Have a Foul Thanksgiving!

[Worm of Despite]

Yep, it's me again. Did you think I'd be gone forever? Ha! Well, actually, it's true; I'm only stopping by to wish you turkey-eaters some fun turkey-eating. I must be promptly on my way. People keep saying there's this thing called a holiday coming up, but I only know about studying for finals. Grumble.

Well, it's been a busy few months for me. I became a Taoist and started reading Stoic philosophy. Heck--I'm even considering becoming a Christian again! I don't know how I managed it all. Two years ago I was grossly overweight and a fifth year senior; now I'm making straight As at a liberal arts college, all the while jogging an average of 3 miles per day. Oh well, what can I say, except I love ice cream!

PS. I'd like to make a couple humble suggestions: give my mod-ships to more active people; I'd like to be a member of the proletariat again. Also, those of you who are interested: PM me if you'd like to read my latest work-in-progress, entitled Elegy of Self.

Anyway, there's a few things I'd like to say. I'm not sure what, so I'll just post this poem by Wallace Stevens.

Peter Quince at the Clavier

I

Just as my fingers on these keys
Make music, so the self-same sounds
On my spirit make a music, too.
Music is feeling, then, not sound;
And thus it is that what I feel,
Here in this room, desiring you,

Thinking of your blue-shadowed silk,
Is music. It is like the strain
Waked in the elders by Susanna;

Of a green evening, clear and warm,
She bathed in her still garden, while
The red-eyed elders, watching, felt

The basses of their beings throb
In witching chords, and their thin blood
Pulse pizzicati of Hosanna.

II

In the green water, clear and warm,
Susanna lay.
She searched
The touch of springs,
And found
Concealed imaginings.
She sighed,
For so much melody.

Upon the bank, she stood
In the cool
Of spent emotions.
She felt, among the leaves,
The dew
Of old devotions.

She walked upon the grass,
Still quavering.
The winds were like her maids,
On timid feet,
Fetching her woven scarves,
Yet wavering.

A breath upon her hand
Muted the night.
She turned --
A cymbal crashed,
Amid roaring horns.

III

Soon, with a noise like tambourines,
Came her attendant Byzantines.

They wondered why Susanna cried
Against the elders by her side;

And as they whispered, the refrain
Was like a willow swept by rain.

Anon, their lamps' uplifted flame
Revealed Susanna and her shame.

And then, the simpering Byzantines
Fled, with a noise like tambourines.

IV

Beauty is momentary in the mind --
The fitful tracing of a portal;
But in the flesh it is immortal.

The body dies; the body's beauty lives.
So evenings die, in their green going,
A wave, interminably flowing.
So gardens die, their meek breath scenting
The cowl of winter, done repenting.
So maidens die, to the auroral
Celebration of a maiden's choral.

Susanna's music touched the bawdy strings
Of those white elders; but, escaping,
Left only Death's ironic scraping.
Now, in its immortality, it plays
On the clear viol of her memory,
And makes a constant sacrament of praise.

[Half Hand]

Ahhhh you have returned,alas your return brings my existance here to an end Well it was fun.

[Lord Fowl]

Does this mean my existence has to end too? Hopefully.

[danlo]

This is the way the world ends? Not with a bang, but a whimper? Remember: you can be both Taoist and true Xtian at the same time-for your church is ever 'round you.

[dlbpharmd]

Nice to hear from you LF!

[Alynna Lis Eachann]

I was wondering where you'd wandered off to. Good to hear from you, LF. Have a good holiday (well, as good as it gets for college students this time of year ).

[matrixman]

Have a good US Thanksgiving, Lord Foul. You, the Lord of Despite, as a member of the proletariat? I can't picture beings like you mingling with the common folk: your towering contempt for them would get in the way, yes?

[lucimay]

AH! at long last...the legendary...and posting Wallace!

and here's my favorite Wallace to welcome you...(others just got my favorite tv jingles!!) (altho' i think i instisted someone else here read this one...)

The Idea of Order at Key West
Wallace Stevens

She sang beyond the genius of the sea.
The water never formed to mind or voice,
Like a body wholly body, fluttering
Its empty sleeves; and yet its mimic motion
Made constant cry, caused constantly a cry,
That was not ours although we understood,
Inhuman, of the veritable ocean.
The sea was not a mask. No more was she.
The song and water were not medleyed sound
Even if what she sang was what she heard,
Since what she sang was uttered word by word.
It may be that in all her phrases stirred
The grinding water and the gasping wind;
But it was she and not the sea we heard.

