From a song rather jauntily covered by U2, "Everlasting Love":
Where life's river flows
No-one really knows
'Til someone's there to
Show the way to
Everlasting love
Like the sun it shines
Endlessly it shines
You always will be mine
Eternal love
Whenever love went wrong
Ours will be strong
We have our own
Everlasting love...
(In case you're interested, there are many, many versions of these lyrics on the Net. If you don't agree with my interpretation, look around and you'll probably find a version that suits your hearing.)
Belated happy solstice!
L
Monday, June 22, 2009
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
And they call it democracy
What does it say about us as citizens — what does it say about the quality of our democracy in Canada — when both our prime minister and the leader of the opposition use an election as a bogeyman? When did our right to vote become something with which to threaten the populace?
This morning CBC quotes Stephen Harper saying, “I don’t want an election. I don’t think anybody wants an election.” Obviously the leader of a minority government, the prime minister only by default, doesn't want to lose his power. But Stephen Harper doesn't speak for me.
Popular wisdom says we get the government we deserve. What have we done to deserve Stephen Harper?
This morning CBC quotes Stephen Harper saying, “I don’t want an election. I don’t think anybody wants an election.” Obviously the leader of a minority government, the prime minister only by default, doesn't want to lose his power. But Stephen Harper doesn't speak for me.
Popular wisdom says we get the government we deserve. What have we done to deserve Stephen Harper?
Friday, June 12, 2009
Courtesy of Alberto Manguel
From his delightful and meandering book A Reading Diary: A Year of Favourite Books:
"Instead of saying, 'I seek the meaning of the world,' i.e., the superlative of all superlatives (and the very minute I pronounce the word, I have it, I achieve my purpose merely by having pronounced it), human philosophy has acted like the fool who would run through the streets in tears, looking for his own head on every street corner." — Ladislav Klima
"The person who is really in revolt is the optimist, who generally lives and dies in a desperate and suicidal effort to persuade all the other people how good they are. ... Every one of the great revolutionists, from Isaiah to Shelley, have been optimists. They have been indignant, not about the badness of existence, but about the slowness of men in realizing its goodness." — Chesterton
"Instead of saying, 'I seek the meaning of the world,' i.e., the superlative of all superlatives (and the very minute I pronounce the word, I have it, I achieve my purpose merely by having pronounced it), human philosophy has acted like the fool who would run through the streets in tears, looking for his own head on every street corner." — Ladislav Klima
"The person who is really in revolt is the optimist, who generally lives and dies in a desperate and suicidal effort to persuade all the other people how good they are. ... Every one of the great revolutionists, from Isaiah to Shelley, have been optimists. They have been indignant, not about the badness of existence, but about the slowness of men in realizing its goodness." — Chesterton
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Red rover or the black dog?
Hmm. Here's something for ya:
Tried flipping through my file of coloured days but couldn't find it. Life swallowing beauty without even chewing. Naming it does not make it go away. Linens, lindens. Roses grow sore from their beauty, and tales are the least one can steal. Breathe deep a wreath of joy, of roses of sweetpeas of gardenias of lilies of holly of rosemary of rue. Meadows of joy where one runs in white linen. The span of his arms the height of me. Prone, supine, lupine. Pining. Liminal and subliminal, the threshold to walk over, the doorway to a new life. Crossed and crossing. Her feet too delicate to touch earth. World of undoing and the undone. Milk vetch. Again and again and again. Inky blue of inconsolable longing, of missing, of loss. Red to die, blue to bring back. Wearing white silk shirts and chambray skirts. Taffeta and crinolines. A hope inside a hoop. A man to walk alongside, the pepper for your salt, the sun for your moon. Fresh-mown grass. Again. Falling and befallen. How does it happen? There was a white haze over the city. Merry, my lord. Do not adjust your set. Do not set your judgement against me. Don't stand so close, so close. Eat the peach, hand extended, fingers quivering. Cherries apples plums roses white never red. The glaring yellow of an angry eye. Lost and lost. I can sense the end. Almost never at a loss for words in my head but cannot make my lips form them. Lies slip so blithely.
Tried flipping through my file of coloured days but couldn't find it. Life swallowing beauty without even chewing. Naming it does not make it go away. Linens, lindens. Roses grow sore from their beauty, and tales are the least one can steal. Breathe deep a wreath of joy, of roses of sweetpeas of gardenias of lilies of holly of rosemary of rue. Meadows of joy where one runs in white linen. The span of his arms the height of me. Prone, supine, lupine. Pining. Liminal and subliminal, the threshold to walk over, the doorway to a new life. Crossed and crossing. Her feet too delicate to touch earth. World of undoing and the undone. Milk vetch. Again and again and again. Inky blue of inconsolable longing, of missing, of loss. Red to die, blue to bring back. Wearing white silk shirts and chambray skirts. Taffeta and crinolines. A hope inside a hoop. A man to walk alongside, the pepper for your salt, the sun for your moon. Fresh-mown grass. Again. Falling and befallen. How does it happen? There was a white haze over the city. Merry, my lord. Do not adjust your set. Do not set your judgement against me. Don't stand so close, so close. Eat the peach, hand extended, fingers quivering. Cherries apples plums roses white never red. The glaring yellow of an angry eye. Lost and lost. I can sense the end. Almost never at a loss for words in my head but cannot make my lips form them. Lies slip so blithely.
Sunday, June 07, 2009
A-Plus for Nerdiness
Just got 90 percent on an ABBA trivia quiz. Sigh. To celebrate, iTunes spontaneously found "The Name of the Game" just as I finished the quiz. Apparently computers have a sense of humour after all.
Back to the books!
L
Back to the books!
L
Thursday, June 04, 2009
Thursday
She said, A good day ain't got no rain.
She said, A bad day's when I lie in bed
and think of things that might have been.
— Paul Simon, "Slip Slidin' Away"
She said, A bad day's when I lie in bed
and think of things that might have been.
— Paul Simon, "Slip Slidin' Away"
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Whoops!
Forgot the Sarah Slean concert last night at Myer Horowitz. Oops!
Am looking forward to hearing the new Tori Amos. So far, others' reviews are really mixed. Also just received the new Joan Baez (and an old JB as well); looking forward to hearing it, too.
And a kind friend has just sent me a copy of his latest book. Wow! Inscribed and everything! How sweet! Looking forward to reading it ... as soon as I get through the pages and pages and pages of directed reading I still need to finish.
Do you think I can finish my diss in six months? This is the challenge I have set for myself. Well, that and passing my candidacy. The clock is ticking... go!
L
Am looking forward to hearing the new Tori Amos. So far, others' reviews are really mixed. Also just received the new Joan Baez (and an old JB as well); looking forward to hearing it, too.
And a kind friend has just sent me a copy of his latest book. Wow! Inscribed and everything! How sweet! Looking forward to reading it ... as soon as I get through the pages and pages and pages of directed reading I still need to finish.
Do you think I can finish my diss in six months? This is the challenge I have set for myself. Well, that and passing my candidacy. The clock is ticking... go!
L
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