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The Cold Wind

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at 1:00 am
faq
(Melancholy, Other Writ, Poetry)

A herd of hawks hover in ten thousand li of high altitude
A lonely horse is buried in Qin Sichuan's soil
At this night, the cold wind is blowing the tears of the moon
Wails to come at a distance, that is a cuckoo of the insomnia on the tree.

Wenze : Give my regards to Lu Yao

Poem was written in the 10th anniversary of Lu Yao's death in 1992.

 
 
Girl with Birds

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Farewell To Bush

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at 3:00 am (Melancholy, Other Writ, Spengler)

In all the immense lit­er­at­ure about the 1939 – 1945 war, one may observe a legend in pro­cess of being shaped. Gradu­ally, authen­tic memor­ies of the war — of its bore­dom, its futil­ity, the sense it gave of being part of a pro­cess of decom­pos­i­tion — fade in favor of the legendary ver­sion, embod­ied in Churchill’s rhet­or­ic and all the oth­er nar­rat­ives by field mar­shals, air mar­shals and admir­als, cre­at­ing the same impres­sion of a titan­ic and forever mem­or­able struggle in defense of civil­iz­a­tion. In fact, of course, the war’s ostens­ible aims — the defense of a defunct Empire, a spent Revolu­tion, and bogus Freedoms — were mean­ing­less in the con­text of the times. They will prob­ably rate in the end no more than a foot­note on the last page of the last chapter of the story of our civil­iz­a­tion.

Mal­colm Mug­geridge — Esquire, Feb­ru­ary 1968.

 
Market at Calais

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A Non-Flock Of Non-Scarlet Pigeons

Parody being one of the major arts, here is a satire of French art-school filmmaking. Unknown auteur.

 

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Forgot In Cruel Happiness

international
at 9:00 pm
faq
(Melancholy, Other Writ, Poetry, The King of Terrors)

A mer­maid found a swim­ming lad,
Picked him for her own,
Pressed her body to his body,
Laughed; and plunging down
For­got in cruel hap­pi­ness
That even lov­ers drown.

Wil­li­am But­ler Yeats : A Man Young And Old: III. The Mer­maid

 
Mermaid with Skull

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Ingrata Patria, Né Ossa Quidem Habebis

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at 2:00 am (Animals, Correctitude, Melancholy, Other Writ, The King of Terrors)

In the daies of Tiberius the Emperor, there was a yong Raven hatched in a neast upon the church of Castor and Pollux, which, to make a triall how he could flie, took his first flight into a shoomakers shop just overagainst the said church. The maister of the shop was well ynough content to receive this bird, as commended to him from so sacred a place, and in that regard set great store by it. This Raven in short time being acquainted to mans speech, began to speak, & every morning would fly up to the top of the Rostra or publicke pulpit for Orations, where, turning to the open Forum and market place, he would salute and bid Good morrow to Tiberius Cæsar, and after him, to Germanicus and Drusus the yong princes, both Cæsars, every one by their names: and anon the people of Rome also that passed by. And when hee had so done, afterwards would flie againe to the shoomakers shop aforesaid. This duty practised he and continued for many years together, to the great wonder and admiration of all men. Now it fell out so, that another shoomaker, who had taken the next corviners shop unto him, either upon a malicious envie that hee occupied so neere him, or some suddaine splene and passion of choller (as he would seeme to plead for his excuse) for that the Raven chaunced to meute a little, and set some spot upon a paire of his shoes, killed the said Raven. Whereat the people tooke such indignation, that they rising in an uprore, first drove him out of that street, and made that quarter of the city too hote for him: and not long after murdered him for it. But contrariwise, the carkasse of the dead Raven was solemnely enterred, and the funerals performed with all ceremoniall obsequies that could bee devised. For the corps of this bird was bestowed in a coffin, couch, or bed, and the same bedecked with chaplets and guirlands of fresh floures of all sorts, carried upon the shoulders of two blacke Mores, with minstrels before, sounding the haut-boies, and playing on the fife, as farre as to the funerall fire; which was piled and made in the right hand of the causey Appia, two miles without the cittie, in a certain plaine or open field called Rediculi. So highly reputed the people of Rome that readie wit and apt disposition in a bird, as they thought it a sufficient cause to ordaine a sumptuous buriall therefore: yea, and to revenge the death thereof, by murdering a cittizen of Rome in that citie, wherein many a brave man and noble person died, and no man ever solemnized their funerals: in that citie I say which affoorded not one man to revenge the unworthie death of that renowned Scipio Æmylianus, after he had woon both Carthage and Numantia. This happened the fifth day before the Calends of Aprill, in the yeare when M. Servilius and C. Cestius were Consuls of Rome.

C. Plinius Secundus --- The Historie of the World trans: Philemon Holland

 
[ Scipio Aemilianus being the despicable liberal Optimate, of course, and not the brilliant Africanus: so why should any honest man care about the death of the enemy of Africanus's grandsons, the admirable Gracchi ? ]

 

Crow with Stars

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If It Takes Forever

The hiatus continues...

Still, I was rather under the impression that I had already included this Final Fantasy / Connie Francis mix regarding Squall and his Rinoa; but it was probably placed elsewhere; so it really should find a home here.

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Final Fantasy VIII Forever !

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