(no subject)
Finished Candide. Good book. But more importantly on literature, I started and finished Cat's Cradle which was amazing. Both funny and cynical, it was a satire on just about everything.
"I do not intend that this book be a tract on behalf of Bokononism. I should like to offer a Bokononist warning about it, however. The first sentence in The Books of Bokonon is this:
"All of the true things I am about to tell you are shameless lies."
My Bokononist warning is this:
Anyone unable to understand how a useful religion can be founded on lies will not understand this book either.
So be it.
So yesterday Maire and I wandered the streets of montclair. I bought Slaughterhouse Five by Vonnegut and Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. Its amazing how time slips slowly past in a bookstore. Its like time stalls inside and you enter this knothole in time.
Anyways. . . here's for Maire, the enterne procrastinator.
It was beneath the ebon monochrome
of the vacuous vault that there came
this vagrant seraph meandering along an unknown path.
Albeit all features were shrouded
in the sanguine fog of the murky morning,
her angelic garb - oh! the faintest of all tints of azure,
it seemed quintessential of elegance -
appeared as if to be superimposed against the darkness.
And although each step taken
was accompanied with the despondent cries
of the dismal heavens,
the angel's eyes remained forever forward -
fixated on her quixotic notions of the future.
But when the empyrean completely succumbed
to its consternation, sending forth its sorrow
in a deluge of tears, the seraph slowly stopped,
closing her eyes as the rain began to sink into her bones.
And as a smile crossed her face,
she set out into the newly baptized day.
"I do not intend that this book be a tract on behalf of Bokononism. I should like to offer a Bokononist warning about it, however. The first sentence in The Books of Bokonon is this:
"All of the true things I am about to tell you are shameless lies."
My Bokononist warning is this:
Anyone unable to understand how a useful religion can be founded on lies will not understand this book either.
So be it.
So yesterday Maire and I wandered the streets of montclair. I bought Slaughterhouse Five by Vonnegut and Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. Its amazing how time slips slowly past in a bookstore. Its like time stalls inside and you enter this knothole in time.
Anyways. . . here's for Maire, the enterne procrastinator.
It was beneath the ebon monochrome
of the vacuous vault that there came
this vagrant seraph meandering along an unknown path.
Albeit all features were shrouded
in the sanguine fog of the murky morning,
her angelic garb - oh! the faintest of all tints of azure,
it seemed quintessential of elegance -
appeared as if to be superimposed against the darkness.
And although each step taken
was accompanied with the despondent cries
of the dismal heavens,
the angel's eyes remained forever forward -
fixated on her quixotic notions of the future.
But when the empyrean completely succumbed
to its consternation, sending forth its sorrow
in a deluge of tears, the seraph slowly stopped,
closing her eyes as the rain began to sink into her bones.
And as a smile crossed her face,
she set out into the newly baptized day.