“O where are you going?” said reader to rider,
“That valley is fatal where furnaces burn,
Yonder’s the midden whose odours will madden,
That gap is the grave where the tall return.”
“O do you imagine,” said fearer to farer,
“That dusk will delay on your path to the pass,
Your diligent looking discover the lacking,
Your footsteps feel from granite to grass?”
— excerpt from W. H. Auden’s “O Where Are You Going?”
I almost said “Sorry for the funky music,” but they keep saying “Play that” and I am indeed a white boy.
I actually wanted to remove audio entirely from this video, but I can’t figure out how to do that with Youtube. (Damn it, Jim. I’m a poet, not a video editor.)
Roanoke, Virginia.
“I will die. You will die. We will all die and the universe will carry on without care. All that we have is that shout into the wind – how we live. How we go. And how we stand before we fall.”
― Pierce Brown, Golden Son
Photo credit: J Carlos, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
Oil on canvas.
Source: Jenny Hayut
Snacks + accident = snacksident.
Why did I inhale those peanut butter M&M’s? It was a SNACKSIDENT.
Photo credit: Famartin, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
I’m puzzled by this piece — I think this is the work of Gustave Dore, but I can’t seem to confirm that. My neophyte’s experience with art has shown me that some of Dore’s contemporaries appeared to illustrate with the same style.
I’m kinda like Herman Munster crossed with Conan O’Brien.
Eric Robert Nolan, Author 