52/72-73: Lateness
Mar. 30th, 2025 11:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rejectomorphIt's probably the irregular sleep that has me utterly confused about what day it is and how long it's been since whatever, but I guess it really doesn't matter all that much. I have no have to's to speak of, and at this late date I'm unlikely to get burdened by any, so the passage of time means very little. As long as I pay the rent and power bills on time I'm unlikely to suffer any ill consequences. One of the perks of age I guess, though it doesn't make up for much of the non-perks (and how did "perks" get to be short for "perquisites", I'd like to know, but getting such questions answered is not one of the perks.)
The was rain falling during part of my Sunday morning nap, but not since I got up around three o'clock in the afternoon. There could be more tonight, but more likely there will just be wind. It's likely to be windy Monday too, with thunder storms. Weather is to be unsettled until Wednesday, but I'm sure I'll be unsettled well beyond that. Beyond Wednesday the weather is apt to be fecking boring. I have always been fecking boring, but that is neither here nor there. That means it must be elsewhere, unless it's nowhere. And that's back to me again. Fate is so circular, it might as well be an empty basketball hoop.
Sunday Verse
by Pablo Neruda
They will continue wandering,
these things of steel among the stars,
and weary men will still go up
to brutalize the placid moon.
There, they will found their pharmacies.
In this time of the swollen grape,
the wine begins to come to life
between the sea and the mountain ranges.
In Chile now, cherries are dancing,
the dark mysterious girls are singing,
and in guitars, water is shining.
The sun is touching every door
and making wonder of the wheat.
The first wine is pink in colour,
is sweet with the sweetness of a child,
the second wine is able-bodied,
strong like the voice of a sailor,
the third wine is a topaz, is
a poppy and fire in one.
My house has both the sea and the earth,
my woman has great eyes
the colour of wild hazelnut,
when night comes down, the sea
puts on a dress of white and green,
and later the moon in the spindrift foam
dreams like a sea-green girl.
I have no wish to change my planet.
The was rain falling during part of my Sunday morning nap, but not since I got up around three o'clock in the afternoon. There could be more tonight, but more likely there will just be wind. It's likely to be windy Monday too, with thunder storms. Weather is to be unsettled until Wednesday, but I'm sure I'll be unsettled well beyond that. Beyond Wednesday the weather is apt to be fecking boring. I have always been fecking boring, but that is neither here nor there. That means it must be elsewhere, unless it's nowhere. And that's back to me again. Fate is so circular, it might as well be an empty basketball hoop.
Sunday Verse
Lazybones
by Pablo Neruda
They will continue wandering,
these things of steel among the stars,
and weary men will still go up
to brutalize the placid moon.
There, they will found their pharmacies.
In this time of the swollen grape,
the wine begins to come to life
between the sea and the mountain ranges.
In Chile now, cherries are dancing,
the dark mysterious girls are singing,
and in guitars, water is shining.
The sun is touching every door
and making wonder of the wheat.
The first wine is pink in colour,
is sweet with the sweetness of a child,
the second wine is able-bodied,
strong like the voice of a sailor,
the third wine is a topaz, is
a poppy and fire in one.
My house has both the sea and the earth,
my woman has great eyes
the colour of wild hazelnut,
when night comes down, the sea
puts on a dress of white and green,
and later the moon in the spindrift foam
dreams like a sea-green girl.
I have no wish to change my planet.
