| Near as I can tell, if Autumn has a purpose
it's to underscore the futility of departing from grim and cynical
thinking. This is not to say that the planet we inhabit does
not have its terrifyingly beautiful moments. There is plenty
to inspire awe, whether it's a lunar eclipse or a generic thunderstorm.
Oh. Ah. Just don't get too swept away. That's the lesson of Autumn:
nothing cool can stay. So don't go thinking aw, shucks, maybe
that dang OL' glass is half full after all. Don't go thinking
that maybe your mother was right, maybe pink is your color, maybe
that calico is darling. Face facts. Yes, black is the color of
mourning, but it's also damn chic, and the world, while it can
be fun and it can be pretty, is also quite capable of knocking
you on your ass. And if you think I'm being metaphorical right
now, think again. Think winter. Think ice. Autumn, with its explosion
of colors (in the Northeast, anyway. Please excuse my regional
prejudice.) and its fragrant cider and its festive pumpkins,
behaves in such a sense-exciting manner to try to distract us
from the fact it's also the gateway to eternities of snow, ice,
flu, and having to look at retards in those polar fleece jester
hats. Why so bitter, Monochromatica? You may find yourself asking.
Why so glum? There is a simple explanation really. Here. I'll
boil it down to three words: I'm a moron. I exhort you with such
vehemence to cling to your dark views because I myself have strayed.
I must confess. I am guilty. And angry. For I am guilty of self
deception, and now I am bracing myself for a swift kick you know
where from the world. Oh, dark spirits save us all, I've been
swept away by summer. Summer, my cruel mendacious lover, has
managed to be so charming that I cling on, fiercely deluding
myself even though the writing is on the wall, as it is on my
desk calendar, that the end is near. Deceptively, seductively,
Summer breathes hotly to me the weekend after Labor Day, "Monochromatica,
baby, no need to store your tasteful black (of course) bikini
and your SPF 7,000,000,000 sunblock. You have not endured your
last scornful glance from the wife of a middle-aged letch. In
my embrace, you will frolic in the waves forever." Oh, how
I want to believe it's true. So I believe it. I believe that
Summer has turned over a new leaf. Summer finally has staying
power. This time it'll work. I'll just give Summer another, a
28th chance. Surely Summer won't leave this time. You know the
rest. Right about the height of my bliss, a cavalcade of dead
leaves will come crashing down around my ears to announce that
Summer, that bastard, has abandoned me again. After the hot sweaty
promises in September, Summer is going to leave me out in the
cold with nothing but the promise of impending blizzards to keep
me warm at night. Well, it doesn't all suck. At least Cyril has
seen fit to entertain us with another issue whilst all things
in the temperate climes shrivel and die. |
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