Intro

O full-orb'd moon, did but thy rays

Their last upon mine anguish gaze!

Beside this desk, at dead of night,

Oft have I watched to hail thy light:

Then, pensive friend! o'er book and scroll,

With soothing power, thy radiance stole!

In thy dear light, ah, might I climb,

Freely, some mountain height sublime,

Round mountain caves with spirits ride,

In thy mild haze o'er meadows glide,

And, purged from knowledge-fumes, renew

My spirit, in thy healing dew!

Goethe: Faust I.

Monday, August 5, 2002

Never Pawn Your Astrolabe

08/25/02

(Drama, drama, everywhere. A comedy of absurd despair. I don't live for this.)

08/05/02

Where is my astrolabe? Who waits for a ship to come in? Lonesome girls, often conspiring with the ocean to assuage their guilt. Longshoremen, figuring they have time to sober up. Those who report to some one or other.  They ask the same question every day with their perpetually concerned expression, which is answered day to day with an empty harbor.

One day their ships will come in. In the meantime, I am looking for one going out. One day a grey-beard loon I be.

One contradiction corrects another.
Published by G. Etranger at 12:00 AM

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