The Hills of Little Cornwall
By Mark Van Doren
The hills of little Cornwall
Themselves are dreams.
The mind lies down among them,
Even by day, and snores,
Snug in the perilous knowledge
That nothing more inward pleasing,
More like itself,
Sleeps anywhere beyond them
Even by night
In the great land it cares two pins about,
Possibly; not more.
The mind, eager for caresses,
Lies down at its own risk in Cornwall;
Whose cunning streams,
Whose mazes where a thought,
Doubling upon itself,
Considers the way, lazily, well lost,
Indulge it to the nick of death--
Not quite, for where it curls it still can feel,
Like affectionate mouse whiskers,
The flattery, the trap.
In case anyone is wondering why my fic page is up, it's because I think Gray Day is the stupidest bullshit I have ever heard in my fannish life, though of course I respect the rights of others to do whatever they wish. I steal shamelessly from Warner Bros., Paramount, 20th Century Fox and hundreds of writers and producers who work for them, with nothing more than a "Blah blah not mine" disclaimer, and I have, on occasion, borrowed the real lives of real people for my own
Shit, can you imagine if New Line decided not to release Return of the King on opening day in protest against all the fan fiction out there? Or if the screen was blank during the first showing of Matrix: Revolutions because some asshole somewhere in the world made an illegal copy of Matrix Reloaded that some of the very people graying their sites out today have undoubtedly already downloaded with some P2P client? Intellectual property theft is a risk any time one creates intellectual property. A heavy price. I pay it gladly.
Oh yeah, and stolen from ariestess:
Which 80s High School Movie Are You? ...aka the Molly Ringwald appreciation quiz...
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