It’s kind of amazing when you think about it, that beauty pageants still exist. But they do, oh they do. Oh wait. Did I say beauty pageants? I mean scholarship competitions. Ahem. At any rate, it’s even harder to believe that 105 people are dead in Nigeria, with 500 more injured, all because of Miss World. That selfish bitch. Oh wait, they haven’t chosen the lucky lady yet; you know, one who gets to be the proud face of the biggest beauty queen body count ever. And really, it’s not even her fault. Blame the press.

(Admit it: you’d buy an album called Beauty Queen Body Count.)

Or just let Liza Minelli spin it, like she’s spinning the Glove Monster craziness. I don’t see anyone “dangling a baby” she says. Stop the presses: Liza Minelli is blind. Or under the man-thing’s thrall. Either way, I say we stop asking her opinion about stuff. Okay?

But, in better news, we’re actually producing less trash (um, maybe) and Peter Gabriel’s still trying to save the world, or at least give a fuller picture of it.

# # #

There’s a river of loss flowing overhead. Some of the things in it were taken, some went willingly and some we decided to give. I can’t really see what’s on the other side of what’s been lost yet, not clearly. I wonder if sometimes lost things are given back, and I don’t know. I don’t really think so. Loss changes the people on all sides of it and the way back is always harder. So much is being carried away on that river right now and I wish it wasn’t. Mostly because I have to stand here, watching, feeling useless to change the damn course of trajectory.

Rest well, Loki. I wish I could have known you, luckiest of dogs.

I’m thinking of a Charles Simic poem now.

Read Your Fate

A world’s disappearing.
Little street,
You were too narrow,
Too much in the shade already.

You had only one dog,
One lone child.
You hid your biggest mirror,
Your undressed lovers.

Someone carted them off
In an open truck.
They were still naked, travelling
On their sofa

Over a darkening plain,
Some unknown Kansas or Nebraska
With a storm brewing.
The woman opening a red umbrella

In the truck. The boy
And the dog running after them,
As if after a rooster
With its head chopped off.

Have a good weekend, everybody.