(no subject)
I have found a kindred soul in Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Listen to this, for example:
"My spirit I to Love compose,
In humble trust mine eye-lids close,
With reverential resignation,
No wish conceived, no thought expressed,
Only a sense of supplication;
A sense o'er all my soul imprest
That I am weak, yet not unblest,
Since in me, round me, every where
Eternal strength and wisdom are."
- 'The Pains of Sleep'
Yesterday night I had a most beautiful time of it. I was wearing my pink plaid pajama pants and a pastel pink blouse and I had the furry fuzzy pink blanket wrapping my feet atop the white couch and I had Margeux's favorite lamp burning and betwixt it and I, O the wonder! Maggy's soft pink roses reposed. And they cast a shadow upon the pages of my book so that it took no effort to pretend, with the aid of the rain in the background, that I was in a wonderful garden gazebo, surrounded by the tolerant vines of roses and the soft lashing of the rain. And Margeux was on the other couch and being very peaceful and her silent company completed my happiness.
But then Dana came back and needed to finish sketching a rose so she took the whole bouquet from its perch by my head, rendering the light suddenly unfiltered. So I began moaning softly that she really only needed one rose and did she really feel it necessary to interrupt my meditations so violently by taking the whole bouquet? And, as she knew she was in the wrong, she didn't answer me. So Maggy intervened and gave most of them back to me and I was happy for a few more minutes but by then my spirit had become restless. So I proposed that we name our common room something to distinguish it from other common rooms and when I proffered "Sarendia" Margeux and Dana told me to go away. So I went away.
And now I have to write something for English. About the Rime of the Ancient (and most scary) Mariner.
"My spirit I to Love compose,
In humble trust mine eye-lids close,
With reverential resignation,
No wish conceived, no thought expressed,
Only a sense of supplication;
A sense o'er all my soul imprest
That I am weak, yet not unblest,
Since in me, round me, every where
Eternal strength and wisdom are."
- 'The Pains of Sleep'
Yesterday night I had a most beautiful time of it. I was wearing my pink plaid pajama pants and a pastel pink blouse and I had the furry fuzzy pink blanket wrapping my feet atop the white couch and I had Margeux's favorite lamp burning and betwixt it and I, O the wonder! Maggy's soft pink roses reposed. And they cast a shadow upon the pages of my book so that it took no effort to pretend, with the aid of the rain in the background, that I was in a wonderful garden gazebo, surrounded by the tolerant vines of roses and the soft lashing of the rain. And Margeux was on the other couch and being very peaceful and her silent company completed my happiness.
But then Dana came back and needed to finish sketching a rose so she took the whole bouquet from its perch by my head, rendering the light suddenly unfiltered. So I began moaning softly that she really only needed one rose and did she really feel it necessary to interrupt my meditations so violently by taking the whole bouquet? And, as she knew she was in the wrong, she didn't answer me. So Maggy intervened and gave most of them back to me and I was happy for a few more minutes but by then my spirit had become restless. So I proposed that we name our common room something to distinguish it from other common rooms and when I proffered "Sarendia" Margeux and Dana told me to go away. So I went away.
And now I have to write something for English. About the Rime of the Ancient (and most scary) Mariner.