Archives for February 2006

The Last Link

It’s like it was planned…The Onion interviews Whit Stillman.

(In case you’re wondering why I’m posting on the evening of Mardi Gras, it’s because the wife is at a Bible Study. Moments in unfortunate scheduling, part umpteenth.)

Word of the Week

necktie crafts: Old neckties can be used for many things. Covers for ear muffs, covers for glasses case. Mittens can be brightened with the cut designs from a tie. The tie can be cut and one end filled with beans to make a fine bean bag.

[From: Dictionary of Arts and Crafts. John L. Stoutenburgh, Jr., Department of Public Instruction, American Museum of Natural History. Philosophical Library, New York, 1956.]

Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Joe Smith

T-Shirt of the Day, Lenten Edition

Instead of giving up the grape, I think I’m gonna give up the Internet. But I’m gonna try to blog. I’ll just have to do it without links. You poor souls. Happy Mardi Gras!

New American Bible Farkleberry Followup

Neuhaus on the NAB Farkleberry

Mark Shea delves further into the farkleberry bush

The End of the Twentieth Century

Debris in space and perennial philosophy
Seem to me but asterisked footnotes
Orbiting in the dark disease of knowledge.
Professors of the law and nomadic billiard balls
Go bumping down dim corridors, cracking codes
And caroming into elevators of truth.
Sea gulls outside circle far from the sea.
The man in the tower shines his beacon
Over repetitious rocks on the repetitious sea.
Shadows fall but the sun rages at edge of day,
Day after dark day, crouching in its cage,
Numb claws grasping at skin and blood.
The scientific method measures height and width
And height and width again, but the scientist
Grows weary at his post and postulates his way
To the dark side of the moon to sleep
Among masked hordes of bestial initiates
In a cosmic dream-dance of unrequited love.
A woman sits rocking, stitching and unstitching
The hem of the wedding gown of the ages,
The longer and shorter, the abacus of infinity,
The swinging sickle, the prolonged postponement.
The sky is a terrible pavement where brakes fail,
Where any moment you might begin to slide.
The treadmill turns and the scroll of wisdom
Unravels into the night on self-recoiling springs
Until the wreckage is scattered in your sleep
And you wake drowning in dreams of circular arguments
Swirling in the nightmare of morning of another day.
In perpetual gradation of light and dark you pause
And try to put your finger on the shifting sore
Where time takes a breath to gather its wrath.
Driftwood corpses pile up on the shore.
You crawl there, smelling the salt air,
Asking alms for the poor, asking the dead
For a nickel, for a dime, for the end of time.


Did I dream
You dreamed about me?

– This Mortal Coil, “Song to the Siren.”

Everything You Always Wanted to Know About the Sex Pistols

The Earth Opens to the Seed

Message of February 25, 2006

“Dear children! In this Lenten time of grace, I call you to open your hearts to the gifts that God desires to give you. Do not be closed, but with prayer and renunciation say ‘yes’ to God and He will give to you in abundance. As in springtime the earth opens to the seed and yields a hundredfold, so also your heavenly Father will give to you in abundance. I am with you and love you, little children, with a tender love. Thank you for having responded to my call.”


In general your condition is very good.
Doctors ring you up and all is well.
They love you, but are you therefore unafraid?

Around the corner swings a blade
That gleams in the anesthetic smell.
In general your condition is rather bad.

Passing voices whisper you are mad.
You see them in the mirrors on the wall.
They love you, but are you therefore unafraid?

When you go out you leave your bed unmade.
One writes your maiden name upon a shell.
In general your condition is rather good.

You’ve made a lovely mask of painted wood
Too many friends and people want to feel.
They love you, but are you therefore unafraid?

The angels play a song and very sad
Upon the universe’s shattered bell.
In general your condition is very bad.
They love you, but are you therefore unafraid?

Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Being a Librarian

Ash Wednesday

Burning my fire in the sun,
I lose control and kill
Not just myself but everyone.

I’m only joking, only having fun.
See how I light this twenty-dollar bill,
Burning my fire in the sun.

This morning day had blazingly begun.
I told the night nurse we were ill –
Not just myself but everyone.

She smiled and said, “I gotta run,”
Got in her car and swallowed a pill,
Burning her fire in the sun.

Her wheels turned and the hubcaps spun.
I watched her from my bed until
Not just herself but everyone

Disappeared from God’s creation,
Dissolving as the ashes spill,
Burning their fires in the sun,
Not just themselves but everyone.

Word of the Week

Modo, Lr. iii. 4. 149; iv. I. 63: In the first passage of our text, according to what seems to be a quotation, Modo is another name for “the prince of darkness;” in the second he is described as the fiend “of murder;” and in Harsnett’s Declaration of egregious Popish Impostures, 1603, a book which Shakespeare appears to have used for the names of several fiends in King Lear, we find “Modu, Ma[ister] Maynies deuill, was a graund Commaunder, Muster-maister ouer the Captaines of the seuen deadly sinnes,” p. 48; “Modu the General of Styx,” p. 54, &c.

[From: Dyce’s Glossary to the Works of William Shakespeare (Littledale Revision), Johnson Reprint Corporation, 1970.]

KSRK: Guilty?/Not Guility? (May 6 – May 15)

The Catholic Corrective


And the rest is silence.

Taking a break, as if this thing wasn’t already broken down. Out of town for the remainder of the week. I’ll try to mull over the blog a bit.

First Son…

Better known as Little Ed (as in Oedipus)…

Me, as he attacks: Why are you always attacking me?

First Son: This is how every boy acts when he tries to conquer his father!