Stodgies

Like pudding of plums, or a pie of thumbs; like cold water a hundred years ago, the wailing mist of a Titan's last scream. Cold comfort, cold farms, the cold barrens of the silent moon.

And here I am, waiting for the last train that never comes.

Sabbath

The luxury of rest has always been a divine mandate. So, for me, every Saturday afternoon begins 24 hours or more of surcease from labour. I will not work, and if I do, appropriate compensation is made.

I have been offered much to break my Saturday rest, but I still decline to do so. One must respect one's own beliefs, at the very least.

Saturation

There is an ending to the week that is the beginning of a weekend. There is an old power that is weight without majesty, age without wisdom. And yet, on its own, the weight of long existence exerts a dominating force that is almost violent.

Sat Sat Sat

For some reason, that reminds me of childhood games, when I was very young and it didn't matter whether the people you played with were young or old, male or female, as long as everyone had a good time. But Saturn is Kronos as well as Chronos, the two beings conflated, and hence he is both master of scythe and hourglass, and hence of inevitable old age and doom.

And hence, by association to Haiti and the dark loa, and also to Sonnabend, and the eve of the Sun. Such darkling things are somehow related to Saturn's day.

Perhaps that's why we thank God for Friday and not so much for Saturday. But Saturday is also the Sabbath, and ought to be for contemplation and rest.