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I feel contenty this evening. I have some minor dissapointments to dea with, like the fact thgat I was short again at work (7$), and made a silly mistake that confusedf me for far too long, and also there is no one around and I am vaguely lonely. But I am still content.
I should be well rested tomorrow. I don't work at the booth again until Friday. I made it to the library and picked up a pirate book I had ordered from Saint John, which amused my by being an almost ocmplete rip off of A General History of the Pirates, or at lest part of it. I also picked up another bok for leisure reading: Eco's The Island of the day Before. I finished my Tome of the Rings, too. And I remember why, the first time through, Merry was my favourite character. I can't wait to see how they handle things in the final movie installment.
And to spread my mood, I am going to quote a passage for you all... a letter from a shipwrecked man to his love, from the Eco book. I adore his prose.
Sun of my Shadows, light of my darkness.
Why did Heaven not unmake me in that tempest it had so savagely provoked? Why save from the all-devouring sea this body of mine, only to wreck my soul so horribly in such mean and even more ill-starred solitude?
Perhaps, if merciful Heaven does not send me succor, you will never read this letter I now indite, and, consumed like a touch by the light of these seas, I will become dark to your eyes, as to some Selene, who, rejoicing too much in the light of her sun, gradually consumes her journey beyond the far curve of our planet, bereft of the benificent rays of her sovereign star, first growing thin to recall the sickle that severs the thread of life, then ever-paler, she is completely dissolved in that vast cerulean shield where ingenious nature forms heroic heraldry, mysterious emblems of her secrets. Bereft of your gaze, I am blind for you see me not, dumb for you address me not, oblivious for you forget me.
And, alone, I live, burning dullness and tenebrous flame, vague specter that in this adverse conflict of opposites my mind imagines ever the same, and so would convey to yours. Saving my life in this wood fortress, in this rocking bastion that defends me, prisoner of the sea, from the sea, punished by the clemancy of heaven, hidden in this deep sarcophagus open to every sun, in this airy dungeon, in this impregnable prison that offers me everywhere escape, I despair of seeing you more.
My Lady, I write you as if to offer, unworthy tribute, the withered rose of my disheartenment. And yet I take pride withal in my humiliation, and as I am to this privilege condemned, almost I find joy in an abhorrent salvation; I am, I believe, alone of all our race, the only man in human memory to have been shipwrecked and cast upon a deserted ship.
The character who wrote that is supposed to be a bit long winded and overly metaphorical, I believe. I'm not even through the first chapter. Ahhh, Eco.
I should be well rested tomorrow. I don't work at the booth again until Friday. I made it to the library and picked up a pirate book I had ordered from Saint John, which amused my by being an almost ocmplete rip off of A General History of the Pirates, or at lest part of it. I also picked up another bok for leisure reading: Eco's The Island of the day Before. I finished my Tome of the Rings, too. And I remember why, the first time through, Merry was my favourite character. I can't wait to see how they handle things in the final movie installment.
And to spread my mood, I am going to quote a passage for you all... a letter from a shipwrecked man to his love, from the Eco book. I adore his prose.
Sun of my Shadows, light of my darkness.
Why did Heaven not unmake me in that tempest it had so savagely provoked? Why save from the all-devouring sea this body of mine, only to wreck my soul so horribly in such mean and even more ill-starred solitude?
Perhaps, if merciful Heaven does not send me succor, you will never read this letter I now indite, and, consumed like a touch by the light of these seas, I will become dark to your eyes, as to some Selene, who, rejoicing too much in the light of her sun, gradually consumes her journey beyond the far curve of our planet, bereft of the benificent rays of her sovereign star, first growing thin to recall the sickle that severs the thread of life, then ever-paler, she is completely dissolved in that vast cerulean shield where ingenious nature forms heroic heraldry, mysterious emblems of her secrets. Bereft of your gaze, I am blind for you see me not, dumb for you address me not, oblivious for you forget me.
And, alone, I live, burning dullness and tenebrous flame, vague specter that in this adverse conflict of opposites my mind imagines ever the same, and so would convey to yours. Saving my life in this wood fortress, in this rocking bastion that defends me, prisoner of the sea, from the sea, punished by the clemancy of heaven, hidden in this deep sarcophagus open to every sun, in this airy dungeon, in this impregnable prison that offers me everywhere escape, I despair of seeing you more.
My Lady, I write you as if to offer, unworthy tribute, the withered rose of my disheartenment. And yet I take pride withal in my humiliation, and as I am to this privilege condemned, almost I find joy in an abhorrent salvation; I am, I believe, alone of all our race, the only man in human memory to have been shipwrecked and cast upon a deserted ship.
The character who wrote that is supposed to be a bit long winded and overly metaphorical, I believe. I'm not even through the first chapter. Ahhh, Eco.
tired
(no subject)