"Closing time
Time for you to go out to the
places you will be from
Closing time
This room won't be open till
your brothers or your sisters come
So gather up your jackets,
move it to the exits
I hope you have found a
friend
Closing time
Every new beginning comes
from some other beginning's end."
- Semisonic, Closing Time
Time is the slayer. It takes
all we love and then it takes us. Time is the healer. It assuages the pain of
loss and then is stops the pain. Not ironically, so does alcohol, particularly at the beginning or the end. Or, the middle.
We are the characters in the dramatic
irony that is life. According to the Google, dramatic irony is “a literary
technique, originally used in Greek tragedy, by which the full significance of
a character's words or actions are clear to the audience or reader although
unknown to the character.” The joke is
on us. We are the punch line in the play that is life. And here I thought irony was supposed to be
funny.
I would love to sit and chat about this, but that cabbage isn’t going to
ferment itself into sauerkraut. No, that’s actually not a factually untrue
metaphor. I have some lovely cabbages harvested from the garden yesterday. The
cabbage, aged to perfection, will end in sauerkraut.
I have to get the cabbage shredded and add caraway seeds. Now, that’s a metaphor, bitches.
I have to get the cabbage shredded and add caraway seeds. Now, that’s a metaphor, bitches.
Photo credit: Derek Galon, his photo homage to Adrian Brouwer.
