Post Saint Pat’s Day report: I’m alive [mostly]. I didn’t fight anyone in parking lots, or elsewhere. I’m going back to bed. That is all.
Old Adam, the carrion crow,
The old crow of Cairo;
He sat in the shower, and let it flow
Under his tail and over his crest;
And through every feather
Leaked the wet weather;
And the bough swung under his nest;
For his beak it was heavy with marrow.
Is that the wind dying? O no;
It’s only two devils, that blow
Through a murderer’s bones, to and fro,
In the ghosts’ moonshine.
Ho! Eve, my grey carrion wife,
When we have supped on kings’ marrow,
Where shall we drink and make merry our life?
Our nest it is queen Cleopatra’s skull,
’Tis cloven and cracked,
And battered and hacked,
But with tears of blue eyes it is full:
Let us drink then, my raven of Cairo.
Is that the wind dying? O no;
It’s only two devils, that blow
Through a murderer’s bones, to and fro,
In the ghosts’ moonshine.
~ Thomas Lovell Beddoes
Yes, it’s unfinished. I know. Typical of what happens to such exercises. (more…)
I had a strange dream last night involving a cat-like possum creature that had heterochromia. Not really sure that it means anything [sometimes dreams do; sometimes they don't], but I found it interesting enough that it gave me an idea for a series of drawings. (more…)
Spent the morning watching the sun rise and drinking hotel coffee here at Seal Rock. The Pacific looks moody, but I don’t quite know her well enough to say that this is her general demeanor [although I have my suspicions]. (more…)