For she was the maker of the song she sang.
The ever-hooded, tragic-gestured sea
Was merely a place by which she walked to sing.
Whose spirit is this? we said, because we knew
It was the spirit that we sought and knew
That we should ask this often as she sang.
If it was only the dark voice of the sea
That rose, or even colored by many waves;
If it was only the outer voice of sky
And cloud, of the sunken coral water-walled,
However clear, it would have been deep air,
The heaving speech of air, a summer sound
Repeated in a summer without end
And sound alone. But it was more than that,
More even than her voice, and ours, among
The meaningless plungings of water and the wind,
Theatrical distances, bronze shadows heaped
On high horizons, mountainous atmospheres
Of sky and sea.

It was her voice that made
The sky acutest at its vanishing.
She measured to the hour its solitude.
She was the single artificer of the world
In which she sang. And when she sang, the sea,
Whatever self it had, became the self
That was her song, for she was the maker. Then we,
As we beheld her striding there alone,
Knew that there never was a world for her
Except the one she sang and, singing, made.

Ramon Fernandez, tell me, if you know,
Why, when the singing ended and we turned
Toward the town, tell why the glassy lights,
The lights in the fishing boats at anchor there,
As the night descended, tilting in the air,
Mastered the night and portioned out the sea,
Fixing emblazoned zones and fiery poles,
Arranging, deepening, enchanting night.

Oh! Blessed rage for order, pale Ramon,
The maker's rage to order words of the sea,
Words of the fragrant portals, dimly-starred,
And of ourselves and of our origins,
In ghostlier demarcations, keener sounds.

[sgt.null]

thanks for the poem Foul. great choice.

what I'm having this Thanksgiving
www.tofurky.com/products/tofurkyfeasts.htm



Have a bird-free feast, but with all the flavor and trimmings you've always enjoyed.

Our feast contains :

One Tofurky Roast (made with organic non-GMO soybeans)
Eight Cranberry Apple Potato Dumplings
Tofurky Giblet & Mushroom Gravy
Herbed brown and Tofurky Wild Rice Stuffing
Tofurky Jurky Wishstix

[Avatar]

Good to see you again, however briefly LF. See what terrible things happen when you avoid the Watch? At least come and debate these changes with us in the Close...you know you want to...

Stay Safe,

--Avatar

[ur-bane]

Nice to see you around again, Foul, even for a brief visit. Ace those finals!

Happy Thanksgiving, one and all.

[Damelon]

Great to hear from you again, Foul!

[Worm of Despite]

Have a bird-free feast, but with all the flavor and trimmings you've always enjoyed.

Our feast contains :

One Tofurky Roast (made with organic non-GMO soybeans)
Eight Cranberry Apple Potato Dumplings
Tofurky Giblet & Mushroom Gravy
Herbed brown and Tofurky Wild Rice Stuffing
Tofurky Jurky Wishstix

That sounds awesome! I'm sure I'll be having some vegetarian thanksgivings in the future. I mean, once I get older, just looking at certain things will make me gain weight!

And to clarify: my finals end the 6th of December. I'll have the rest of the month off, so I'll be around here on a regular basis--until the next semester.

Great Stevens poem, Lucimay. I need to get his collected poems; I just recently discovered him! I also need to discover a Feast for Crows, but from what I'm hearing, I think I'll just wait for the paperback, heh.

[hierachy]

Hey, Foul. Sounds like you're doing well for yourself. Keep it up!

[duchess of malfi]

It's great to hear from you! I'm so glad you're doing so well in school!

[lucimay]

Great Stevens poem, Lucimay. I need to get his collected poems; I just recently discovered him!


get The Man with the Blue Guitar!!! fabulous!! i need to get another copy of his complete collected poems, i gave my last copy away to a friend!!

[MsMary]

Hiya, Foul!

Happy Turkey Day.

[Warmark]

[sgt.null]

Foul: used book store should have his stuff?

[Sunbaneglasses]

back!And Happy Holidays!