Today has been Tuesday, October 31st, 2017. It is All Hallows’ Eve, the night of the saints, the night of ghosts and monsters and spirits, good and evil. It has been five hundred years since a German monk posted on his church wall a set of statements that would shake the foundations of Christendom.

Tomorrow is Wednesday, November 1st, 2017. The Day of All Saints, the dead who have come before us and who yet watch over us. It approaches one year since an evil man rode a fortuitous tide — in which evangelicals played an indispensable role — to the presidency of the most powerful nation in the world. And it begins a month in which wannabe writers dedicate themselves to writing 50,000 words of a novel.

I don’t have a novel to write, yet. What I do have is memory. I have put off facing it, but I can do so no longer. The kairos has come. It is time for me to remember, and to write.

Because I have a story and a song. They’re not much, but they’re all I have.

This is all maudlin and overwrought and I do not give a shit about that. It’s not much, but

it’s all I have.

It’s time to face myself and create the story of who I am. I’m not much, but I’m all I have.