Lightning flashing outside. But the semester is almost over. So celebrate with the Tuba Tiger Rag or go Swingin' with the saints!
I unplugged the TV. Devices aren't grounded here; old houses aren't filled with the latest technology. Their guts are bundled with tangles of copper pipes (whoops! there was a leak last week -- all my elementary/secondary education lost in mold and soggy paper) and corroding wires.
"I was thinking of very old times, when the Romans first came here, nineteen hundred years ago--the other day. . . . Light came out of this river since--you say Knights? Yes; but it is like a running blaze on a plain, like a flash of lightning in the clouds. We live in the flicker
-- Marlow, Heart of Darkness, by Joseph Conrad
Rumbles in the distance. A silhouette on the edge, dark blots on the bottom of a whitish clouded page, rent by crackling silver veins.
This is random, isn't it?
What must missile attacks feel like?