Dante, driven to where the sun is silent:
Midway upon the road of our life I found myself within a dark wood, for the right way had been missed. Ah! how hard a thing it is to tell what this wild and rough and dense wood was, which in thought renews the fear! So bitter is it that death is little more. But in order to treat of the good that there I found, I will tell of the other things that I have seen there. I cannot well recount how I entered it, so full was I of slumber at that point where I abandoned the true way. But after I had arrived at the foot of a hill, where that valley ended which had pierced my heart with fear, I looked on high, and saw its shoulders clothed already with the rays of the planet[1] that leadeth men aright along every path. Then was the fear a little quieted which in the lake of my heart had lasted through the night that I passed so piteously. And even as one who with spent breath, issued out of the sea upon the shore, turns to the perilous water and gazes, so did my soul, which still was flying, turn back to look again upon the pass which never had a living person left.
After I had rested a little my weary body I took my way again along the desert slope, so that the firm foot was always the lower. And ho! almost at the beginning of the steep a she-leopard, light and very nimble, which was covered with a spotted coat. And she did not move from before my face, nay, rather hindered so my road that to return I oftentimes had turned.
The time was at the beginning of the morning, and the Sun was mounting upward with those stars that were with him when Love Divine first set in motion those beautiful things; so that the hour of the time and the sweet season were occasion of good hope to me concerning that wild beast with the dappled skin. But not so that the sight which appeared to me of a lion did not give me fear. He seemed to be coming against me, with head high and with ravening hunger, so that it seemed that the air was affrighted at him. And a she-wolf, who with all cravings seemed laden in her meagreness, and already had made many folk to live forlorn,—she caused me so much heaviness, with the fear that came from sight of her, that I lost hope of the height And such as he is who gaineth willingly, and the time arrives that makes him lose, who in all his thoughts weeps and is sad,—such made me the beast without repose that, coming on against me, little by little was pushing me back thither where the Sun is silent.
Nowadays, of course, we’d just replace the three beasts with Manbearpig.
Also, thoughts on the Per Se Angels, from Dan Riehl and Neo-Neo.
Here is a poem what I could never ever have written and a lot of other people could never ever have written cause it’s… It’s about a sleepy sun, Dan. Who writes poems like that? Disturbing.
I’m sure the progressives will figure out a way to blame humans for the low sunspot activity. Or they will continue to ignore the fact that global climate change (i.e. weather) seems to coincide quite a bit with the activities of Mr. Sun.
There’s a whole “Global Dimming” kit waiting for this already.
Justifications change. Fucks don’t.
seven
layers of he double hockey sticks..
level one…i watched a brad pitt movie
w/out clockwork orance eyelids
level two.. u be kinda botox purty/ ‘cept for
ur tricep holding third world baby push up [wink]
step 3/ move ur arms/ flatdance woman [she’s a maniac-maniac!]
4-bobby orr
5-if it’s a tie in socer/ say–mmm-o o/ 1/ 1
can i cahansge my shorts?
hooligan!
6- skip six
7- if a rum bubble tastes…tasty..
can i shave ur ass??
i’m done!
if i could spell better
richard gere would be too close
ugly off [ tweet me/ glenn close]
i can rub popsicle sticks down to a shiny point
to make my case
I finally got around to reading that poem this year. I liked the first book best, which probably says something bad about me.
This is proof of global warming. Which Obama hasn’t fixed yet. Probably because of our lack of faith.
and he had made of his ass a trumpet I think. It never bloody stops. It’s inhuman.
Repeating the big lie does not only apply to BearManPig.
Of course, global cooling is not one of them.
If the “narrative” were a tennis ball, I think my Golden Retriever might even lose interest in fetching it by now. But not our brave NASA scientists.
[NB to alp: I wrote fetching not felching. kthnxbye]
stopped praying to the jeez..
awhile ago
i’m into angels now[ the los angeles angels of rootterdam]
ass trumpet!
please be my squeezee lemon pleezee angel
t night!
now i ken
now i can
enron
now i may…
i mightf say.. on my knees..
[bed spread smell funny]
i want mimi rogers to..
i meany-
i want angels to spread[ garlic herb butter]
i want candy
“Global Dimmingâ€
Gotterdammerung.
That was one of the words I used to love saying as a kid.
Pennsylvania Dutch go to Brooklyn!
Cultural Fun.
time to milk the bull
story [ u mind- tuff shit]
i worked w guy name bruno
every
i mean every diddley day
at 9 am
his wifey call
and we had to listen to one sided conversation
like- yes honey this
and yes honey that…]
so.. when the phone ring dingedat 9 am
i would say
“‘hey / it’s the fat lady/ brunhilde”
no one got it
that is y i be protien wisdsiomn
hi faluting hi
prauge
Benjamin Britten: Serenade for tenor, horn and strings – 2. Pastoral
I was all with him then we got to the monstrous ant thing and he kind of lost me.
what, Sdferr, you couldn’t find any Schoenberg?
Man, the only poetry I have at hand starts “Here I sit, broken hearted…”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hWA3Ueq0ah0&feature=related
Schoenberg? Me thinks you mixed you muses, maggie.
your
If you’re thinking of Verklarte Nacht maggie, I could have, though I wasn’t reminded of it. Still a great thing though. Otherwise, my grasp of Schoenberg is pretty weak.
erm, mostly, I just need some simple music. for some reason, the Sondheim is eating my brain.