Awwwwwww. My bro just called me and asked me if I would read a poem at his wedding. (I said yes, of course.) He told me it was a Walt Whitman poem, and so I asked, "One of the gay-love ones?"
My co-workers think I am a HUGE freak.
My bro replied, "Oh, absolutely! And we're taking our wedding vows from Bukowski -- the piece about the Asian hooker with the sideways vagina."
I love my bro.
In any case, the poem is actually NOT about gay love; it's this poem:
I do not offer the old smooth prizes,
But offer rough new prizes,
These are the days that must happen to you:
You shall not heap up what is called riches,
You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve.
However sweet the laid-up stores,
However convenient the dwellings,
You shall not remain there.
However sheltered the port,
And however calm the waters,
You shall not anchor there.
However welcome the hospitality that welcomes you
You are permitted to receive it but a little while
Afoot and light hearted, take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before you,
Leading wherever you choose.
Say only to one another:
Camerado, I give you my hand!
I give you my love, more precious than money,
I give you myself before preaching or law:
Will you give me yourself?
Will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?
BLESS. And Bless again.
billytea, I think you should sign up with
The Guardian
too. 'Cause it's cool.
t /dictatorial.
....however, you're only allowed to read 5 profiles before it cuts you off and tells you that you need to be a member to read more. Which means I seem to be enrolling. Which is very very silly, within the context of being in
Egypt,
and thus really not available to date any of the nice Guardian-reading boys and girls who may be enrolled. But. Er. I seem to be doing it anyway.
I'm a bit stumped about the "Why should people get to know you?" paragraph. Everything I write sounds either too self depracating or too arrogant. I'm filled with new respect for what a good job you did, billy. Fair play to you, mate.
Anyone give me any ideas?
....
....
?
Bueller?
I'm glad to hear the surgery went well, Connie.
Happy travels, Lilty!
Damn it, Teppy, you made me
cry.
You could quote us, Fay.
Fay is a luscious fantastic lady with an incisive, bawdy, and whiplash-smart sense of humor and a heart as big as a ridiculously big thing that makes space look a bit cramped.
Next?
Damn it, Teppy, you made me cry.
Are you kidding me? *I* have to read it AT MY BROTHER'S WEDDING! I'm going to be a weeping, runny-nosed mess!
Teppy, that's awfully beautiful. I'd be a blubbering idiot before I got halfway through it.
I want to get married again so I can use that poem.
Memo to lurking DH: Of course I mean get married again
to you,
so you can hold off on all the cracks about my secret boyfriends or me meeting hottie reenactor guys, but you know the sure way around the latter would be to
come with me
once I start reenacting stuff.
Skipping to the end, because I must share the earworm, that came to me completely out of the blue this morning as I arrived at work. No provocation. None. I hearby present the ancient Orowheat jingle:
Good morning! Good muffin!
Life's sweet with Orowheat.
Good morning, good muffin, to you!
runs away and hides.
What? No, I am not the devil.
Bye.
