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It is the month of October and it's a new start, or an end-- depending upon how you look at it.
This appeals to me for what it captures "between the moments", as if there could be such ridiculous infinities between minuscule-millescules-- mills of time. And yet, there it must be: such ludicrous thought and absent minded behavior and strict logic amidst the complete chaos.
Today was my mom's birthday. This is for you, Mom. Next week we'll make some fun with some "all out" spooky Halloween stuff. I'll make like that Haunted Hall of Horrors like at Grandma's on Fraser St. And scare you from behind the stove.
I just read a really funny script! I think it was purposely messed up, but even if it wasn't, it really cracked me up and I loved the ending!!! For some reason the humor in it reminded me of this. Just so over the top.
Oooeee... just had a thought for an OWC... I had a train go by (we're right near tracks here in Bowden) and the song from Johnny Cash came into my head... The Folsom Prison Blues: I hear the train a comin' it's rollin' 'round the bend and I ain't seen the sunshine, since, I don't know when now I'm stuck in Folsom Prison and time keeps dragging on... But then, the shift...
I wanted to hear The Highwayman as sung by Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings and Kris Kristofferson. I love how each one lends something different to the song. And of course, I'm always thinking of screenwriting and I thought of the poem by Alfred Noyes that I'll paste below the video. It would be interesting to see some scripts challenge that particular story/poem with their own unique devices.
Only trouble is, if we were to do this, we'd be back to horses again.
Sandra
I feel the real love in the following poem. Maybe for Christmas, Alfred, I'll set a place for you at our table.
The Highwayman By Alfred Noyes
The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees, The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor, And the highwayman came riding-- Riding--riding-- The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.
He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin; He'd a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin. They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh! And he rode with a jeweled twinkle-- His rapier hilt a-twinkle-- His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard, He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred, He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter-- Bess, the landlord's daughter-- Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
Dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked Where Tim, the ostler listened--his face was white and peaked-- His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay, But he loved the landlord's daughter-- The landlord's black-eyed daughter; Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I'm after a prize tonight, But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light. Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day, Then look for me by moonlight, Watch for me by moonlight, I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand, But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o'er his breast, Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight (O sweet black waves in the moonlight!), And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon. And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon, When the road was a gypsy's ribbon over the purple moor, The redcoat troops came marching-- Marching--marching-- King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead, But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed. Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets by their side; There was Death at every window, And Hell at one dark window, For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest! They had tied a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast! "Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say, "Look for me by moonlight, Watch for me by moonlight, I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."
She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good! She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood! They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years, Till, on the stroke of midnight, Cold on the stroke of midnight, The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest; Up, she stood up at attention, with the barrel beneath her breast. She would not risk their hearing, she would not strive again, For the road lay bare in the moonlight, Blank and bare in the moonlight, And the blood in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain.
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, ringing clear; Tlot tlot, tlot tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear? Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill, The highwayman came riding-- Riding--riding-- The redcoats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still.
Tlot tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot tlot, in the echoing night! Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light! Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath, Then her finger moved in the moonlight-- Her musket shattered the moonlight-- Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him--with her death.
He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood Bowed, with her head o'er the casement, drenched in her own red blood! Not till the dawn did he hear it, and his face grew grey to hear How Bess, the landlord's daughter, The landlord's black-eyed daughter, Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky, With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high! Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat When they shot him down in the highway, Down like a dog in the highway, And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
And still on a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, When the road is a gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor, The highwayman comes riding-- Riding--riding-- The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard, He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred, He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter-- Bess, the landlord's daughter-- Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
Hello Eoin, I just realized that your location is Ireland! Wow you know, I have just met with some new friends in Spruceview, (Alberta) and they came to Canada in 1966 when I was still a tot. One of the things (his name is Bill) farms is YOU GUESSED IT! POTATOES!!! Well, I happen to love cooking with potatoes and it's potatoes that brought us together. His wife is in poor health, but Bill is amazingly strong. Not wimpy like some North Americans. He's my idol! If a person can get older and still haul over half their weight then damn that's good stock!
On that last video: My Lord I love the European passion. I guess it's true that I'm Heinz 57. Got so much mixed blood in me it's hard to tell. Some people used to think I was Italian or Spanish, but I'm more Russian/Ukranian/Deutch/Turkish or something...
Anyways, here's a multi-cultural song from a guy I met in the U.S. in Buffalo when we were at a World Unity Meeting. Stayed at the Adam's Mark Hotel. Can anyone find me the history/meaning of that mark? I'd really like to know.
LOL. Just been to Specsavers then Sandra!? Heinz beans goes really well with mashed potatoes (milk, cream, butter and a dash of pepper and salt)
I think you and I should start a DJ thread . . .
You know, it's funny but when I'm working, I normally don't listen to music, but then afterwards, I like to chill a bit and that's when I put on some songs. I wanna dance!!!
You know what? I was really spent, but sometimes, magic happens when you're tooth and claw at what you believe in.
Tonight, I found the perfect gem to wrap up my night/morning (Hey, a lot of my days begin with a candlelight vigil and I can be really messed up) so I'm pushing limits here to provide you with this one. I love it. Hope it sends you off into whatever hypersphere you so desire. And most importantly, I hope that one of these nights you dream a dream where you're laughing so hard that it wakes you up!!!
Luvya,
Sandra and her Merlin Cat XXXXOOOO "Meow," he says. "Really dug those Tempations cat food tonight."
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Waking You Up - Across The Globe
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