~*~ Rose-Colored Glosses ~*~

hovering between the quest for absolute truth and the pursuit of utter nonsense
 
gloss, n.
  1. A brief explanatory note usually inserted in the margin or between lines of a text.
  2. An extensive commentary, often accompanying a text or publication.
  3. A purposefully misleading interpretation or explanation.
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* Quotes *
"The limits of my language means the limits of my world."
-Ludwig Wittgenstein
"An error does not become truth by reason of multiplied propagation, nor does truth become error because nobody sees it."
-Mahatma Gandhi
Segal's Law:
A man with a watch knows what time it is. A man with two watches is never sure.
"Well, art is art, isn't it? Still, on the other hand, water is water! And East is East and West is West and if you take cranberries and stew them like applesauce they taste more like prunes than a rhubarb does. Now, uh... Now you tell me what you know."
-Groucho Marx

~ Saturday, February 23, 2008 ~

Corresponding Like a Ninja

Suddenly tonight I discovered Gmail chat's invisibility feature.  Very clever, Gmail.  Being all slick and quiet about it.  How long has this been there without my noticing?

~ prattled by Miriam at 2:23 a.m. [+] ~ 2 comment

* * *
~ Friday, February 22, 2008 ~
A Line-Storm Song
Nearly ten years ago a friend of mine passed this poem along to me.  I've been thinking of it lately.  I'm not sure I want to add any commentary to it; I just want to pass it along and let you appreciate it on your own terms.

29. A Line-storm Song
 
 
THE LINE-STORM clouds fly tattered and swift,
  The road is forlorn all day,
Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift,
  And the hoof-prints vanish away.
The roadside flowers, too wet for the bee,        5
  Expend their bloom in vain.
Come over the hills and far with me,
  And be my love in the rain.
 
The birds have less to say for themselves
  In the wood-world’s torn despair        10
Than now these numberless years the elves,
  Although they are no less there:
All song of the woods is crushed like some
  Wild, easily shattered rose.
Come, be my love in the wet woods; come,        15
  Where the boughs rain when it blows.
 
There is the gale to urge behind
  And bruit our singing down,
And the shallow waters aflutter with wind
  From which to gather your gown.        20
What matter if we go clear to the west,
  And come not through dry-shod?
For wilding brooch shall wet your breast
  The rain-fresh goldenrod.
 
Oh, never this whelming east wind swells        25
  But it seems like the sea’s return
To the ancient lands where it left the shells
  Before the age of the fern;
And it seems like the time when after doubt
  Our love came back amain.        30
Oh, come forth into the storm and rout
  And be my love in the rain.

~ prattled by Miriam at 3:56 p.m. [+] ~ 1 comment

* * *
~ Monday, February 18, 2008 ~
And If You Believe That...

~ prattled by Miriam at 4:19 p.m. [+] ~ 0 comment

* * *
~ Tuesday, February 05, 2008 ~
Darnit, New York
Why'd you have to like Clinton so much?

Looks like it's going to be a late night. I haven't felt this much patriotic tension since I watched the results come in for the '04 election back in Philly.

~ prattled by Miriam at 11:42 p.m. [+] ~ 1 comment

* * *
~ Sunday, February 03, 2008 ~
Sure, it's Park Slope, but it's still Brooklyn.
My bedroom window overlooks a quiet street in a subdued, moms-and-strollers-ish neighborhood, and I can still hear the people screaming their post-game exultation.

Yet another thing on God will be showing up here at some point.

~ prattled by Miriam at 10:38 p.m. [+] ~ 1 comment

* * *

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