Sir Lally writes from his inspiration, within the Apple of Girth.
Dearest readers and picture-seers,
Good day! I write from my most comfortable bed, in room 907 of the Algonquin Hotel, on Manhattan's West 44th Street, in the city that sleepeth not. It is my last night here, and all of my trip has gone from the roaring of traffic as it bursts by, and the voices of the millions filling the ears, to the low fanning of the heater that rests beneath the window in this very room - and even that has just now been brought down to a nigh inaudible hum. To think just hours ago, I crossed an avenue with no bounds that perhaps thousands of other people were crossing as well! To think that cabs, those hornet-like racers, dodged between us all as we made pilgrimmage from one sidewalk to the other! To think I waited two hours in a line with hundreds of others to stand atop the Empire State Building after the sun had set, to look upon lowly lights, like stars upon the earth, stretching out for the miles and miles all around that make up this New York City! And to think now, how I am away from all that excitement and energy, in the silence of my room! It seems impossible that there could be such range of experience in so little time; that I could earn solitude so quickly! But when I ponder it further, I realize there are only walls between me and that which I felt hours before, and that those walls are but physical dividers - and I am far from alone! As they say, this city never sleeps, and though I may not hear much or see anything from where I lay this moment, I feel it still. There is a current in this city that doth run through a fellow, no matter where he is within it. Whether that fellow finds such existential thoughts comforting is another matter, but in any case, he must be prepared to accept their full veritability.
But in my few hours of mistaken isolation, I was able to reflect on the overall experience of such a city. Such magnificance, splendor, artistry, magnitude -- such human excellence! It has inspired me to write to you all, and most especially to my dearest Brother Tasker, something special whilst the feeling of youth and ability doth pound inside my heart-cage. I shall write a short poem, consisting of three stanzas - each one of them a haiku; which means I shall adopt my French she-poet's name.
"Man Make Big Tower.
Man make big tower.
Glitter in sun, like sparkler
burns on Fourth July.
Not really the same,
though. Because sparkler have fire,
and fire like to hurt.
Me no like to hurt,
but me do like big tower.
Me like sparklers, too."
--Dame Yanne de la Lee
Though I have let my feelings flow through the tips of mine fingers to make these words, I feel such inspiration cannot be fully explained. Alas, it is so! Often the most vital thoughts are the most difficult to express -- oh the irony! But I have taken many a photograph, so perhaps when I return to good old home, I shall show you all, and they shall give to you some bit of the feeling I now am filled with.
I love and miss thee all in Portland, most especially my dear brother Sir Tasker! (And a PS for him - perhaps he would be so GREAT as to make a special drawing for mine words? I feel he and I share a link, and he might best understand my inspiration, for he is a true gentleman and scholar; and brother to me!)
And in France, I do as well miss the good lady Jen!
ADIEU FRIENDS!
Sir Lally
This is Sir Tasker, responding to thine requests for some artistic addition! In honor of your journey to a city with very large buildings, I have stuck to that theme for this one! I cannot wait to see you again, my brother! 'Twill be soon now!
Enjoy, good peoples!
Sir Tasker
Good day! I write from my most comfortable bed, in room 907 of the Algonquin Hotel, on Manhattan's West 44th Street, in the city that sleepeth not. It is my last night here, and all of my trip has gone from the roaring of traffic as it bursts by, and the voices of the millions filling the ears, to the low fanning of the heater that rests beneath the window in this very room - and even that has just now been brought down to a nigh inaudible hum. To think just hours ago, I crossed an avenue with no bounds that perhaps thousands of other people were crossing as well! To think that cabs, those hornet-like racers, dodged between us all as we made pilgrimmage from one sidewalk to the other! To think I waited two hours in a line with hundreds of others to stand atop the Empire State Building after the sun had set, to look upon lowly lights, like stars upon the earth, stretching out for the miles and miles all around that make up this New York City! And to think now, how I am away from all that excitement and energy, in the silence of my room! It seems impossible that there could be such range of experience in so little time; that I could earn solitude so quickly! But when I ponder it further, I realize there are only walls between me and that which I felt hours before, and that those walls are but physical dividers - and I am far from alone! As they say, this city never sleeps, and though I may not hear much or see anything from where I lay this moment, I feel it still. There is a current in this city that doth run through a fellow, no matter where he is within it. Whether that fellow finds such existential thoughts comforting is another matter, but in any case, he must be prepared to accept their full veritability.
But in my few hours of mistaken isolation, I was able to reflect on the overall experience of such a city. Such magnificance, splendor, artistry, magnitude -- such human excellence! It has inspired me to write to you all, and most especially to my dearest Brother Tasker, something special whilst the feeling of youth and ability doth pound inside my heart-cage. I shall write a short poem, consisting of three stanzas - each one of them a haiku; which means I shall adopt my French she-poet's name.
"Man Make Big Tower.
Man make big tower.
Glitter in sun, like sparkler
burns on Fourth July.
Not really the same,
though. Because sparkler have fire,
and fire like to hurt.
Me no like to hurt,
but me do like big tower.
Me like sparklers, too."
--Dame Yanne de la Lee
Though I have let my feelings flow through the tips of mine fingers to make these words, I feel such inspiration cannot be fully explained. Alas, it is so! Often the most vital thoughts are the most difficult to express -- oh the irony! But I have taken many a photograph, so perhaps when I return to good old home, I shall show you all, and they shall give to you some bit of the feeling I now am filled with.
I love and miss thee all in Portland, most especially my dear brother Sir Tasker! (And a PS for him - perhaps he would be so GREAT as to make a special drawing for mine words? I feel he and I share a link, and he might best understand my inspiration, for he is a true gentleman and scholar; and brother to me!)
And in France, I do as well miss the good lady Jen!
ADIEU FRIENDS!
Sir Lally
This is Sir Tasker, responding to thine requests for some artistic addition! In honor of your journey to a city with very large buildings, I have stuck to that theme for this one! I cannot wait to see you again, my brother! 'Twill be soon now!
Enjoy, good peoples!
Sir Tasker