What Peaches and What Penumbras
Today is brought to you by total randomness.
Thank you for all the well wishes! Things today went okay-ish, I think, although tomorrow is really the Job What I Want. I will keep you all posted, but I could practically feel the good vibes assaulting me all day.
When you see this, post your favorite poem.
I don't really have a favorite. While I'm shite at actually writing poetry, I love to read it. Add to that an education that emphasized the rote memorization of all kinds of stuff, including poetry and verse (hey, there are worse things to have rattling around in my head during my inevitable sad decline), and I've got a skull full of the stuff. But this is one that's always struck me, and strikes me as particularly apt these days:
The Still Time
by Galway Kinnell
I know there is still time --
time for the hands
to open, for the bones of them
to be filled
by those failed harvests of want,
the bread unimagined of the days of not having.
Now that the fear
has been rummaged down to its husk;
and the wind blowing
the flesh away translates itself
into flesh and the flesh
gives itself in its reveries to the wind.
I remember those summer nights
when I was young and empty,
when I lay through the darkness
wanting, wanting
knowing
I would have nothing of anything I wanted --
that total craving
that hollows the heart out irreversibly.
So it surprises me now to hear
the steps of my life following me --
so much of it gone
it returns, everything that drove me crazy
comes back, blessing the misery
of each step it took me into the world;
as though a prayer had ended
and the bit of charged air
between the palms goes free
to become the glitter
on some common thing that inexplicably shines.
And the old voice,
which once made its broken-off, choked, parrot-incoherences,
speaks again,
this time on the palatum cordis,
this time saying there is still time, still time,
for one who can groan
to sing,
for one who can sing to be healed.
Finally, randomly, do any of my bandom peeps have a link to that first really awful photo shoot Panic did? Possibly while they were in L.A. with Fall Out Boy when Brendon recorded his part in 7 Minutes in Heaven (Atavan Halen)? Spencer was looking unflatteringly chunky, Brendon had a stripey polo and possibly glasses? Brent was Brent and Ryan was -- experimenting. It's for illustrative purposes for a non-bandom beta. Muchas gracias in advance.
Pretty Spencer:
Hot, hot Bden:
Sweet Ryan:
Silly Jon:
They grew up fine!
Thank you for all the well wishes! Things today went okay-ish, I think, although tomorrow is really the Job What I Want. I will keep you all posted, but I could practically feel the good vibes assaulting me all day.
When you see this, post your favorite poem.
I don't really have a favorite. While I'm shite at actually writing poetry, I love to read it. Add to that an education that emphasized the rote memorization of all kinds of stuff, including poetry and verse (hey, there are worse things to have rattling around in my head during my inevitable sad decline), and I've got a skull full of the stuff. But this is one that's always struck me, and strikes me as particularly apt these days:
The Still Time
by Galway Kinnell
I know there is still time --
time for the hands
to open, for the bones of them
to be filled
by those failed harvests of want,
the bread unimagined of the days of not having.
Now that the fear
has been rummaged down to its husk;
and the wind blowing
the flesh away translates itself
into flesh and the flesh
gives itself in its reveries to the wind.
I remember those summer nights
when I was young and empty,
when I lay through the darkness
wanting, wanting
knowing
I would have nothing of anything I wanted --
that total craving
that hollows the heart out irreversibly.
So it surprises me now to hear
the steps of my life following me --
so much of it gone
it returns, everything that drove me crazy
comes back, blessing the misery
of each step it took me into the world;
as though a prayer had ended
and the bit of charged air
between the palms goes free
to become the glitter
on some common thing that inexplicably shines.
And the old voice,
which once made its broken-off, choked, parrot-incoherences,
speaks again,
this time on the palatum cordis,
this time saying there is still time, still time,
for one who can groan
to sing,
for one who can sing to be healed.
Finally, randomly, do any of my bandom peeps have a link to that first really awful photo shoot Panic did? Possibly while they were in L.A. with Fall Out Boy when Brendon recorded his part in 7 Minutes in Heaven (Atavan Halen)? Spencer was looking unflatteringly chunky, Brendon had a stripey polo and possibly glasses? Brent was Brent and Ryan was -- experimenting. It's for illustrative purposes for a non-bandom beta. Muchas gracias in advance.
Pretty Spencer:
Hot, hot Bden:
Sweet Ryan:
Silly Jon:
They grew up fine!