I woke up this morning with the sun shining,
for the first time in a while,
full of energy,
and joy,
and with Jeremiah running through my head.
Credence Clearwater,
not the prophet.
My id must have been dancing with my superego again,
at a ball for all those hit by all the lunacy of this world.
Which,
pulling together the few reasonable thoughts learned in a very wierd abnormal psych course I once had in college,
made me start wondering….
Why Jeremiah?
A return to the happier times of my childhood?
Or was it because it was Sunday.
And then I had it.
The real Jeremiah was a poet of incredible talent and beauty.
And a prophet of covenant.
AND a real wet blanket.
Gloom and doom.
The end of the world is at hand.
Prepare.
So much a wet blanket, that the name Jeremiad has stuck,
until this day,
for a real rebel-rousing good old fashioned beat everyone to death diatribe.
Followed, in Jeremiah’s case,
by…
Joy to the world.
All the boys and girls.
(The second half was Credence again, but you get the point)
Wet blanket,
problems, problems, problems,
threats to life and limb,
yes.
AND…
joy to the world.
Oh my, yes.
Fear?
Of course….
But….
Me, I’m going to spend today hiking on an island in the middle of the river,
As long and as fast and as far as I can go.
And as soon as I get far enough away to not disturb other people,
in case anyone also decides to go out today,
You know what I’m going to sing?
JEREMIAH WAS A BULLFROG.
So there.
(Maybe I can even con Harald into singing bass.)
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Quahog on a Tightrope 