May 18th, 2010

blue legacy

one man's trash talk

                             And then we strolled
For half the day through stately theatres
Benched crescent-wise.  In each we sat, we heard
The grave Professor.  On the lecture slate
The circle rounded under female hands
With flawless demonstration:  followed then
A classic lecture, rich in sentiment,
With scraps of thunderous Epic lilted out
By violet-hooded Doctors, elegies
And quoted odes, and jewels five-words-long
That on the stretched forefinger of all Time
Sparkle for ever:  then we dipt in all
That treats of whatsoever is, the state,
The total chronicles of man, the mind,
The morals, something of the frame, the rock,
The star, the bird, the fish, the shell, the flower,
Electric, chemic laws, and all the rest,
And whatsoever can be taught and known;
Till like three horses that have broken fence,
And glutted all night long breast-deep in corn,
We issued gorged with knowledge, and I spoke:
'Why, Sirs, they do all this as well as we.'
'They hunt old trails' said Cyril 'very well;
But when did woman ever yet invent?'
'Ungracious!' answered Florian; 'have you learnt
No more from Psyche's lecture, you that talked
The trash that made me sick, and almost sad?'
'O trash' he said, 'but with a kernel in it.
Should I not call her wise, who made me wise?
And learnt?  I learnt more from her in a flash,
Than in my brainpan were an empty hull,
And every Muse tumbled a science in.
A thousand hearts lie fallow in these halls,
And round these halls a thousand baby loves
Fly twanging headless arrows at the hearts,
Whence follows many a vacant pang; but O
With me, Sir, entered in the bigger boy,
The Head of all the golden-shafted firm,
The long-limbed lad that had a Psyche too;
He cleft me through the stomacher; and now
What think you of it, Florian? do I chase
The substance or the shadow? will it hold?
I have no sorcerer's malison on me,
No ghostly hauntings like his Highness.  I
Flatter myself that always everywhere
I know the substance when I see it.  Well,
Are castles shadows?  Three of them?  Is she
The sweet proprietress a shadow?  If not,
Shall those three castles patch my tattered coat?
For dear are those three castles to my wants,
And dear is sister Psyche to my heart,
And two dear things are one of double worth,
And much I might have said, but that my zone
Unmanned me:  then the Doctors!  O to hear
The Doctors!  O to watch the thirsty plants
Imbibing! once or twice I thought to roar,
To break my chain, to shake my mane:  but thou,
Modulate me, Soul of mincing mimicry!
Make liquid treble of that bassoon, my throat;
Abase those eyes that ever loved to meet
Star-sisters answering under crescent brows;
Abate the stride, which speaks of man, and loose
A flying charm of blushes o'er this cheek,
Where they like swallows coming out of time
Will wonder why they came:  but hark the bell
For dinner, let us go!'

lostday cxlvii
  • Current Music
    and we sat and didn't talk for half an hour / remember that?
blue legacy


for nearly a week the breach between them remained unhealed. trina only spoke to the dentist in monosyllables, while he, exasperated at her calmness and frigid reserve, sulked in his "dental parlors," muttering terrible things beneath his mustache, or finding solace in his concertina, playing his six lugubrious airs over and over again, or swearing frightful oaths at his canary, woodstock.

it is one thing to mortify curiosity, another to conquer it; and it may be doubted if, from that day forth, utterson desired the society of his surviving friend with the same eagerness. he thought of him kindly; but his thoughts were disquieted and fearful. he went to call indeed; but he was perhaps relieved to be denied admittance; perhaps, in his heart, he preferred to speak with poole upon the doorstep and surrounded by the air and sounds of the open city, rather than to be admitted into that house of voluntary bondage, and to sit and speak with its inscrutable recluse. poole had, indeed, no very pleasant news to communicate. the doctor, it appeared, now more than ever confined himself to the cabinet over the laboratory, where he would sometimes even sleep; he was out of spirits, he had grown very silent, he did not read; it seemed as if he had something on his mind. utterson became so used to the unvarying character of these reports, that he fell off little by little in the frequency of his visits.

it was a beautiful morning in the late july when i set forth on foot for the last time for aros. a boat had put me ashore the night before at grisapol; i had such breakfast as the little inn afforded, and, leaving all my baggage till i had an occasion to come round for it by sea, struck right across the promontory with a cheerful heart.

i was far from being a native of these parts, springing, as i did, from an unmixed lowland stock. but an uncle of mine, gordon darnaway, after a poor, rough youth, and some years at sea, had married a young wife in the islands; mary maclean she was called, the last of her family; and when she died in giving birth to a daughter, aros, the sea-girt farm, had remained in his possession. it brought him in nothing but the means of life, as i was well aware; but he was a man whom ill-fortune had pursued; he feared, cumbered as he was with the young child, to make a fresh adventure upon life; and remained in aros, biting his nails at destiny. years passed over his head in that isolation, and brought neither help nor contentment.
  • Current Music
    cowgirl (irish pub in kyoto mix)
blue legacy


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the tv cut out just now during a scene, right on a pivotal piece of dialogue.
it cut back on three seconds later.
i don't know if it was the rain here, or what.
true story.