HEAD(hed), (n.) 1. the top part of the human body or the front part of an animal where the eyes, nose, east and mouth are. "Your brain is in your head." DIBS(dibz), (n.) 2. a thick, sweet syrup made in countries of the East, especially the Middle East, from grape juice or dates. [Arabic "debs"]--World Book Dictionary, 1976.
I’ve been spending the last few months on something I’ve always wanted to do: write a book. I’m using every possible moment on this project and it’s really coming along. I am currently 7 chapters completed out of a potential 20. However, given the source material, each chapter is just a little bit longer than the previous. So who knows when I’ll be finished. I’m learning so much tho!
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Welcome, August
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Now westlin winds and slaughtering guns Bring autumn's pleasant weather The moorcock springs on whirring wings Among the blooming heather Now waving grain, wild o'er the plain Delights the weary farmer And the moon shines bright as I rove at night To muse upon my charmer
The partridge loves the fruitful fells The plover loves the mountain The woodcock haunts the lonely dells The soaring hern the fountain Through lofty groves the cushat roves The path of man to shun it The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush The spreading thorn the linnet
Thus every kind their pleasure find The savage and the tender Some social join and leagues combine Some solitary wander Avaunt! Away! the cruel sway, Tyrannic man's dominion The sportsman's joy, the murdering cry The fluttering, gory pinion
But Peggy dear the evening's clear Thick flies the skimming swallow The sky is blue, the fields in view All fading green and yellow Come let us stray our gladsome way And view the charms of nature The rustling corn, the fruited thorn And every happy creature
We'll gently walk and sweetly talk Till the silent moon shines clearly I'll grasp thy waist and, fondly pressed, Swear how I love thee dearly Not vernal showers to budding flowers Not autumn to the farmer So dear can be as thou to me My fair, my lovely charmer
I'm nearly finished reading Joan Didion's collection of essays, Slouching Towards Bethlehem. The book was discovered through another book I was reading, Jon Krakauer's Eiger Dreams . If Jon felt this book was good enough to pack along on a mountain climbing expedition, then I'm interested. Took me three tries, but I finally found my copy on Amazon. One of the best book buys I've made. Joan selected the title of this book from William Butler Yeats' classic poem, Second Coming . The book title is shared with one of her larger essays, a record of encounters with people in the 1960's drug culture. Didion's book is divided into three distinct parts: "Life Styles In The Golden Land," a collection of articles capturing the California experience of the 1960's; "Personals," a few of essays of the first-hand nature; and "Seven Places Of The Mind", some thoughts about those parts of California that are now long gone. One essay...
“VANITY, saith the preacher, vanity! Draw round my bed: is Anselm keeping back? Nephews—sons mine … ah God, I know not! Well— She, men would have to be your mother once, Old Gandolf envied me, so fair she was! What’s done is done, and she is dead beside, Dead long ago, and I am Bishop since, And as she died so must we die ourselves, And thence ye may perceive the world’s a dream. Life, how and what is it? As here I lie In this state-chamber, dying by degrees, Hours and long hours in the dead night, I ask “Do I live, am I dead?” Peace, peace seems all. Saint Praxed’s ever was the church for peace; And so, about this tomb of mine. I fought With tooth and nail to save my niche, ye know: —Old Gandolf cozened me, despite my care; Shrewd was that snatch from out the corner South He graced his carrion with, God curse the same! Yet still my niche is not so cramped...
