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version seven. http://demongin.org |
Sibi Scribere
Procrastination re: Karls Barth and Rahner leads to a poetic reverie...and a journey to the World of the Dead.
Saturday, 2004-09-25 | Classic Gin, Literature, Philosophy
| Your eyen two wol sleye me sodenly may the beaute of hem nat susteyne. |
I want so desperately not to be a poet but the only aptitude I seem to have is an unfocused 'I'll know what I like when I see it' kind of aesthetic one.
I did battle with the Karls all day today--we'll all live to clash again tomorrow. The trick is that their strength increases all morning and then reaches its apogee, so to speak, when the sun is at its zenith; to suffer the brassy clangor of their blows is like to endure the howling of the damned. Imagine the huddled mass of the freshly dispatched organized into a mixed choir by the malicious nothing of Erebus and conducted by a ghastly scarecrow Mozart--they're singing Ravel's bolero every time I open the books.
As the sun falls in the Occident, however, their strength wanes just as it had waxed and I am able to do more than merely mitigate the cacophony with dry wine and congenial minds. In the pallor of Hesperus, that is to say, I think I see victory; when it is dark, and I am alone with the Karls, their shrieking screeds shrink in the inky blackness and Karls fear to tread.
Tomorrow then, I'll stuff my ears with bees' wax and wait for nightfall. I'll spring on 'em with my poignard and--gods of their fathers' help 'em--I'll rend and tear.
Rend and Tear.
