History of the sigh pt. 1: precursors

Famous example of a pastoral elegy –

Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard (1751)

Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear:
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Some village-Hampden that with dauntless breast
The little tyrant of his fields withstood;
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.

The applause of listening senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
And read their history in a nation's eyes,

Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined;
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind,

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.

– Thomas Gray (1716-1771)

Morning fib

Just
got
up, still
creaky. Will
need to get in first
gear now: drink, eat, make merry work

Así es, these are the good intentions of your humble servant, Lew Blumfeld

Warm-up fib for today | a sigh

Got
up
early
to do work,
had coffee and lye
crescent, but now crave red fruit.

Your morning report from the working front.

Accompanied by this sigh*:

Oh to be carefree and, perhaps,
have the best espresso ever tasted –
in a tiny bar on Pisa's main street.

Yours faithfully, L.B.

* Sigh: A poetic form loosely related to the pastoral elegy.

Time will not be cheated

Today, this Sunday, ended up being a BAD day.*
One of those where a universal remote control (URC)
for fast, fast forward would have come in very handy.
Including the autopilot function that gets all your work done
while you're sleeping. Yeah, right.

Except that, as we know from Click, the 2006 Adam Sandler comedy, Morty (aka Christopher Walken) will catch up with you if you press that button, and you will regret it – literally – for ever.

*Including an upchucking toilet, three hours of verbal abuse from an aging parent, fog from several planets, etc., etc.

I am surprised I have some sense of humor back.

Late night fibonacci

In
spä-
ter Nacht
treibt es auf
milchigem Mondlicht,
badet in blassem Gold, das Gedicht.

Submitted the English original to the bilingual Garden of Confusion by mistake, so the German goes here for a change.

Your moonstruck Lenny Blumfeld, author of this wind-down fibonacci (as opposed to the warm-ups I practiced a few times before).

All work, no blog

Oh life
could be
so much
blog w/o
work

In this cyber day and age we have finally come to realize that we were meant to do one thing: blog.

How I pity those umpteen million years manwomankind had to suffer through without access to blogging. All they had back then was blabbing.

Your always pilosopically meandering L.B.

BTW: The weather angels have put on another smiling face.

Bout to go out for lunch

¡Nada más!

Haven't even decided where to go, Indian is topmost in my mind.

There's a great Sri Lankan/South Indian restaurant in the neighborhood, but some people I know are boycotting it because of an unfriendly "Chinese-looking" waiter. He could be Indian, from one of the Northeastern States bordering Myanmar, like Manipur, Nagaland, Mizoram.

Bamboo forest in Mizoram

This is definitely blabla, but also close to nothingness apart from showing off my shining knowledge of some more obscure geographical areas.

Perdóname.

Su humilde servidor,

Leonardo Flores

Chewin' n' bloggin'

I'll say!
Maximum efficiency, multitasking, whatnot!

Utterances of existence spat out, so to spit, on the run.

The roving, raging, ranting reporter.

So why's this so lame & tame?

I'll tell you, Lem, because it don't have nothin' to tell!

Said some critical alter ego with a firmly grounded eye.

By the way: the weather is laudable, even though a bit reticent with warmth.

You ain't no real Saint Francis

said the blackbird
I talked to
this morning,
dropped a turd
and flew on
to the next branch.

– Len Blumfeld

Note
All true! I did not make this up.

Sunday morning coming down

Some pets seemed to love this sunny Sunday morning just as much as I did.

On my walk I counted at least eight cats lounging in windows, plus one dog, a pekinese stretched flat to look like a spotted rug.

Something irked him about me standing there and looking at him, and he wouldn't quit barking even after I'd left his field of vision.

As opposed to the various cats, who took my presence more philosophically, even though a bit quizzically, like this one.