They Say It's Spring: Lounge LC Thread
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I hate the word "invite" for "invitation."
Am I just old-fashioned or just a prig?
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A stickler for good etiquette.
eloquence is an anachronism and a bad losing art that makes no sense in a real world. just getting your point across in a simple and short manner is the new way of the world.
old fogies are just that.
Sweet Jesus. Another Hemingway reader. Why do we need Hemingway when we already had Laurence Stern?
I thought originally that it was a yokelism that was only used ironically, but now I see it everywhere
eloquence is an anachronism and a bad losing art that makes no sense in a real world. just getting your point across in a simple and short manner is the new way of the world.
old fogies are just that.
Sweet Jesus. Another Hemingway reader. Why do we need Hemingway when we already had Laurence Stern?
what the elder mental aikido sentences did i just read
hello who else but our hero ray zee has a knack for trotting onto the tee box only to pause twice in the middle of his backswing ontinuing his mental run-on sentence describing techniques for being brief both at the table and in life
and him having the knack to take the utmost unique yokelism and lump it into the same musical phrasing as my everyday shared aroma is quite unique
local yokel
Oldboy
By A. Van Jordan
(Park Chan-Wook, 2003)
If one rainy night you find yourself
leaving a phone booth, and you meet a man
with a lavender umbrella, resist
your desire to follow him, to seek
shelter from the night in his solace.
Later, don't fall victim to the Hypnotist's
narcotic of clarity, which proves
a curare for the heart; her salve
is merely a bandage, under which memories
pulse. Resist the taste for something still
alive for your first meal; resist the craving
for the touch of a hand from your past.
We live some memories,
and some memories are planted. There's
only so much space for the truth
and the fabrications to spread out
in one's mind. When there's no more
space, we grow desperate. You'll ask
if practicing love for years in your mind,
prepares you for the moment.
If practicing to defend one's life
is the same as living? You'll
hole up, captive, in a hotel room
for fifteen years and learn to find
a man within you, which will prove
a painful introduction to the trance
into which you were born. Better
to stay under the spell of your guilt,
than to forget; you've already released
your pain onto the world; don't believe
there's some joy in forgetting.
There's no joy in the struggle to forget.
And what appears as an endless verdant field
only spreads across a building's rooftop;
your peaceful sleep could be a fetal position,
which secures you in a suitcase in this field.
A bell rings, and you fall out of this luggage
like clothes you no longer fit. Now what to do?
You remember when you were the man
who fit those clothes, but you've forgotten this
world. Even forgotten scenes from your life,
leave shadows of the memory,
haunting your spirit
until, within a moment's glance,
strangers passing you on the street,
observe history in your eyes. Experience
lingers through acts of forgetting,
small acts of love or trauma
falling from the same place. Whether
memory comes in the form of a stone
or a grain of sand, they both sink in water.
A tongue—even if it were, say, sworn
to secrecy; or if it were cut from one's mouth;
yes, even without a mouth to envelop
its truth—the tongue continues to confess.
A tongue—even if it were, say, sworn
to secrecy; or if it were cut from one's mouth;
yes, even without a mouth to envelop
its truth—the tongue continues to confess.
wonderful
Did you know that there's approximately 25 different names for a dragonfly in the US?
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Mosquito bomber
Going to NYC this weekend to see more of Marclay's The Clock at MOMA and Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro at the Met. Mandatory walk through Central Park and an afternoon visit to Bemelman's Bar at the Carlyle.
Also plan on hitting an Irish pub. All that high-falutin stuff requires an antidote.
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anyone else imagine Audrey hooked into his crooked arm?
have fun uncle john
The new Pope is from Chicago
Word is that he is a White Sox fan
This is good news since the only thing that might help them at this point is divine intervention. Hopefully he can pull a few strings 😀
In NYC. Couldn't get into the showing of The Clock at MOMA. The wait-list was already closed when I got there. Gonna try again tomorrow morning.
The hotel where I'm staying has wine and cheese at 5:00, so I had a glass of wine there and then headed around the corner to an Irish pub and a pint of Guinness. Boy, am I a lightweight. I could barely walk after the Guinness.
I'm going to attempt to recover and head back later tonight for an Irish whiskey of some sort. I'm not convinced I will make it.
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The new Pope is from Chicago
Word is that he is a White Sox fan
This is good news since the only thing that might help them at this point is divine intervention. Hopefully he can pull a few strings 😀
shyly cognisant with the wiggly room between cognac and whiskey
can only be led to belive the pope wore white on his head and not the feet until leo kissed me
the sense of parental satisfaction felt after an underhaded pickleball lob is smacked outside the court bounds
never heard of rich russ or other alias
thank you for the impetus to look him up
the vowelic consistency between this past series of posts is extremely pleasing to read aloud
Currently camped outside the tomb of Minnie Minoso awaiting his resurrection. Drinking unstocked Guinness
