Tiny Plastic Houses

So, I pulled out my trusty old copy of Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath and began reading (or re-reading, I guess … does it count if you were 8 when you read it the last time?) …

As always, it was a heart breaking experience. On one hand you have the horrific circumstances that push the people off their land and force them into degradation and starvation. In the other you have the machine that drives the gears of progress (government, elitism, bigotry, fear, etc.)…

During one of my reads, however, I noticed something new: A quote from a review on the back cover that unsettled me. The quote, published in Time Magazine, stated that "The way of life [the book] describes is no more."

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A poem I stumbled across today and typed here for your reading pleasure …

The Layers
by Stanley Kunitz (1905-2006)

I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.

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I am sick today (for the 23rd day in a row). What a day to be sick. The weather's crappy, my throat is raw and all I can think of is just how much I don't want to be here.

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