, for reasons too obvious and numerous to list.
It's now 2007. We're no longer even adjacent to the glory. And nothing, not even the pathetic site of Nancy Pelosi and a gaggle of youths, can lend us any hope that these days will be such days as those.