Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
If anyone wondered what (besides sloth) was consuming my blogging output lately, here's your answer: researching Turkey, making the agonizing decision as to just where to go: the place is just crawling with worthy destinations. It's as big as Texas, but oh! so much more fascinating. And I've been studying Turkish,a very laudable tongue, barbaric and yet refined in its intricacy. I really enjoy non-Indo_European languages. The lack of grammatical gender alone makes them greatly superior, and what bliss is Turkish or Finnish regularity, where rules apply consistently enough to be worth remembering.
With any luck, I'll be much more interesting in a couple weeks. Here's a shot from the Selway this summer to tide you over:
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
"Unfortunately, along with all its good effects, the web brings together people who should be isolated, and gives a voice to those who really should remain voiceless."S.M. Stirling, interviewed by Glenn Reynolds. Looking forward to his forthcoming depiction of contemporary Santa Fe.
My favourite (I leave identification of this scent's name as an exercise for the reader):
A small, furry, sharp-toothed scent that will nuzzle you curiously in the black hours before dawn: dusty white sandalwood and orris root, dry coconut husk, creeping musk, and the residue of ceremonial incense.Courtesy of Derb, who I hadn't realized was a Lovecraftian.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
*A really oddly stilted fellow, the lecturer: he would cast octogenarian-style aspersions on the "Grateful Stones" then go right on to describe a piano concerto performed with the composer inside the piano, scraping a piece of chalk on anything that would make a noise.
Friday, September 11, 2009
MACCUSThere... there don't seem to be any recordings of it.
[Singing to the accompaniment of a harp]
. . . Wild as the white waves
Rushing and roaring, Heaving the wrack
High up the headland; Hoarse as the howling
Winds of the winter, When the lean wolves
Harry the hindmost, Horseman and horse
Toppled and tumbled; So at the town gate,
Stroke upon stroke, Sledging and slaying,
Swashes the sword, Shivers the shield
Of foeman and kinsman: Such was the fight!
But lustless and lank By the bower of the Lady,
Quenchèd forever, Quellèd and cold,
Cynewulf the King!
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Laurel is green for a season and love is sweet for a day
But love grows bitter with treason and Edna St. Vincent Millay.