By Rainer Maria Rilke
Translated by Steven Mitchell
His vision, from the constantly passing bars,
has grown so weary that it cannot hold
anything else. It seems to him there are
a thousand bars, and behind the bars, no world.
As he paces in cramped circles, over and over,
the movement of his powerful soft strides
is like a ritual dance around a center
in which a mighty will stands paralyzed.
Only at times, the curtain of the pupils
lifts, quietly. An image enters in,
rushes down through the tense, arrested muscles,
plunges into the heart and is gone.
Have terrible head cold with raging sore throat. Did not go to concert at lunchtime; sat at home drinking tea, then spent hours and hours running around with both kids at dentist/orthodontist appointments in the same office scheduled a ragingly inconvenient two and a half hours apart.
Practicing "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all," I shall just mention that in the game store where my son dragged me between appointments, I found a copy of Quigley Down Under for $6. And got my son ice cream after braces adjustment. And since he had to have soft food for dinner anyway, had chicken slop which is cure-all for my head, husband's upset stomach etc. Plus, since the dentist is in the mall, I mailed packages for sparowe and seleneheart finally and can stop feeling guilty about the stuff for them piled on my desk because it's been sent off. I did not send either sparowe or mrkinch the CDs I made for them, though, because my brain has obviously been fried by too much Snape.
However, I do have Alan Rickman's hands for mrkinch. And a Lego Big Gay Boat for starfishchick and insidian. No comment on the Yankees for all_ahoo. Sort of watched Smallville, vertigo66 (would offer to take you out to lunch for your birthday but I don't think you want my germs! Next week?) Am skipping rant about debate, voter registration fraud and politics in general because I feel too crappy to do it articulately. Thinking of Matthew Shepard.
These were eating the apples that had fallen to the ground and playing in the mud and very happy.
Now here's someone who is not looking forward to Thanksgiving next month.
A local Puck Fair (a little belated, and we're not in Ireland, and there were no orgiastic revels, but still).
Baaa. My brain is too far gone for intelligent captions. Goodnight!