cleaning up so well (jones_casey) wrote,
cleaning up so well
jones_casey

  • Music:

hit the ground hard running down/that highway line/say a prayer for/the ones you have left behind

spin me round
again
and rub my eyes
this can't
be happening


coming home at about 2, walking through the parking lot, took advantage of the cloudless sky to take in the stars (shining like rebel diamonds they were) and was treated to the sight of a large flock of birds (who knows what kind, not me anyway) in extended v formation, more than fifty. it reminded me of:




it also reminded me that in order to see the beauty in the sky one actually has to venture out there and take a look.

as always the evening had a terrific soundtrack. there aren't words to describe the power of music and its importance. right this second: don't you worry / we'll all float on okay

speaking of music, i found out the paper chase weren't really my thing. but it was nice talking to the bassist between sets when dire straits 'romeo and juliet' came on the house music; he doesn't like dire straits, but that one song is a guilty pleasure. myself i like the killers' cover i heard again just a bit ago. the original too of course.

saturday xxxiii


now, i have a friend of my own who will forgo present enjoyments and suffer much present inconvenience for the sake of manufacturing 'a reminiscence' for himself.

a man of triple functions, the bell-ringer, beadle, and grave-digger of the parish, had dug a grave in the half-acre cemetery behind the church.

"one's work is thrown in for nothing."
"then why do you do it, if it's a clear loss?"
"oh, well, one does it! what would you have? it's habit, and one knows it's how it should be."

"now," exclaimed moran, "we've no time to waste. what arms have
we got?"

"we've got the cutting-in spades," said wilbur; "there's five of
them. they're nearly ten feet long, and the blades are as sharp
as razors; you couldn't want better pikes."

"that's an idea," returned moran, evidently willing to forget her
outburst of a moment before, perhaps already sorry for it. the
party took stock of their weapons, and five huge cutting-in
spades, a heavy knife from the galley, and a revolver of doubtful
effectiveness were divided among them. the crew took the spades,
charlie the knife, and wilbur the revolver. moran had her own
knife, a haftless dirk, such as is affected by all norwegians,
whether landsmen or sailors. they were examining this armament
and moran was suggesting a plan of attack, when hoang, the leader
of the beach-combers, and one other chinaman appeared some little
distance below them on the beach. the moon was low and there was
no great light, but the two beach-combers caught the flash of the
points of the spades. they halted and glanced narrowly and
suspiciously at the group.

"beasts!" muttered moran. "they are up to the game--there's no
surprising them now. talk to him, charlie; see what he wants."

thel answerd, o thou little virgin of the peaceful valley.
giving to those that cannot crave, the voiceless, the o'er tired
the breath doth nourish the innocent lamb, he smells the milky garments
he crops thy flowers while thou sittest smiling in his face,
wiping his mild and meekin mouth from all contagious taints.
thy wine doth purify the golden honey; thy perfume.
which thou dost scatter on every little blade of grass that springs
revives the milked cow, & tames the fire-breathing steed.
but thel is like a faint cloud kindled at the rising sun:
i vanish from my pearly throne, and who shall find my place.
Tags: bricolage
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