the simple, ravishing music of their hurry
What is up with the repeats of The Good Wife? WHY IS MY SHOW A REPEAT AGAIN? *shakes fist at CBS*
I enjoyed Glee tonight, though I'm not sure if the meta commentary acknowledging the show's issues means that they're going to try to do better, or if it just means that they don't care what people think. I'm guessing it's the latter. Also, can we set Finn on fire? "I'm tired of having to carry the weight of the male vocals." Well, maybe if they gave Artie, Puck, Kurt, Mike, and the other dude whose name I still don't know some solo time, instead of Finn and his fucking Auto Tune, he wouldn't be so exhausted. Ugh.
Otoh, Sue Sylvester continues to be the most awesome thing about this show, and Kurt and Mercedes = AWESOMEST! And I still love Quinn. Brittany and Santana are quickly climbing in my estimation as well. And Tina is always ♥. I'm so glad Artie got himself right with her.
I enjoyed the music, though this episode made me think that if This Tornado Loves You is Lucifer attempting to woo Sam into saying yes, then Open Your Heart is totally Michael courting Dean. YOU KNOW I'M RIGHT. THERE SHOULD BE A VID. WITH HATS.
Work was crazy again today. I have a feeling it may be like that for the next few weeks. Sigh.
Here's today's poem:
Tiara
Peter died in a paper tiara
cut from a book of princess paper dolls;
he loved royalty, sashes
and jewels. I don't know,
he said, when he woke in the hospice,
I was watching the Bette Davis film festival
on Channel 57 and then --
At the wake, the tension broke
when someone guessed
the casket closed because
he was in there in a big wig
and heels, and someone said,
You know he's always late
he probably isn't here yet --
he's still fixing his makeup.
And someone said he asked for it.
Asked for it --
when all he did was go down
into the salt tide
of wanting as much as he wanted,
giving himself over so drunk
or stoned it almost didn't matter who,
though they were beautiful,
stampeding him in the simple,
ravishing music of their hurry.
I think heaven is the perfect stasis
poised over the realms of desire,
where dreaming and waking men lie
on the grass while wet horses
roam among them, huge fragments
of the music we die into
in the body's paradise.
Sometimes we wake not knowing
how we came to lie here,
or who has crowned us with these temporary,
precious stones. And given
the world's perfectly turned shoulders,
the deep hollows blued by longing,
given the irreplaceable silk
of the horses rippling in the orchards,
fruit thundering and chiming down,
given the ordinary marvels of form
and gravity, what could he do,
what could any of us ever do
but ask for it?
~Mark Doty
***
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/158902.html.
people have commented there.
I enjoyed Glee tonight, though I'm not sure if the meta commentary acknowledging the show's issues means that they're going to try to do better, or if it just means that they don't care what people think. I'm guessing it's the latter. Also, can we set Finn on fire? "I'm tired of having to carry the weight of the male vocals." Well, maybe if they gave Artie, Puck, Kurt, Mike, and the other dude whose name I still don't know some solo time, instead of Finn and his fucking Auto Tune, he wouldn't be so exhausted. Ugh.
Otoh, Sue Sylvester continues to be the most awesome thing about this show, and Kurt and Mercedes = AWESOMEST! And I still love Quinn. Brittany and Santana are quickly climbing in my estimation as well. And Tina is always ♥. I'm so glad Artie got himself right with her.
I enjoyed the music, though this episode made me think that if This Tornado Loves You is Lucifer attempting to woo Sam into saying yes, then Open Your Heart is totally Michael courting Dean. YOU KNOW I'M RIGHT. THERE SHOULD BE A VID. WITH HATS.
Work was crazy again today. I have a feeling it may be like that for the next few weeks. Sigh.
Here's today's poem:
Tiara
Peter died in a paper tiara
cut from a book of princess paper dolls;
he loved royalty, sashes
and jewels. I don't know,
he said, when he woke in the hospice,
I was watching the Bette Davis film festival
on Channel 57 and then --
At the wake, the tension broke
when someone guessed
the casket closed because
he was in there in a big wig
and heels, and someone said,
You know he's always late
he probably isn't here yet --
he's still fixing his makeup.
And someone said he asked for it.
Asked for it --
when all he did was go down
into the salt tide
of wanting as much as he wanted,
giving himself over so drunk
or stoned it almost didn't matter who,
though they were beautiful,
stampeding him in the simple,
ravishing music of their hurry.
I think heaven is the perfect stasis
poised over the realms of desire,
where dreaming and waking men lie
on the grass while wet horses
roam among them, huge fragments
of the music we die into
in the body's paradise.
Sometimes we wake not knowing
how we came to lie here,
or who has crowned us with these temporary,
precious stones. And given
the world's perfectly turned shoulders,
the deep hollows blued by longing,
given the irreplaceable silk
of the horses rippling in the orchards,
fruit thundering and chiming down,
given the ordinary marvels of form
and gravity, what could he do,
what could any of us ever do
but ask for it?
~Mark Doty
***
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/158902.html.
people have commented there.