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The chronicles of Ruin, continued. Call me Ishmael said....intelligence is knowing what to do when you don't know what to do. Anonymous said... When I don't know what to do,I come here. 10 September 2009 22:59
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13 comments:
Monterverdi's Vespers at 7.30 tonight and it's the end of Big Brother too which i'll miss quite a bit perhaps.
Went to Selby Abbey today, have window dating back to 1330 ish, fire in 1906 (what? no vandalism?) where fire lads just raced round back to keep glass cool. The colours & thickness of the pains were awesome but apparently Abbott had special alter so window really high yet distance available to stand away from it was about 10ft - hmm...weasels.
Because of that Henry 8th git, Abbey now just church, really. All other buildings it had have become boozers and shops and houses (nice) and stuff. Henry proper fucked North Yorkshire. Beautiful, though. Stunning.
Hope you're alright & stuff. Bit of a whale issue going on?!?! - Hmm, best of luck to everything involved in fixing that quick.
I'm trying to work out which creatures fighting in a sack those two are the equivalent of. Having a fondness for ferrets, I'm disallowing them. So I'll opt for a poisonous toad and a venus fly trap.
LXIV
When I have seen by Time's fell hand defac'd
The rich proud cost of outworn buried age;
When sometime lofty towers I see down-raz'd,
And brass eternal slave to mortal rage;
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore,
And the firm soil win of the watery main,
Increasing store with loss, and loss with store;
When I have seen such interchange of state,
Or state itself confounded to decay;
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate
That Time will come and take my love away.
This thought is as a death which cannot choose
But weep to have that which it fears to lose.
Welcome back, Mr Ishmael.
Bryant is pants
She has published a book of some sort. It sounds like the sort of thing that Egg woman used to write.
Hope you & yours are well buddy.
Hope you & yours are well buddy.
Whooooooooops!
Second that, Mr DTP. Hope you're well, Mr Ishmael, wherever and whoever.
That video, it's in the style one of those Final Battle scenes from Jap cartoons, isn't it? Something like Velocirectum Troglodytes vs. Tyrannosaurus Pox: Deathmatch in the Clouds. All to the obligatory accompaniment of indecipherable Japanese slogans and mad, up-tempo synthpop.
Anyone else notice the Pope's English pronouncements sound like Dr Strangelove?
Hope all well at Ishmael Towers.
Yes, that's it, Strangelove, I was wondering who it was of whom his unholiness reminded me.
Thanks, Mr Verge, and everyone for good wishes. Things are not so much bad here, not at all, in fact, just strange; loss is one of those thousand natural shocks for which there is no remedy but time.
I like that, mr the noblest. prospect and will pursue its author, google his ass, as we say, or hers, for I know not what or who it is.
I saw the Monteverdi, mr dtp, bewitched. Birmingham's Symphony Hall was built to be tuned, one adjustment ot the auditorium for the Vienna Boys Choir, another for Joan Baez, panels and stuff, whole walls moving, a responsive or interactive or something auditorium; the Monteverdi, however, moved performers around the Albert Hall to the same effect. One shouldn't but one does reproach oneself for one's ignorance, maybe it's because so many bullying lawyerbastards so smugly intone that ignorance of the law is no excuse, as tho8gh they were Eichmann, selecting those who might work, for a week or two, those who must die, as though there was some higher order which fixed things up, just so, and even if you could never hope to understand it, much less adhere to it, you were its prey, by God, stand in line when I'm talking to you.
Reproach myself endlessly, I did, though, for not knowing about Monteverdi; me, who posts evensongs as though I had some special knowledge, pig ignorant. It's tough, working on cyberstreet.
Great to have you back and on such fine form.
Must apologise for the lack of reference in posting the sonnet, believing the number clue enough.
Despite his access to only a fraction of the vocabulary available today, our Will reached heights unsurpassed these last 400 years.
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