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 Twitter
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Crikey. I Just came across something I posted 18 years ago, when I’d just
joined Twitter, which was so new I had to explain what it was. I called it
*on...
3 days 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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