Blouson noir—c’est mon manteau d’hiver, epais, garde le chaud, garde contre le froid et le vent. Cuir noir, epais. The leather itself is heavy ; but adding in a camera, then a little, tiny flashlight, then some keys in the pocket, and then a Sig und Sohn Model A-H .32 cal. that weighs a couple of pounds, with eight rounds, another half pound? quarter? It is a weighty coat. People would not believe the weight I carry around when I have my coat on. Maybe ten pounds. It feels like my heart has put on my leather jacket. So I found myself alone, and I put on FAMINE: Remembrance, into the player and turn up the volume where it ought to be: not worrying this time about infringing, bothering—playing it like it needs to be heard. For me, that makes the heaviness a bit more bearable. Perhaps because the music is heavier than my heart. Perhaps because the music soaks up the heaviness and neutralizes it. Something light-hearted and gay would not do. I need the heavy and somber tones of Cassidy’s Remembrance, requiem, to palliate the somber shades of my heavy heart. Perhaps the commiserating strains give a hand to the oar the galley slaves pull to their chest and push away, over and over again.

One day Jim was walking to school and didn’t see the giant hole in the sidewalk. He fell in.

It was way over his head and had steep, crumbly walls of wet dirt, and it took him a long time to climb out. He was afraid, down there in the bottom of that hole, and worried, and he was glad he got out. The rest of the day he was dirty and miserable.

The next day, Jim was walking to school. He fell in the same hole. He was aggravated and very upset, and after a long struggle he climbed out and went on to school. He was dirty and miserable. It was not a good day.

The third day Jim was walking to school, and fell into the same hole. He thought, “Well, at least I know where I am.” And he struggled to get out. But because he had struggled to get out two times before, he had crumbled away most of his footholds and hand holds, and it was much harder to get out. He was mad at himself when he finally got out. He went on to school, late, wet, dirty, miserable, and tired.

The fourth day, Jim was walking to school and he went around the edges of the giant hole. He didn’t fall in.

The fifth day, Jim went to school a different way.

How do you keep on being stupid time after time? I don’t know the answer to that, even I am guilty in many ways. Like the kid who whacks on the furniture with a drumstick until there are dents all in the nice wood of a beautiful piece, and then when asked, “What made you do that? Huh? What? What possessed you?” the kid answers, “I dunno.” And he’s not lying.

Repentance is not easy. But once you realize the pain it relieves, don’t you want to do it?

Eh oui, c'est moi, le vieux crapaud.
Mea culpa,
Mea culpa,
Mea maxima culpa.
What? Something's done wrong there, some time ago? Yes, it must have been me. I guess I'm the one to blame. In very fact. Who else would there be to blame?...you?
Well, that's OK, I am the one to blame. You put the load right back on me... --Van

So, there's a new way of doing things. It's called compromise. You give your idea, then I give mine; then we do what you want. That's how it works. That's the uxorial dilemma.