April 18: Everything Kills Everything, Another Documentary, Frozen Yogurt

Santiago knows a bad time is coming . . . 

Besides, he thought, everything kills everything else in some way. Fishing kills me exactly as it keeps me alive. The boy keeps me alive, he thought. I must not deceive myself too much.

He leaned over the side and pulled loose a piece of the meat of the fish where the shark had cut him. He chewed it and noted its quality and its good taste. It was firm and juicy, like meat, but it was not red. There was no stringiness in it and he knew that it would bring the highest price in the market. But there was no way to keep its scent out of the water and the old man knew that a very bad time was coming.

The breeze was steady. It had backed a little further into the north-east and he knew that meant that it would not fall off. The old man looked ahead of him but he could see no sails nor could he see the hull nor the smoke of any ship. There were only the flying fish that went up from his bow sailing away to either side and the yellow patches of gulf-weed. He could not even see a bird.

He had sailed for two hours, resting in the stern and sometimes chewing a bit of the meat from the marlin, trying to rest and to be strong, when he saw the first of the two sharks.

Tonight, I screened another documentary as part of the Great Lakes Poetry Festival at the library.  Except for myself, my wife and son, and my co-organizer and his son, nobody else showed up.  We still showed the movie, but it was kind of a disheartening experience.  Poetry isn't a huge draw, I know.  But, after investing so much time and effort into planning events, it's hard not to take nights like this one a little personally.

However, I did get frozen yogurt.

Saint Marty's koan for this evening:  when life gives you sharks, eat frozen dairy products.