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Wed, Aug. 25th, 2004, 10:51 pm
IN DEDICATION
All saints revile her, and all sober men
Ruled by the God Apollo's golden mean -
In scorn of which I sailed to find her
In distant regions likeliest to hold her
Whom I desired above all things to know,
Sister of the mirage and echo.
It was a virtue not to stay,
To go my headstrong and heroic way
Seeking her out at the volcano's head,
Among pack ice, or where the track had faded
Beyond the cavern of the seven sleepers:
Whose broad high brow was white as any leper's,
Whose eyes were blue, with rowan-berry lips,
With hair curled honey-coloured to white hips.
Green sap of Spring in the young wood a-stir
Will celebrate the Mountain Mother,
And every song-bird shout awhile for her;
But I am gifted, even in November
Rawest of seasons, with so huge a sense
Of her nakedly worn magnificence
I forget cruelty and past betrayal,
Careless of where the next bright bolt may fall.
- from The White Goddess, Robert Graves.Wed, Aug. 25th, 2004, 10:39 pm
Leave no stone unturned. Just turn it back when you're done with it. Wed, Aug. 25th, 2004, 10:37 pm
inauthentic
sometimes the life i'm living doesn't feel like my own. Mon, Aug. 23rd, 2004, 04:03 pm
Because it's stuck in my head:
Face it, one of these days
Without you I'm just another Dorian Gray
It's the fountain of youth
It's the meaning of life
So hot, so sweet, so WHET my appetite
There nothing quite like the sadness of hearing a music box, about to wind down, stop breathing mid-phrase. I hate music boxes.
I want to start writing again. I hope it works.
Fri, Aug. 13th, 2004, 03:55 pm
from ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) kwangjse's journal
May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds. —Edward Abbey
Fri, Aug. 13th, 2004, 05:47 am
Arabic looks so difficult...
Fri, Aug. 13th, 2004, 05:46 am
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nervous
hopeful
rushed