My links are not working.
Interpreter Pavlov's Wohnhouse is turned to be a Functionalist cube.
My Engrish is even more Fingrish.
The (deleted)don't know how to use water. They have forest fires everywhere and Finland is sunken into the deep blue smoke. I have a forestfirefever.*
I can't add any photos.
If I could sing, I would sing, but I can't and my musical taste is turned to be too twisted without any sisters.
So I let another Finnish woman, a way more famous than a shaggy foggy fox, to sing.
The Misheard Lyrics of Nightwish.
*Actually it really isn't any fault of the deleted. But the forests behind the border have been burning for weeks and weeks and...
And the smoke isn't just a gentle smell. It has been a thick blue smoke.
About Orlando
-
I grabbed a random book for the work commute and it turned out to be
Virginia Woolf’s Orlando, which I’m pretty sure last read in the dying days
of the T...
21 hours ago
8 comments:
IP's blog seems to have been like that for a while. God knows what happened to it. I just checked over at Quinquireme - it's not listed on Patroclus' blogroll anymore, either.
I remember I used to mishear the lyrics of a particular hymn when I was little. It had the line "I am the lord of the dance, said he." For quite a few years I wondered what a "dance settee" might be. Or why anyone should be lord of one. Not that being lord of a dance makes much more sense, now I come to think about it.
(Haven't seen the Nightwish thing yet. Stupid work computers).
I tried to cool down a bit and had a lovely visit to the Designmuseum, where I did see some shiny glass objects and accidentally bought something. Well, a present, but anyway.
Whilst enjoying my bitter selfish company I was thinking what horrible thing happened to Dave's home. And what has happened to IP's virtual home. And there I was whining about my nothingness.
I sniffed some lemon grass candles, calmed down a bit and noticed it started to rain. First time in a month. The smoke went away. I saw an old friend. He studied art history with me and is now becoming a choreographer. Suddenly I felt so happy. In this engineerings promised land there are still some humanists somewhere.
I came home. I tried to open the Nightwish link. It said: "We're currently putting out some new features, sweeping out the cobwebs and zapping a few gremlins." Great.
OPC, shouldn't it be: "I am the lord of the dance, said Michael Flatley."
No, no, no! Never mention Riverdance! That whole thing is just... wrong. I mean, have you seen it?
Those fixed, expressionless faces, those rigid, motionless torsos*, arms held stiffly at their sides, as they struggle desperately to look dignified, powerless to resist as their own terrifying... tippety-tappety... demented... tippety-tappety... out-of-control... tippety-tappety... unstoppable... tippety-tappety... legs just carry on without them, seemingly wholly independent of their bodies... tappety-tappety, TAPPETY-TAPPETY, TAPPETY-TAPPETY-TAPPETY-TAPPETY-Yaaarrrrrggghhhhhh!!!! Noooooooo!!! Stooooopppp!!!!!
That is NOT entertainment! They're people afflicted with the legs of madmen, that's what they are. It's disturbing. And something should be done about it, quite frankly.
*(torsi?)
Sorry. I just find all those autonomous legs very disturbing.
Glad the smoke's died down, at last.
I already said disturbing, didn't I? Dammit.
See, there's always someone worse off than you, isn't there?
Ah, Dave, there surely is. [looks up]
>>Glad the smoke's died down, at last.<<
Erm, I'm not so sure about it anymore. The banks of the river seem to be pretty dusty. I should probably say they are on their last legs.
[coughing]
No no no no no! I am not a Riverdance fan.
There's a
celtic taiga.
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