On The Music Box: Sunny Afternoon – The Kinks
Amnesty International calls for bloggers to stand up for freedom
So… with that in mind I would like to announce the reawakening of Morgan Miller/F.N. Brill’s Blog-a-suarus – F.N. Brill’s Blog
There you’ll find many inferiorating new posts but also occluding a stunning array of the greatest FN communicational hits from the Web 1.2 brand “Skookum Talk” web-blog…
Yes, all the bad jokes, human-cephalopod porn, libertarian, socialism, oregon provincialism, industrial unionism, obscure inter- racial trade-language discussion and four-brained humo(u)r you’ve come to put up with from me and FN will now be available in fabulous Web 2.0 – with videos and movies, mp3s for downlowd and all sorts of the cool Web 2.0 things that only you cool Web 2.0 folks will know about with all Morgan’s culture tastes that you are so unsure of. It is a tasty mix you can be insured.
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Drums in the Hills
Saturday: Quiet day here in P-Town… Hanging out, cleaning and repairing the gutters before the storms arrive. Rowan came home last night from counselling at camp. He fell asleep on the couch after dinner and we couldn’t wake him up… exhausted! Tried to get a Turf out… kept on falling off the horse.
Sunday:Day Light Savings Time… Is this silly or what? Why are we still under the dictats of this system which wasn’t so bright in the first place?
Went to Zell’s for Breakfast with Mary & Rowan, then up to the Hawthorne. Scored on 2 DVD’s; “From Hell” (6.00 unused with bonus disc!) and “Constantine” (as well for 5.00.) Rowan was induced to pick out some Trews at Buffalo Gap… He is in a bit of a dither over costumes for Samhain…
Weather is fading between sun and rain. Lovely, with clouds of leaves coming down. Samhain soon, and the coming of the Celtic New Year….
On The Menu
The Links
Miss Penelope
Have You Seen Your Mother Baby?
Poetry: Oscar Wilde
Art: Aubrey Beardsley
Have a great one… walk in beauty!
Gwyllm
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The Links:
Scientists Are Turning to Ancient Tales to Discover New Geological Hotspots
Chernobyl haunts the Norwegian uplands
Newburyport witch escaped hangman’s noose
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Miss Penelope…
Good Friend and Companion of our buds Tom n Cheryl exited to the Western Lands this past week. She was a bit of a 2 person cat, extremely loyal to T n C.
She left behind Henry, her feline bud, who has not been the same since she left. She was 14 years of age…. Tom n Cheryl are in the middle of relocating to Arizona, so this has come at a sad juncture.
Our thoughts go out to T n C.
A goodbye to Miss Penelope….
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Have You Seen Your Mother, Baby? A wander down the path of yesteryear, but still a giggle to see the energy….
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Poetry: Oscar Wilde
MADONNA MIA
Lily -Girl, not made for this world’s pain,
With brown, soft hair close braided by her ears,
And longing eyes half veiled by slumberous tears
Like bluest water seen through mists of rain:
Pale cheeks whereon no love hath left its stain,
Red underlip drawn in for fear of love,
And white throat, whiter than the silvered dove,
Through whose wan marble creeps one purple vein.
Yet, though my lips shall praise her without cease,
Even to kiss her feet I am not bold,
Being o’ershadowed by the wings of awe,
Like Dante, when he stood with Beatrice
Beneath the flaming Lion’s breast, and saw
The seventh Crystal, and the Stair of Gold.
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LA BELLA DONNA DELLA MIA MENTE (Lovely Lady of My Memory)
My limbs are wasted with a flame,
My feet are sore with travelling,
For, calling on my Lady’s name,
My lips have now forgot to sing.
O Linnet in the wild-rose brake
Strain for my Love thy melody,
O Lark sing louder for love’s sake,
My gentle Lady passeth by.
She is too fair for any man
To see or hold his heart’s delight,
Fairer than Queen or courtesan
Or moonlit water in the night.
Her hair is bound with myrtle leaves,
(Green leaves upon her golden hair!)
Green grasses through the yellow sheaves
Of autumn corn are not more fair.
Her little lips, more made to kiss
Than to cry bitterly for pain,
Are tremulous as brook-water is,
Or roses after evening rain.
Her neck is like white melilote
Flushing for pleasure of the sun,
The throbbing of the linnet’s throat
Is not so sweet to look upon.
As a pomegranate, cut in twain,
White-seeded, is her crimson mouth,
Her cheeks are as the fading stain
Where the peach reddens to the south.
O twining hands! O delicate
White body made for love and pain!
O House of love! O desolate
Pale flower beaten by the rain!
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LA FUITE DE LA LUNE
O outer senses there is peace,
A dreamy peace on either hand,
Deep silence in the shadowy land,
Deep silence where the shadows cease.
Save for a cry that echoes shrill
From some lone bird disconsolate;
A corncrake calling to its mate;
The answer from the misty hill.
And suddenly the moon withdraws
Her sickle from the lightening skies,
And to her sombre cavern flies,
Wrapped in a veil of yellow gauze.
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