He best can paint 'em, who shall feel 'em most.
How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd
...
Cause in that callus, shallow heart of mine, I know the only response that comes to the surface is:
Abelard to Eloisa:
Get a life, dear.
But I've been warned that this never works. That the horses must inevitably drown in the Swamps of sadness. But what about Atreyu? I ask. Doesn't count, obviously, is the reply. I'm not sure what else I can do, and I'm almost completely sure I can't do anything at all. But I have to keep wondering why the horse gave in. Where's a luck dragon when you need him? Such a beautiful, strong, brave horse. In the words of Gonzo, "There's gotta be something better."
But it seems we have a shortage of vestals and their lots, and also of spotless minds and their sunshine (unless we count my Cat, of course). If that is the case, I think we are right in saying
that we have an overinflated view of the goodness of others, and the quality of their night's sleep.
Where we see walls, solid and impenetrable, there are no walls, and where we see no barriers there is a door with three drawn bolts which we will continue to walk into and say, "Ouch." but not know why we feel pain in our stubbed toes and sore heads.
We aren't really like cats, who grow up and know how to catch little meese and eat them, and who know how to keep themselves clean. We aren't really naturals. Or if we are, it's a strange nature we're for. As for the rest. Love confined? Well, then. Doubt me, my dim companion!
Ok, enough introspection and poetry, I think I'm turning all gothic on myself. Shake it off, shake it off.
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd
...
Cause in that callus, shallow heart of mine, I know the only response that comes to the surface is:
Abelard to Eloisa:
Get a life, dear.
But I've been warned that this never works. That the horses must inevitably drown in the Swamps of sadness. But what about Atreyu? I ask. Doesn't count, obviously, is the reply. I'm not sure what else I can do, and I'm almost completely sure I can't do anything at all. But I have to keep wondering why the horse gave in. Where's a luck dragon when you need him? Such a beautiful, strong, brave horse. In the words of Gonzo, "There's gotta be something better."
But it seems we have a shortage of vestals and their lots, and also of spotless minds and their sunshine (unless we count my Cat, of course). If that is the case, I think we are right in saying
that we have an overinflated view of the goodness of others, and the quality of their night's sleep.
Where we see walls, solid and impenetrable, there are no walls, and where we see no barriers there is a door with three drawn bolts which we will continue to walk into and say, "Ouch." but not know why we feel pain in our stubbed toes and sore heads.
We aren't really like cats, who grow up and know how to catch little meese and eat them, and who know how to keep themselves clean. We aren't really naturals. Or if we are, it's a strange nature we're for. As for the rest. Love confined? Well, then. Doubt me, my dim companion!
Ok, enough introspection and poetry, I think I'm turning all gothic on myself. Shake it off, shake it off.