Archive for February, 2010

That special mole of nature thinks:

Not a whit, we defy augury: there’s a special
providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now,
’tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be
now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the
readiness is all: since no man has aught of what he
leaves, what is’t to leave betimes?

The readiness is all


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La Fille aux Cheveux de Lin

I do confess I find Debussy a master. His conduct in life worthy undoubtedly of censure; but his music beyond reproach. And so it shall be for us mere human folk….. 

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The less I think

and summon drink

the world’s a whore

and I’m a bore…

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Cancun in ’90

John, Camillo, Sharon and I embarked on Air Mexicana hoping for a wondrous trip. The take off at O’Hare was unique. Mark A, a classmate of mine from the Abbey (high school), studying at UW Madison, was on the plane. What odds that? A high school classmate, from Rhode Island, meeting me on a plane bound for Mexico at Chicago’s O’Hare, seated next to me; we caught up and began the takeoff. Chicago in March still enjoys, lustily, the winter. Our plane, doused in snow, jogged the runway and then the fun began. About sixty seconds in air, the plane dropped and banked, people screamed, Mark turned to me and jokingly said “Is this where we die?”, but the engines gunned and the banking ceased. Once at altitude the drinks began and everyone’s mood soothed; thankful to be out of snowy, dangerous Chicago.

It’s a small world, you’ll never know who’ll sit next to you on the sled towards impending doom…

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Bald heads forgetful of their sins,
Old, learned, respectable bald heads
Edit and annotate the lines
That young men, tossing on their beds,
Rhymed out in love’s despair
To flatter beauty’s ignorant ear.

All shuffle there; all cough in ink;
All wear the carpet with their shoes;
All think what other people think;
All know the man their neighbour knows.
Lord, what would they say
Did their Catullus walk that way?

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The Scribe

Let the scribbling scribe imbibe,

Don’t desiccate ingrate,

Be merry, drink sherry

Of sobriety be wary,

Forget ink and paper

Leave brooding books behind,

Face your death with a glass of wine.

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The skinny rabbit ran

avoiding wheels of mine

hopped and skidded

through the thicket

cheating death’s scythe

and the green leaves live

mongst a cricket’s wicket.

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