This world is so wide that, even if you flitted around and around it, you would never reach the end of it. This blog is a collage of more or less literary and humorous, outlandish or sometimes even serious glimpses at this great wide world.
A digitally processed gouache sketch from 2003. Since the original was mostly green, my initial intention was to use it for the previous green topic. But the scan struck me as boring. While playing around with the tools of digital editing, I arrived at this version, which shows what I'd call a dynamic push. The massive, bulldog-like body on the right – itself receiving a push from the right – is going to collide with the spiky* body on the left. The resulting crash should be interesting... Now for Inspire Me Thursday's Push.
The current situation in this office is as dubious as ever. Should I stay or should I go? Will I be able to come here much longer or will I be told soon that there no longer is enough work? Why can't I simply take things as they are "right now", like the pigeons out there on the red tile roof next to the satellite dishes? Hell, they're not even aware of them being satellite dishes. The notion of pigeons watching tv and complaining about a shortage of channels suitable for pigeons. What would they feature? Lots of cooing, lots of diet-related stuff, e.g. best ways to capture worms and edible garbage left on the ground. Reports on enemies. Involuntary sterilisation issues, the trouble with clay eggs that won't hatch. But I digress...
Note I wrote the poem from memory, i.e. from the memory of looking down onto the green hillscape from the elevated city park in Locorotondo, and had in mind numerous trees in white blossom among the scattered trulli (cute dwellings with cone-shaped roofs typical of that area of southern Italy – see picture below). When I went back to compare with the pictures I'd taken, there were hardly any trees in white blossom. However, there were plenty of such trees in other parts of the area I'd passed through. Memory can be a treacherous thing!
It's stuffy and hot in here. The outside world still can't quite admit that winter is over. There were occasional snow flurries this moring. Some stubborn trees are holding on to brown leaves. Two Russians are in the office today, but there's no Iron Curtain whatsoever. Apparently, all of Russia laughed about Mrs. Clinton's emergency stop switch present. Need to get on with work, but had to blog off some boredom.*
– Yours truly, L.B.
* 'Boredom' is, of course, a word that's not allowed around here. Problems aren't allowed, either. Only challenges and solutions. What shall we call boredom then? 'Slight momentary lull in the general scheme of challenge'?
Written from someone else’s point of view around cajole, recluse and temper from 3WW. It’s all Indian today, after a Holi festival last night with Bharatanatyam dances and Bollywood film karaoke, plus immersing myself into a few poems by Rabindranath Tagore this morning. No wonder then that this is by some poor woman whose husband has got it into his brain that he needs to sit under a big old tree, grow his beard and become enlightened.
I’d like to hurl myself in a swirl – hurtling into synesthesia: sound, meaning, love.
– Leonard “Vorticist for a Change” Blumfeld
Notes A fibonacci written for Swirl at Inspire Me Thursday. Alludes to the vorticist art movement (and Ezra Pound, who coined the term) – without, I admit, knowing much about it beyond surface stuff.
Over by the wildwood, in the hot summer night, We lay in the tall grass, til the mornin' light come shining
If I had my way I'd never get the urge to roam. But sometimes I serve my country, sometimes I stay at home.
Just don't put me in the frame upon the mantel Where memories grow dusty old and grey. Don't leave me alone in the twilight. Twilight is the loneliest time of day.
And I never gave it a second thought, it never crossed my mind What's right and what's not. I'm not the judgin' kind. But I would steal your darkness and the storms from your skies. We’ve all got certain trials burnin' up inside. Don't send me no distant salutations. Or silly souvenirs from far away. Don't leave me alone in the twilight. Twilight is the loneliest time a day.
And don't put me in the frame upon the mantel. Where memories turn dusty old and grey. Don't leave me alone in the twilight. Twilight is the loneliest time a day.
The words reproduced here are Shawn Colvin's from her cover version of this song by The Band on her Cover Girl album from 1994. She deviates from the original lyrics in many instances.
Here's an impassioned rendering of the song by Eddie629 (recorded in the mud-room with steam rising in the cold weather) from Youtube:
A digitally processed gouache sketch from 2003.
