I’m not really a fatalist. I don’t really think very many things were meant to happen. Ok, there are a few people – very, very few – who walked into my life and I felt, this had to be, this person needed to be here, and the universe would have brought us together somehow. People […]
I’m not really a fatalist. I don’t really think very many things were meant to happen.
Ok, there are a few people – very, very few – who walked into my life and I felt, this had to be, this person needed to be here, and the universe would have brought us together somehow. People who changed me, changed my life.
But as a rule, I don’t think there are things fated, or meant to be.
And then I look at pictures of the ninth ward vanishing under water again and I think, maybe some primitive thing, something that was here before europeans walked this continent, has chosen to take it’s land back. And maybe we need to just give it back.
Sigh.
I’m afraid to look at any more news. I’m afraid to look at the pictures tomorrow morning when Rita hits ground.
I know what you mean thinking there is some supernatural force behind this. There is too much of an air of evil and doom around this whole thing. It doesn’t help that I just finished Last Call and am halfway through both Sandman and American Gods. I see the Other world every time I turn around these days.
The week after the hurricane I fell asleep in a meeting at work and had a 5-second long dream that was the most horrible thing I’ve ever felt. Just a sense of pure fucking evil and suffering.
Just don’t take the next step and say anything about not rebuilding. Just don’t.
I’m with Ray on the rebuilding. And the worse it gets, the stronger I feel about that, as though rebuilding it will be a giant “fuck you” to someone/thing out there. Of course, that could just be stubborn perversity.
I dunno, what about an offering to the things that most be appeased?
I’m kidding, thinking in tim powers/neil gaiman terms, but truly, you rebuild there, you do it with the plan that it WILL flood. You build houses on stilts, and you think like venice. Canals, not roads. Don’t fight the furce of nature, co-exist with it.
Pub I used to go to, in York, england. It was by the river, and every year it would flood. Everything in the pub up to about five feet off the floor was all stone or hard, marine-varnished wood. Every year, they’d put up everything on high shelves, let the flood through, wash down the floors and walls, and go back to serving the next day.
Co-exist with it, don’t fight it. You can’t beat it. Nature will always win if you fight.
On the other hand, Buck, I’m all about the Stubborn Perversity! B^)