October 1: "Scenes of Hell," Walz and Vance, Meatloaf

Given a choice between rereading Dante's Inferno or rereading his Paradiso, I will always choose the former.  Why?

Because badness is more interesting than goodness.  Sin more interesting than grace.  Turmoil more interesting than calm.

Billy Collins' Inferno . . . 

Scenes of Hell

by: Billy Collins

We did not have the benefit of a guide,
no crone to lead us off the common path,
no ancient to point the way with a staff,

but there were badlands to cross,
rivers of fire and blackened peaks,
and eventually we could look down and see

the jeweler running around a gold ring,
the boss trapped in an hourglass,
the baker buried up to his eyes in flour,

the banker plummeting on a coin,
the teacher disappearing into a blackboard,
and the grocer silent under a pyramid of vegetables.

We saw the pilot nose-diving
and the whore impaled on a bedpost,
the pharmacist wandering in a stupor

and the child with toy wheels for legs.
You pointed to the soldier
who was dancing with his empty uniform

and I remarked on the blind tourist.
But what truly caught our attention
was the scene in the long mirror of ice:

you lighting the wick on your head,
me blowing on the final spark,
and our children trying to crawl away from their eggshells.

I just finished watching Tim Walz debate J. D. Vance.  Democrats are going to claim that Walz won.  Ditto for Republicans with Vance.  I'm not really interested in the final score tonight.  (Of course, I have an opinion about this subject, but that's not really pertinent to my point tonight.)

We slow down when driving by car accidents.  If there's a fire down the street, we step out of our houses to watch the excitement.  When leaves start turning color from summer emerald to autumn mustard or pumpkin or cardinal, we stop and take pictures with our phones.  On September 11, 2001, we all watched, over and over, the towers collapsing.

Human beings are fascinated by calamity.  I'm just as guilty as the next person on this.  Perhaps it's morbid curiosity.  Or maybe we just feel a little better about our lives by witnessing something terrible happen to another person

+.  Then we can say to ourselves, "Well, yeah, my life is shitty, but I haven't been diagnosed with lung cancer like Floyd down the street."

We all have our own versions of Hell.  For Democrats (and a good deal of other people around the world), it's another Trump presidency.  For MAGA Republicans, it's whatever fear-mongering lies come out of the mouth of their orange-faced leader.  I'm sure Tim Walz and J. D. Vance have their own versions of Hell, as well.  J. D.'s Hell may be reading all the terrible reviews of Hillbilly Elegy.  Tim's Hell may be a world without meatloaf.  

Saint Marty's Hell would be filled with piles of ungraded freshmen essays.