[tiny raincoats for birds]
gather ye 'round girls and boys,
the word for today is imbosom.
as dr. johnson would have it, to imbosom is to hold on the bosom; to cover fondly with the folds of one's garment; to hide under any cover.
let me stress this again: to cover fondly with the folds of one's garment. this is no frightening, desperate affair at the hands of a mustachio-curling, maniacally-laughing, melodrama villain. this is nice. i bet you didn't know there was such a word!
that said, however, the OED also adds to implant, plunge into another's bosom; that is, daggers, swords, harpoons, ice picks, shards of dirty glass wrapped with rags and old bandages as handles, and so forth. maybe not so nice, after all.
imbosom first appeared in Spenser's Fairy Queen (typical) in 1590 and largely disappeared by 1874. why! i put it to you, dear reader, that the problem is thus: most modern clothing lacks, is deprived of(!), such folds in which to fondly cover those which you would imbosom. the remedy, of course, is simple. i suggest capes, cloaks, judicial robes, and long double-breasted coats with the sort of pauldron-looking affairs over the shoulders, such as those favored by civil war generals and 19th century ship captains. capes should be long and voluminous, like the one worn by batman, as opposed to the short, crocheted variety worn by eldery women at fancy events. not your style? perhaps a bernous, inverness coat, kaftan, or garrick redingote?
so there you have it, my kitties. go!
in other news, i finished reading Gormenghast yesterday, made cheese, and then sat in the window of the madu library reading the first sixty pages of Alain de Boton's On Love, which was too wonderful and upsetting to continue. there's even minor mention of one Robert who hates chocolate. saturday morning, i woke from an exceptionally vivid dream in which i was walking on a street in Istanbul relating the events of the last year of my life to a near-total stranger who, oddly enough, knew someone very close to me. it was late at night but the streets were crowded and we were waiting for a street band to start playing again. the hagia sophia was just across the water... which puts me in Arapcamii, Beyoğlu instead of Istanbul. i've never been to Turkey. slightly eerie.
i'm not really okay today. how did that happen?
[sing along while your teeth grind through your tongue]
the word for today is imbosom.
as dr. johnson would have it, to imbosom is to hold on the bosom; to cover fondly with the folds of one's garment; to hide under any cover.
let me stress this again: to cover fondly with the folds of one's garment. this is no frightening, desperate affair at the hands of a mustachio-curling, maniacally-laughing, melodrama villain. this is nice. i bet you didn't know there was such a word!
that said, however, the OED also adds to implant, plunge into another's bosom; that is, daggers, swords, harpoons, ice picks, shards of dirty glass wrapped with rags and old bandages as handles, and so forth. maybe not so nice, after all.
imbosom first appeared in Spenser's Fairy Queen (typical) in 1590 and largely disappeared by 1874. why! i put it to you, dear reader, that the problem is thus: most modern clothing lacks, is deprived of(!), such folds in which to fondly cover those which you would imbosom. the remedy, of course, is simple. i suggest capes, cloaks, judicial robes, and long double-breasted coats with the sort of pauldron-looking affairs over the shoulders, such as those favored by civil war generals and 19th century ship captains. capes should be long and voluminous, like the one worn by batman, as opposed to the short, crocheted variety worn by eldery women at fancy events. not your style? perhaps a bernous, inverness coat, kaftan, or garrick redingote?
so there you have it, my kitties. go!
in other news, i finished reading Gormenghast yesterday, made cheese, and then sat in the window of the madu library reading the first sixty pages of Alain de Boton's On Love, which was too wonderful and upsetting to continue. there's even minor mention of one Robert who hates chocolate. saturday morning, i woke from an exceptionally vivid dream in which i was walking on a street in Istanbul relating the events of the last year of my life to a near-total stranger who, oddly enough, knew someone very close to me. it was late at night but the streets were crowded and we were waiting for a street band to start playing again. the hagia sophia was just across the water... which puts me in Arapcamii, Beyoğlu instead of Istanbul. i've never been to Turkey. slightly eerie.
i'm not really okay today. how did that happen?
[sing along while your teeth grind through your tongue]