Often I have something in mind to write about.  I read.  Thoughts conveyed by others often imperfectly understood, capture my imagination.  I feel a compulsion to write something, because instinct says an insight important for the future is worthy of exploration.  We are “in this thing called life,” together are we not?  It is up to us.  However this morning it seemed that I had nothing to say.

Today is one of many chill days of fall to come  The sun warms every surface, but a frigid wind prompts many to wear a coat.  I notice a few men yet wearing shorts,  Nothing projects “manliness” more than a sweatshirt and bare legs in a chilly wind.  I get it.  I share the irrational impulse to project the image.  There are many ways to present that manly look.  My style happens to differ. That’s all.

We visited the Batavia Farmer’s Market late in the morning, and were satisfied to purchase a loaf of pecan cranberry bread and a bag of apples.  On the east side of the Peace Bridge which crosses the Fox River on the approach to the Farmer’s Market, — I noticed several Jehovah’s Witnesses stationed.  Always a pair of middle-aged adults, males dressed in a suit, seeming stiff, uncomfortable while observing passers by.  Of course they’re concerned that the passing “public,” is almost certainly forfeiting “eternal life.”  A part of me fantasizes about engaging one of them in conversation.  One question that I’d ask, “Why so serious?”  I believe that I already know the cause of their serious demeanor, as well as a cause for my preference for sardonic humor.

Irony.

“God,” the evidence suggests — is the ultimate comedian.

Evil is no simple mistake, the result of ignorance, anything remediable.  Evil is human and that’s all I can say about the matter.   I also know that humor works — if survival is what one desires.

I heard this song, Turn The Page, composed by Bob Seger on the radio today.  It was magnificently covered by Metallica.  The lyric lines are dripping with irony.  The stringed sonic wail, and the heavy metal guitar chords emphasize that life is a matter of being “all in” no matter what.

Turn The Page

By Metallica

On a long and lonesome highway east of Omaha
You can listen to the engines moanin’ out its one note song
You can think about the woman or the girl you knew the night before

But your thoughts will soon be wandering the way they always do
When you riding sixteen hours there’s nothing much to do
And you don’t feel much like ridin’, you just wish the trip was through

Here I am, on the road again
There I am, up on the stage
Here I go, playin’ star again
There I go, turn the page

So you walk into this restaurant, all strung-out from the road
And you feel the eyes upon you, as you’re shaking off the cold
You pretend it doesn’t bother you, but you just want to explode

And most times you can’t hear ’em talk, other times you can
All the same old clichés, “Is it woman? Is it man?”
And you always seem outnumbered, you don’t dare make a stand
Make your stand

Here I am, on the road again
There I am, up on the stage
Here I go, playin’ star again
There I go, turn the page

Out there in the spotlight you’re a million miles away
Every ounce of energy you try to give away
As the sweat pours out your body, like the music that you play

Later in the evening, as you lie awake in bed
With the echoes of the amplifiers ringin’ in your head
You smoke the day’s last cigarette, rememberin’ what she said
What she said

Here I am, on the road again
There I am, up on the stage
Here I go, playin’ star again
There I go, turn the page

There I go, turn that page
There I go, yeah
There I go, yeah
There I go, yeah
Here I go, yeah
There I go
There I go
And I’m gone

Lyrics by Bob Seger