Questions from Zara
1. How come I'm the only one ent a bird?
You, the least conformable one of us all, you are far too contrary to ever take well to being one of a flock. Birds of a feather and all that. Close enough for flight, but would you really consider yourself winged in the manner of a Rina or a Justin? Or a Theo, for that matter?
2. What've y'written lately?
The above answer to your question regarding birds, plus the words "the above answer to your question regarding birds, plus the words". Aside from the trite answer, pitifully little. I dabble, I dash, I toss up scribbles and scrawls that bear little resemblance to anything properly called poetry. I prostrate myself worshipfully at the feet of the masters, reading everything this place's library has in, ahem, stock, and lamenting my own meagre crumbs of talent.
Also, the beginning verses of an epic on the subject of how damnably difficult it is to write poems when you haven't actually got anything to do besides writing poems. It starts out with a paean to deadlines and the power of pressure to getting things done. I have great hopes for it.
3. Where d'you live now, anyway?
Here and there, thither and yon. Mostly in a room in that all-subduing Mansion - a groundfloor apartment with lots of windows and easy access to both kitchens and library, thank you - but with the weather so fine of late, I seem to be spending a lot of nights falling asleep under the stars, down by the lake, actually.
Of course, there's the issue of mud and mosquitoes and dew and just the sheer impracticality of all that, but whenever I'm lying in my borrowed bed in that adopted chamber, sleeping out of doors starts to sound so romantic that I keep going and doing it again just the same.
4. Did y'get stupid from your parents, or's it just all yours?
Some are born stupid, some achieve stupidity, and some have it thrust upon them. I like to think of my stupidity as having quietly developed and evolved over time. I was quite sensible as an infant, but by the time I learned this thing called language I was already headed down the primrose path. As a young boy, I was merely a dolt, but by the time I got tangled up with Florian and his little crew, I was unabashedly Stupid, and here I am. Which leads me nicely into my next answer.
5. How'd Florian find you?
Sheer luck, I'd like to think. Absolute, unadulterated good fortune. On his part, naturally. Where would he and his merry men (and maids! mustn't forget you charming creatures) be without their resident featherbrain? (Another reason you didn't get an ornithier nom de, excuse me, plume -- least featherbrained of us all, except perhaps Florian, and Luther of course, and probably also Justin, and...well, anyway, you're a dragoness, and that's all there is to it.)
It was a dark and stormy night, or at least a rather grey morning, and I was hungry, and he had food, or at least friends with food, by which I mean, of course, our dear Master Jellinek. Never underestimate the power of a stewpot. I'm afraid I'm Florian's for life, tied to him by the bonds of bread.
I hope that's cleared up some mysteries.
INSTRUCTIONS
01. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
02. I respond by asking you five questions of a very intimate and creepily personal nature. Or not so creepy/personal.
03. Update your LJ with the answers to the questions.
04. Include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the post.
05. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
You, the least conformable one of us all, you are far too contrary to ever take well to being one of a flock. Birds of a feather and all that. Close enough for flight, but would you really consider yourself winged in the manner of a Rina or a Justin? Or a Theo, for that matter?
2. What've y'written lately?
The above answer to your question regarding birds, plus the words "the above answer to your question regarding birds, plus the words". Aside from the trite answer, pitifully little. I dabble, I dash, I toss up scribbles and scrawls that bear little resemblance to anything properly called poetry. I prostrate myself worshipfully at the feet of the masters, reading everything this place's library has in, ahem, stock, and lamenting my own meagre crumbs of talent.
Also, the beginning verses of an epic on the subject of how damnably difficult it is to write poems when you haven't actually got anything to do besides writing poems. It starts out with a paean to deadlines and the power of pressure to getting things done. I have great hopes for it.
3. Where d'you live now, anyway?
Here and there, thither and yon. Mostly in a room in that all-subduing Mansion - a groundfloor apartment with lots of windows and easy access to both kitchens and library, thank you - but with the weather so fine of late, I seem to be spending a lot of nights falling asleep under the stars, down by the lake, actually.
Of course, there's the issue of mud and mosquitoes and dew and just the sheer impracticality of all that, but whenever I'm lying in my borrowed bed in that adopted chamber, sleeping out of doors starts to sound so romantic that I keep going and doing it again just the same.
4. Did y'get stupid from your parents, or's it just all yours?
Some are born stupid, some achieve stupidity, and some have it thrust upon them. I like to think of my stupidity as having quietly developed and evolved over time. I was quite sensible as an infant, but by the time I learned this thing called language I was already headed down the primrose path. As a young boy, I was merely a dolt, but by the time I got tangled up with Florian and his little crew, I was unabashedly Stupid, and here I am. Which leads me nicely into my next answer.
5. How'd Florian find you?
Sheer luck, I'd like to think. Absolute, unadulterated good fortune. On his part, naturally. Where would he and his merry men (and maids! mustn't forget you charming creatures) be without their resident featherbrain? (Another reason you didn't get an ornithier nom de, excuse me, plume -- least featherbrained of us all, except perhaps Florian, and Luther of course, and probably also Justin, and...well, anyway, you're a dragoness, and that's all there is to it.)
It was a dark and stormy night, or at least a rather grey morning, and I was hungry, and he had food, or at least friends with food, by which I mean, of course, our dear Master Jellinek. Never underestimate the power of a stewpot. I'm afraid I'm Florian's for life, tied to him by the bonds of bread.
I hope that's cleared up some mysteries.
INSTRUCTIONS
01. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
02. I respond by asking you five questions of a very intimate and creepily personal nature. Or not so creepy/personal.
03. Update your LJ with the answers to the questions.
04. Include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the post.
05. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.