|
a modest man with a lot to be modest about
|
|
|
| a whiter shade of pale |
[Nov. 21st, 2009|09:46 am] |
|
a man's library is a sort of harem. - ralph waldo emerson
my harem needs more attention. |
|
|
| tonight the bottle let me down |
[Oct. 28th, 2009|10:27 pm] |
|
this is wonderful: "on the dingle peninsula, I asked an irishman, "were you born here?" he thought for a second and said, "no, it was about six miles down the road." when I told him where I was from, a faraway smile filled his eyes, and he looked out to sea and sighed, "ah, the shores of americay." i asked him if he'd lived here all his life. he said, "not yet." |
|
|
| the great enigma |
[Oct. 27th, 2009|11:41 pm] |
some postprandial reading nuggets:
eddie condon's empirical test of musical quality: "as it enters the ear, does it come in like broken glass or does it come in like honey?"
te deum
not because of victories
i sing,
having none,
but for the common sunshine,
the breeze,
the largess of the spring.
not for victory
but for the day's work done
as well as I was able;
not for a seat upon the dais
but at the common table.
- charles reznikoff, from seven poems, new york 1951 |
|
|
| the chill of autumn charity |
[Oct. 14th, 2009|10:50 am] |
some brief reading notes (quotes):
"... writes the history of how apophatic theology was forgotten in the late middle ages; how rational and then quasi-scientific newtonian theology rose to replace it in early modernity; how, when others were recognizing this as a mistake, fundamentalists tightened their embrace of it; and how, in the wake of the passing of modernity and the failure of both its theism and its atheism, postmodern theology may point toward the recovery of what was lost. a god whose existence you can prove is a god to whom you cannot pray, postmodern theology argues, and prayer -- not proof -- is where religion rises or falls."
"in afghanistan, american soldiers are consistently dying in small batches (under orders from their nobel peace prize-winning leader)" |
|
|
| i am the place where creation is working itself out |
[Sep. 27th, 2009|04:59 pm] |
every year i think i like fall a bit better. i enjoy summer, but indian summer is the best, perhaps because it's undeserved and unexpected. summer is warm and open and light and full of life and carelessness, and then fall has a hint of pain to it mixed in with the beauty. the clock is running and somehow it makes the season more poignant. an awareness of the temporality of happiness and mortality of beauty actually increases that happiness.
i was thinking about this line today: if you live alone, whose feet will you wash? i was also thinking that i should post some thanksgiving poems ... not because it's thanksgiving, but because i'm thankful (and because i bought pumpkin butter, which leads to thankfulness and thoughts of thanksgiving).
( thanksgiving poems )
|
|
|
| the enchanting soul of the streets |
[Sep. 10th, 2009|05:42 pm] |
language is a skin: i rub my language against the other. it is as if i had words instead of fingers, or fingers at the tip of my words. my language trembles with desire. - roland barthes
pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart. the really great men must, i think, have great sadness on earth. - fyodor dostoevsky |
|
|
| the question marks began singing of god's being |
[Sep. 9th, 2009|09:21 pm] |
vacation by the numbers
km driven: 2600+
km hiked: 75+
times listening to paul simon's graceland: 6
times listening to the very best of roy orbison: 3
dodgy beards grown: 1
pacific ocean skinny dips: 1
emails received in my absence: 60 (plus 107 at work)
percentage of those emails involving online viagra sales or "relationships": 10
clif bars consumed: 24 |
|
|
| the mountains shall bring peace to the nations |
[Aug. 2nd, 2009|09:42 pm] |
it's been a busy weekend so far. i watched a movie, did laundry, helped tear down and rebuild redge's deck (while we smoked a pork shoulder all day), went to a farewell party for emi, went to church, had lunch with my parents/grandparents, had a nap, went for solo coffee/reading, baked muffins, and went running.
the day was perfect today, like a garden of delights. summer days always leave me feeling a bit wistful. now i'm sitting here watching the day die, as the tree-lined street behind me gets still and shadowy and the night creeps up and cools (hopefully) everything down.
you know what i'm sick of? hollister t-shirts, tattoos, and piercings. enough with the tattoos and piercings, people. i'm at least twice as edgy as you all by not having any. |
|
|
| fewer moving parts means fewer broken pieces |
[Jul. 18th, 2009|10:11 pm] |
i stopped and gawked at an enormous house fire tonight ... perhaps the largest i've ever seen. then, i sat down by the river and read for a while, and listened to a bagpiper, and watched a perfect evening gradually die. even driving home down tree-lined streets and listening to music with the windows down was an immense pleasure. tomorrow i need to figure out what camping gear i still need to buy, so i will be fully prepared to pack, and then prepare to carry my pack in enough time that several days' hiking doesn't end in pain and recrimination.
this week at soccer i had my head rung pretty decently. i don't really remember how it happened, and i've felt mildly whiplashed for a couple days. i guess i will have to start wearing a helmet to soccer, to prevent being further concussed ...
you guys, what are your thoughts on internet dating?
"sleep knits up the raveled sleeve of care. balm of hurt minds ... the idea being ... that if things are getting sticky, they tend to seem less glutinous after you've had your eight hours."
- pg wodehouse |
|
|
| the last least taint of a trace |
[Jul. 12th, 2009|10:13 pm] |
i went hiking this afternoon to test out my new boots. somehow, a hawk didn't take kindly to my being nearby, as it made a big show of flying at my head. i took the hint and buggered off. talons are scary.
these warm summer evenings leave me feeling wistful and vaguely nostalgic. they're heavy with the scent of summers past, or at least imagined, as though if you lingered long enough your desires would come true. they don't. although, it's hard to be unhappy when you're reading wodehouse, as he's so delightfully sly.
i washed and waxed my car this weekend, and superficially cleaned the upholstery, which accomplishment outweighs my laggardly approach to cleaning the bathroom and several other menial and always necessary tasks. it is the blight that man was born for. |
|
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
| [ |
go |
| |
earlier |
] |
| |
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
kubilai9's journal