Here’s to life

So here’s to life and all the joy it brings
Funny, how the time just flies
How love can turn from warm hellos to sad goodbyes
And leave you with the memories you’ve memorized
To keep your winters warm
There’s no yes in yesterday
And who knows what tomorrow brings or takes away?

Shirley Horn:

Philadelphia, City of Creepy Crimes

The wingnuts were raising a ruckus last week over the alleged refusal of the media to cover the Kermit Gosnell story. (There was a gag order on the case, for one thing.)

I was thinking about why I didn’t write about it, and the answer I came up with surprised me — because I do love my city, and was always very annoyed when director David Lynch said how creepy Philadelphia was.

The fact is, we do have a history of crazy, creepy, disgusting crime stories.

Also two years ago, not far from where I live, this.

In 1992, we read about Eddie Savitz: “An American businessman who was arrested for paying thousands of young men for either engaging in anal and oral sex or for giving him dirty underwear and feces, which he kept in pizza boxes in his apartment.”

In 1986, it was Gary Heidnik.

1979 brought us the tale of Ira Einhorn, the Unicorn Killer, who cut up his missing girlfriend’s body and kept it in a trunk in his apartment. (I knew Ira; he was an asshole.)

In 1975, there was Joseph Kallinger, a schizophrenic cobbler who was a serial killer and rapist. (The thing that sticks out in my mind was his conviction that all human ills were related to poorly fitted shoes, and he tested his theory with custom-made shoes — for mice.)

So when the details of the Kermit Gosnell story came out, I pushed them out of the way. Another horror story in Philadelphia? Ick.

Old and wise

And oh when I’m old and wise
Bitter words mean little to me
Autumn winds will blow right through me
And someday in the mist of time
When they asked me if I knew you
I’d smile and say you were a friend of mine
And the sadness would be lifted from my eyes
Oh when I’m old and wise.

Alan Parsons Project:

Sense of wonder

I walked in my greatcoat
Down through the days of the leaves.
No before after, yes after before
We were shining our light into
The days of blooming wonder
In the eternal presence,
In the presence of the flame.

Didn’t I come to bring you a sense of wonder
Didn’t I come to lift your fiery vision bright
Didn’t I come to bring you a sense of wonder in the flame?

Van Morrison. Transcendental!

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