Identify Your Avatar

[DavidW]

Nah, that was someone else I'm talking about.

Ah okay.   Wait a minute, does that make me the obsessed one?

[greg]

Ah okay.   Wait a minute, does that make me the obsessed one?

I don't know, are you? 

[ChamberNut]

Petrouchka

[Opus106]

Petrouchka

Is Petrouchka a martial arts exponent?

[ChamberNut]

Is Petrouchka a martial arts exponent?

Ha    No, Petrouchka is a clown-like puppet that is brought to life by his "owner", the Charlatan.  Two other puppets are also brought to life (The Ballerina and The Moor)

Oops, spelling mistake on ballerina, fixed.

[Opus106]

Ha    No, Petrouchka is a clown-like puppet that is brought to life by his "owner", the Charlatan.  Two other puppets are also brought to life (The Ballerian and The Moor)

Interesting...

[ChamberNut]

A special reminder that tomorrow is Rodent Avatar Friday. (or for Brian, 'Arrested Development' character day).

For those who are already into Friday, you know what to do. 

[MN Dave]

Robert E. Howard's
SOLOMON KANE

[Opus106]

Big red letters.

Sort of looks like that 'Wanderer...' painting.

[MN Dave]

"I am not yet ready for Hell."

[Antoine Marchand]

Jorge Luis Borges (1899-1986), Argentinian poet, essayist and short-stories writer.

Another poem of gifts

I want to give thanks to the divine
Labyrinth of causes and effects
For the diversity of beings
That form this singular universe,
For Reason, that will never give up its dream
Of a map of the labyrinth,
For Helen's face and the perseverence of Ulysses,
For love, which lets us see others
As God sees them,
For the solid diamond and the flowing water,
For Algebra, a palace of exact crystals,
For the mystic coins of Angelus Silesius,
For Schopenhauer,
Who perhaps deciphered the universe,
For the blazing of fire,
That no man can look at without an ancient wonder,
For mahogany, cedar, and sandalwood,
For bread and salt,
For the mystery of the rose
That spends all its color and can not see it,
For certain eves and days of 1955,
For the hard riders who, on the plains,
Drive on the catttle and the dawn,
For mornings in Montevideo,
For the art of friendship,
For Socrates' last day,
For the words spoken one twilight
For that dream of Islam that embraced
A thousand nights and a night,
For that other dream of Hell,
Of the tower of cleansing fire
And of the celestial spheres,
For Swedenborg,
Who talked with the angles in London streets
For the secret and immemorial rivers
That converge in me,
For the language that, centuries ago, I spoke in Northumberland,
For the sword and harp of the Saxons,
For the sea, which is a shining desert
And a secret code for things we do not know
And an epitaph for the Norsemen,
For the word music of England,
For the word music of Germany,
For gold, that shines in verses,
For epic winter,
For the title of a book I have not read: Gesta Dei per Francos,
For Verlaine, innocent as the birds,
For crystal prisms and bronze weights,
For the tiger's stripes,
For the high towers of San Francisco and Manhattan Island,
For mornings in Texas,
For that Sevillian who composed the Moral Epistle
And whose name, as he would have wished, we do not know,
For Seneca and Lucan, both of Cordova,
Who, before there was Spanish, had written
All Spanish literature,
For gallant, noble, geometric chess,
For Zeno's tortoise and Royce's map,
For the medicinal smell of eucalyptus trees,
For speech, which can be taken for wisdom,
For forgetfulness, which annuls or modifies the past,
For habits,
Which repeat us and confirm us in our image like a mirror,
For morning, that gives us the illusion of a new beginning,
For night, its darkness and its astronomy,
For the bravery and happiness of others,
For my country, sensed in jasmine flowers
For Whitman and Francis of Assisi, who already wrote this poem,
For the fact that the poem is inexhaustible
And becomes one with the sum of all created things
And will never reach its last verse
And varies according to its writers
For Frances Haslam, who begged her children's pardon
For dying so slowly,
For the minutes that precede sleep,
For sleep and death,
Those two hidden treasures,
For the intimate gifts I do not mention,
For music, that mysterious form of time.

Translated by Alan Dugan

[DFO]

Great Ruggero Ricci as a child. He's more than 90 now.

[Opus106]

Jorge Luis Borges (1899-1986), Argentinian poet, essayist and short-stories writer.

Oh, I didn't know that it was his photo adorning your posts. The Library of Babel is close to the top of my To-read list.

[bhodges]

Jorge Luis Borges (1899-1986), Argentinian poet, essayist and short-stories writer.

Another poem of gifts

Thanks for posting something I don't recall reading by one of my favorite writers.  That was quite beautiful. 

My avatar: one of many images of gas stations by Ed Ruscha, one of my favorite artists.  Here's another one in the photo below. 

--Bruce

[MN Dave]

Oh, I didn't that it was his photo adorning your posts. The Library of Babel is close to the top of my To-read list.

Where did you get Ratticus Bachulus?

[Opus106]

Where did you get Ratticus Bachulus?

From the intert00bs, of course, where else?

[Antoine Marchand]

Where did you get Ratticus Bachulus?

Well, it's rather an imposition for a blind man, my friend.

[MN Dave]

Sorry. You've lost me.

[ChamberNut]

Opus106,

I love it!!!    I can't believe I was able to coax you into changing your avatar?  You NEVER waver from your original avatar!

[Antoine Marchand]

Oh, I didn't know that it was his photo adorning your posts. The Library of Babel is close to the top of my To-read list.

Yes, Opus, the old and great Borges. I love his short stories and poems, but especially his wonderful essays. I don't know how many times I have read his collection of essays called Other Inquisitions, but I adore that book.

Thanks for posting something I don't recall reading by one of my favorite writers.  That was quite beautiful.  

You're welcome, Bruce. Borges is one of my favorite writers, too. Probably you will enjoy this, if you don't know it yet:


http://www.youtube.com/v/Hav8-ZLxdJY

Sorry. You've lost me.

I'm not surprised at all, Dave. Just a stupid (and incomprehensible) joke: in Spanish walking stick = báculo, from the latin Bacŭlum, then I thought that a blind man needs a Bachulus... I know, I know, incomprehensible, too long, too complicated...