I’m talking about the weather, of course. This heat wave is as bad as it ever gets here in Gotham, and that’s saying something.
Every year, as Spring latens, a creeping, hope-killing fear begins to stir in me, as I hear the brazen hinges of the Hell-mouth starting to swing open, and know that Satan, thinking of me as always, is warming his tongs and pincers in the fire below. From mid-May until the cavalry arrives in October, I eat from the Tree of Ez-Zakkoum, and taste the black despair of the damned.
On rare occasions, I write about it in these pages (see, for example, in chronological order, here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here), but after crawling into Midtown for a long day’s work, then teaching a very sweaty class back here in Brooklyn, I am absolutely drained. So there will be no post tonight. Tomorrow, perhaps, should I live.
One Comment
I have just deleted a comment — something I have done only once or twice in the six years of this blog’s existence — from an anonymous troll who made a gratuitously insulting and massively ignorant remark about the Oslo massacre.
I try to respond thoughtfully to any and all comments here, and before thinking better of it, I responded to this one — clearly the person who wrote it has not understood a word I’ve ever written — but there are limits.