-e. e. cummings
When I look at this car, something seems to be terribly wrong. Where is all the shit on the back, the wires, the pipes, the little triangular time travel thing that Dr. Brown thought of when he hit his head getting up from the toilet?
My grandfather loves John Wayne, he always has. He loves westerns. My mom likes to say that he voted for Ronald Reagan because he liked his movies (I guess he's usually a Democrat). Anyway, I brought a tape of Back to the Future to Grove City, and wanted to watch it some time during the trip. Somehow, this tape made it into my grandfather's video cabinet, and was subsequently taped over with Wayne.
My sister once did a similar thing with an episode of Transformers, and the My Little Pony Movie. This wouldn't have been so bad, except that the tape had the episode which introduced the dinobots, quite a monumental episode lost to the fuzzy pinkness.
I Dream of Jeannie (goats, and businessmen):
I accidentally downloaded this picture while trying to get porn off gnutella. Then again, I also got Aimee Mann while searching for Aimme Sweet. Mann was in Til Tuesday, one of the quintessential new wave bands of the early eighties. I think there only hit was "Voices Carry," but that album (which I have on vinyl) is pretty sweet. I you don't know who Aimme Sweet is, just wait. There will be more pictures soon.
He used to make traitors, that is, anyone he disliked, drink castor oil. Lots of castor oil. In small quantities castor oil has been a health fad. In the quantities Mussolini would mandate it would amount to a horrid death.
Ezra Pound loved the guy though, and went to the sanitarium for that. His major argument for the guy was his education system, which barring the racist bias (look who's talking), ah yes, and the historical bias, was actually pretty good. Pound believed that teachers that taught lies should be treated as criminals, in this he and Mussolini agreed, though they may not have on what exactly constitutes a lie.
Sing we for love and idleness,
Naught else is worth the having.
Though I have been in many a land,
There is naught else in living.
And I would rather have my sweet,
Though rose-leaves die of grieving,
Than do high deeds in Hungary
To pass all men's believing.
Lost My Mind:
I spent a while looking for a Pablo Neruda poem called "Enigma." I didn't find it, but I did find a number of his poems with that word in them, including "Oda al Gato." I found this one too, which I liked, even though he has the look of another dark man.
Se hará noche mi vida porque no oí tu voz en el torturamiento
de la más agria duda y yo que soñé el santo poema
del amor tendré en mis labios tristes una mueca desnuda.
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