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| God does not play dice with the universe; He plays an ineffable game of
his own devising, which might be compared, from the perspective of any
of the other players, to being involved in an obscure and complex
version of poker in a pitch dark room, with blank cards, for infinite
stakes, with a dealer who won't tell you the rules, and who smiles all
the time.
Boredom.
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| I'm going to Saugatuck, Michigan for the Waterfront Film Festival.We're leaving in an hour or so and will return sometime Sunday or maybe Monday. Can't wait to see some sweet films, so I can tell you what to watch out for in the next year.
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| sparked by the discussion occurring on phil's blog.
He had had never had a cause in
his life. Nor had he, as far as he knew, ever believed in anything. It
had been embarrassing, because he quite wanted to believe in something,
since he recognized that belief was the lifebelt that got most people
through the choppy waters of Life. He had liked to believe in a supreme
God, although he'd have preferred a half-hour's chat with him before
committing himself, to clear up one or two points. He'd sat in all
sorts of churches, waiting for that single flash of blue light, and it
hadn't come. And then he tried to become and official Atheist and
hadn't got the rock-hard, self-satisfied strength of belief even for
that. And every single political party had seemed to him equally
dishonest. And he'd given up on ecology when the ecology magazine he'd
been subscribing to had shown it's readers a plan of a self sufficient
garden, and had drawn the ecological goat tethered within three feet of
the ecological beehive. He had spent a lot of time at his grandmother's
house in the country and thought he knew something about the habits of
both goats and bees, and concluded therefore that the magazine was run
by a bunch of bib-overalled maniacs. Besides it used the word
"community" too often; he had always suspected that people who
regularly used the word "community" were using it in a very specific
sense that excluded him and everyone he knew. Then he tried to believe
in the Universe, which seemed sound enough until he'd innocently
started reading new books with words like Chaos and Time and Quantum in
the titles. He'd found that even the people whose job of work was, so
to speak, the Universe, didn't really believe in it and were actually
quite proud of not knowing what it really was or even if it could
theoretically exist. To his straightforward mind this was intolerable.
He had not believed in Cub Scouts and then, when he was old enough, not
in the Scouts either.
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| The rain set early in tonight,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
and did its worst to vex the lake:
I listened with heart fit to break.
When glided in Porphyria; straight
She shut the cold out and the storm,
And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
Which done, she rose, and from her form
Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
And, last, she sat down by my side
And called me. When no voice replied,
She put my arm about her waist,
And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
And all her yellow hair displaced,
And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair,
Murmuring how she loved me--she
Too weak, for all her heart's endeavor,
To set its struggling passion free
From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
And give herself to me forever.
But passion sometimes would prevail,
Nor could tonight's gay feast restrain
A sudden thought of one so pale
For love of her, and all in vain:
So, she was come through wind and rain.
Be sure I looked up at her eyes
Happy and proud; at last I knew
Porphyria worshiped me: surprise
Made my heart swell, and still it grew
While I debated what to do.
That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
Perfectly pure and good: I found
A thing to do, and all her hair
In one long yellow string I wound
Three times her little throat around,
And strangled her. No pain felt she;
I am quite sure she felt no pain.
As a shut bud that holds a bee,
I warily oped her lids: again
Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
And I untightened next the tress
About her neck; her cheek once more
Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
I propped her head up as before
Only, this time my shoulder bore
Her head, which droops upon it still:
The smiling rosy little head,
So glad it has its utmost will,
That all it scorned at once is fled,
And I, its love, am gained instead!
Porphyria's love: she guessed not how
Her darling one wish would be heard.
And thus we sit together now,
And all night long we have not stirred,
And yet God has not said a word!
Easily my favorite poem ever.
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| Figured I'd change my music in light of recent events. This is kinda old news but whatever.
The RATM rockers' first gig together in seven years will support a worker's rights group.
http://www.spin.com/features/news/2007/04/070412_morellorocha/
One of my favorite bands ever. When i first heard this I was literally speechless for about 5 minutes.
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