October 2. Today’s tally from John Hopkins University is thirty-four million four hundred seventy-one thousand two hundred and four confirmed cases global. 7,328,273 United States. 164,359 Canada. 1,025,815 deaths global, 208,642 United States. 9,430 Canada. British Columbia today has a reported 162 new confirmed cases, up markedly from numbers in July and August. That is also of course partly due to much increased testing of individuals.
Today the great and much loved president of the United States himself came down with a dose. He is much despised even in his own party, such as it is now, but he got the power, man, and we got the power with him so we stayin cause is all about the power, you know? The power is everything. Power, man. It’s power. The sweet man this afternoon was choppered over to Walter Reed Hospital in DC from the Casa Blanca as a “precaution” and is going to be lying low a few days unless it’s forever. There are a great many who wouldn’t miss him. He could be the most despised guy on the planet. Others love him although few if any can understand it beginning with the lovers. He’s a dark enigma and now he has a slight temperature. Hang in there, prez! The hate’ll keep ya goin!
October 4. “The writer duly notes that I am about the same age as the editors of the paper but that I have obviously done myself in by not having gone to college. In a sense, for a conventional writer the reviewer was right. It is probably a good thing that the dwindling company of twentieth century readers and the hugely expanding company of writers share the same syllabus. Although the voluntary reader will have read many books that schoolteachers will never have heard of, he may not know all of their required reading. Required reading! I have noticed over the years that those who go on to become teachers or critics—or even novelists or poets of a hyphenate kind—tend, as time passes, to dislike, even resent all literature. But then the secret worm in their brazen apples is careerism, which kills off the amateur or the dilettante, the very best sort of reader, if not writer.” –Gore Vidal. “Palimpsest”. 1995.
Been saying the same thing for years. That must make me smart. There’s an absurd number of writers in stark contrast to the scarcity of readers. And careerism, in an overwhelming number of cases, is the end of any real literary interest. Bubblicious creative writing mills. Cue the outrage.
It’s moving with the times. It’s going with the flow. It’s staying in your lane and playing your position. As always, it’s a bit of an experiment. It’s First Nations summer. New concept, same comfortable old clothes. Cue the spirit bears. This block editor as it’s called is a bit different but different is good. We can do different. It’s called being flexible. Do the rhyme do the time. Translation pending.
Fine late breaking flowers courtesy CS Nicol
samoyeddogs 