want a delightfully depressing poem?
Here!
I have nothing left to translate
Into the figures of night
Or the pale geometry
Of the fire-birds.
If I once had a wagon of lights to ride in
The axle is broken
The horses are shot.
Thomas Merton
Here!
I have nothing left to translate
Into the figures of night
Or the pale geometry
Of the fire-birds.
If I once had a wagon of lights to ride in
The axle is broken
The horses are shot.
I thought about doing this meme a couple days ago, when I read the answers of a bunch of people I don't know, and then I saw another person's answers for the quiz just now, so I TAKE IT AS A SIGN TO POST. Plus it's a little interesting. Plus it's better than giving into my urge to talk about depressing things. Depressing things can come here some other time I suppose.
I've only done three of these so far. I saw the link in a Slate article.
I stayed out of my apartment from 7 this morning to 9ish tonight. Wow! I should set that challenge for myself more often, how long I can stay out.
Have a picture of the hair I cut from my head tonight!
Today was kind of fun. We are finishing up our methods classes (random-activity classes that feel like a waste of time but are required for licensure) today and tomorrow, and that's kind of a pain in the ass, but today one of our activities was going to the Elsinore Theatre (which, as you might recall, I am somewhat familiar with), and oh my gosh you guys, it was so fun. For one thing, I just like being there, because it's so weird and pretty. But also, we got shown around the balcony sections (I don't usually go up there, and never sat up there), hallways I never knew existed, the stage (there's a magician escape! that's what it's called! a magician escape! it leads down to one of the dressing rooms!), and the dressing rooms themselves. And tomorrow night Bea Arthur is coming to the theatre, so that was mentioned several times, and I'm not sure how to explain what that added to the proceedings, but you guys I have been in Bea Arthur's dressing room. I also got to explain to someone that Bea Arthur is not a man. And the organ! The organ was played for us, and explained to us! Did you know, there are like a bazillion tons of organ pipe in the building! Seriously, tons! Some of it like up high in the walls or ceiling, I don't know! And I guess previously I'd been under the impression organs were faking their sounds somewhat, with the bellows and pipes, like the prototype of electric keyboards I guess, but duh no! THERE ARE REAL FUCKING INSTRUMENTS BEING PLAYED BY THE ORGAN, INSTRUMENTS UP HIGH ABOVE THE STAGE, LIKE IN THE CEILING! Drums, various drums, a harp, cymbals, A TAMBOURINE! And the piano, on the other side of the stage CAN BE PLAYED LIKE THERE'S A GHOST PIANIST, from the organ. And I was kind of hesitant to ask how they get to the instruments, because I thought I might be letting us in for a boring and unnecessarily complicated answer, but dude, it involves a trapdoor, with a ladder in it, 36 steps (like a hitchcock movie, minus 3 steps!) and getting through very tight spaces. I wish we could have seen those instruments. I can't even imagine how it works. My mind boggles. Boggles.
Sometimes I'm listening to a certain musician, or reading an author's work, and I'm loving nearly every single thing coming down the pike, you know, and I'm wondering how that happens, because a lot of things seem boring or only okay, but not this person's things! And so either the person's a genius, or I am being suckered by some formula they've figured, they put anything in and out comes something I'll love, and it's only my lack of sophistication keeping this person's work so entrancing.