Hey dudes! Have you missed me?
Romantic: extravagant, exaggerated, wild, imaginative, fantastic...
The luster of beauty engages the senses to the present, the most akin to eternity that we can experience while still in Time. Experiencing it makes life a little easier to live and comfort swells on you like a mother's kiss. The religion of beauty.
I went to a Josh Ritter concert. Concert is too crude of a word, so is "performance." He sang as someone perpetually in love, exposed and accessible. I think every girl fell in love with him as he sang. When you looked around the room people were either smiling or spellbound. Several times Ritter went on his knees, played his guitar, and sang pleadingly--eyes closed and heart open. During his song "Kathleen" he orchestrated an enormous slow dance and said, "the world is a cold and lonely place and tonight we can make it a little less cold and a little less lonely." Happiness emanated from him in a contagious sort of way.
I've never seen an artist quite like him. So I guess what I'm trying to say is, go see Josh Ritter if you can.
What you know about that?
Elizabeth Bishop
The Fish
I caught a tremendous fish
and held him beside the boat
half out of water, with my hook
fast in a corner of his mouth.
He didn't fight.
He hadn't fought at all.
He hung a grunting weight,
battered and venerable
and homely. Here and there
his brown skin hung in strips
like ancient wallpaper,
and its pattern of darker brown
was like wallpaper:
shapes like full-blown roses
stained and lost through age.
He was speckled and barnacles,
fine rosettes of lime,
and infested
with tiny white sea-lice,
and underneath two or three
rags of green weed hung down.
While his gills were breathing in
the terrible oxygen
--the frightening gills,
fresh and crisp with blood,
that can cut so badly--
I thought of the coarse white flesh
packed in like feathers,
the big bones and the little bones,
the dramatic reds and blacks
of his shiny entrails,
and the pink swim-bladder
like a big peony.
I looked into his eyes
which were far larger than mine
but shallower, and yellowed,
the irises backed and packed
with tarnished tinfoil
seen through the lenses
of old scratched isinglass.
They shifted a little, but not
to return my stare.
--It was more like the tipping
of an object toward the light.
I admired his sullen face,
the mechanism of his jaw,
and then I saw
that from his lower lip
--if you could call it a lip
grim, wet, and weaponlike,
hung five old pieces of fish-line,
or four and a wire leader
with the swivel still attached,
with all their five big hooks
grown firmly in his mouth.
A green line, frayed at the end
where he broke it, two heavier lines,
and a fine black thread
still crimped from the strain and snap
when it broke and he got away.
Like medals with their ribbons
frayed and wavering,
a five-haired beard of wisdom
trailing from his aching jaw.
I stared and stared
and victory filled up
the little rented boat,
from the pool of bilge
where oil had spread a rainbow
around the rusted engine
to the bailer rusted orange,
the sun-cracked thwarts,
the oarlocks on their strings,
the gunnels--until everything
was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow!
And I let the fish go.
and held him beside the boat
half out of water, with my hook
fast in a corner of his mouth.
He didn't fight.
He hadn't fought at all.
He hung a grunting weight,
battered and venerable
and homely. Here and there
his brown skin hung in strips
like ancient wallpaper,
and its pattern of darker brown
was like wallpaper:
shapes like full-blown roses
stained and lost through age.
He was speckled and barnacles,
fine rosettes of lime,
and infested
with tiny white sea-lice,
and underneath two or three
rags of green weed hung down.
While his gills were breathing in
the terrible oxygen
--the frightening gills,
fresh and crisp with blood,
that can cut so badly--
I thought of the coarse white flesh
packed in like feathers,
the big bones and the little bones,
the dramatic reds and blacks
of his shiny entrails,
and the pink swim-bladder
like a big peony.
I looked into his eyes
which were far larger than mine
but shallower, and yellowed,
the irises backed and packed
with tarnished tinfoil
seen through the lenses
of old scratched isinglass.
They shifted a little, but not
to return my stare.
--It was more like the tipping
of an object toward the light.
I admired his sullen face,
the mechanism of his jaw,
and then I saw
that from his lower lip
--if you could call it a lip
grim, wet, and weaponlike,
hung five old pieces of fish-line,
or four and a wire leader
with the swivel still attached,
with all their five big hooks
grown firmly in his mouth.
A green line, frayed at the end
where he broke it, two heavier lines,
and a fine black thread
still crimped from the strain and snap
when it broke and he got away.
Like medals with their ribbons
frayed and wavering,
a five-haired beard of wisdom
trailing from his aching jaw.
I stared and stared
and victory filled up
the little rented boat,
from the pool of bilge
where oil had spread a rainbow
around the rusted engine
to the bailer rusted orange,
the sun-cracked thwarts,
the oarlocks on their strings,
the gunnels--until everything
was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow!
And I let the fish go.
Hippie, New Age, Earth, Kids, FOOD!
Check out this amazing blog I found, guys!
Oh! And this one too! By the same peeps!
(ps that's totally safe - they're blogs about organic stuff)
Oh! And this one too! By the same peeps!
(ps that's totally safe - they're blogs about organic stuff)
Indie Beers and a Haiku
I've spent the last couple of days drinking amazing beers. I should say nights. I am in college but that doesn't mean at 12:00 I pop open a cold one as I'm stumbling out of bed to cure a hang-over from a 5 hour binge (if only...)
My two favorite from what I've been drinking are Two Hearted Ale and Cherry Stout (which I just found out are both from the same brewing company!). Oh my gosh. Go Bell's because you rock very hard, especially right now.
Anyway, try them. Do it. Do not forget it. Because if you do you'll regret it. I spit rhymes like a....
Haiku time! This is my first attempt at a haiku. Do not ask me why I've waited until now to embark upon experimenting with this tiny little form. I was journaling some feelings earlier (oh wow, which sounds just terrible and whiney) and the way I wrote it I was like, "what is up tiny poem? Lets make you work." So I did, or I tried to, but here it is:
My two favorite from what I've been drinking are Two Hearted Ale and Cherry Stout (which I just found out are both from the same brewing company!). Oh my gosh. Go Bell's because you rock very hard, especially right now.
Anyway, try them. Do it. Do not forget it. Because if you do you'll regret it. I spit rhymes like a....
Haiku time! This is my first attempt at a haiku. Do not ask me why I've waited until now to embark upon experimenting with this tiny little form. I was journaling some feelings earlier (oh wow, which sounds just terrible and whiney) and the way I wrote it I was like, "what is up tiny poem? Lets make you work." So I did, or I tried to, but here it is:
In love with being
in love breeds despondency.
I want to be new.
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