Vivamus mea Lycia, atque amemus

Let us live, Lycia, and love
and value at one red cent
all the world’s jealous whispers.
Suns may set and rise again–
but for us, when the day winks out,
there remains to be slept the sleep of one unbroken night.
Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred,
then another thousand, then a second hundred,
then yet a thousand, and a hundred more…

Then.

When we have blushed many thousands,
we will confuse our counting so the kiss’ed number we know not,
and with this,
turn all envious eyes to admiration
when they find that our kisses are
                                                                     so many.

Carmina V, για Λυκίας Πόντου, primus ab stylo de Gaiem Valeriem Catullem scribat

(cc) BY-NC-SA V.3, Benjamin G. Griffin Friday 11th November, 2011. Thanks to H.Walker’s capable translation here

Ezek!el 25:17

Different from the Pulp Fiction version, the original Hebrew and KJV versions are, infact, more brutal linguistically. This is the one and only, and my favourite Old Testament Prophet, Ezekiel, who near Tel Aviv in about 230BC wrote this after hearing words in a vision

וְעָשִׂ֤יתִי בָם֙ נְקָמֹ֣ות גְּדֹלֹ֔ות בְּתֹוכְחֹ֖ות חֵמָ֑ה וְיָֽדְעוּ֙ כִּֽי־ אֲנִ֣י יְהוָ֔ה בְּתִתִּ֥י אֶת־ נִקְמָתִ֖י בָּֽם׃ ס

And I will execute great vengeances upon them with furious rebukes, and they shall knowe that I am the LORD, when I shall lay my vengeance upon them.

By comparison, the speech in Pulp Fiction, though followed with gunshots and a gangland execution, is (if taken purely textually) of distinctly christian character though just as vengeful and, in this regard is entirely more open spirited and political than the pure venom of the original Desert Prophet. This is Jules, the assassin, rendered by Samuel L. Jackson–

“‘The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides with the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who in the name of charity and good will shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother’s keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon those with great vengeance and with furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know that my name is the LORD when I lay my vengeance upon thee.'”

<gunshots>

 

 

Substitution – Silversun Pickups

There’s a vulture perching right off screen
And it’s bitter and whispers chaotic things
And it reached in quick ain’t it worrying
it’s so easy to see, everyone can
agree, stop listening

I know you’ve heard it before
But then it wasn’t enough
You don’t wanna be held back from the substitution
I know you’ve seen this before
And now enough is too much
You don’t wanna be set back when
the substitution comes I’m sorry

You’re a marionette in the center of
All the twisting strings coming from above
It may seem too deep to recover from
it’s so easy to see, everyone can
agree, just let it go

I know you’ve heard it before
But then it wasn’t enough
You don’t wanna be held back from the substitution
I know you’ve seen this before
And now enough is too much
You don’t wanna be set back when
the substitution comes I’m sorry I’m sorry

When the voices start spinning just be aware
I have brought enough stones for us to share
That one’s grinning that one’s
burning, aim for the throat
Let him choke on the stones that we are to throw

It’s the great downfall
Not the overthrow
If you shoot them down
It’ll make you soar

When reactions turn into hurricanes
And the middle course seems a little tame
Whether full or empty it’s all the same
it’s so easy to see, everyone can
agree, you’re not to blame

I know you’ve heard it before
But then it wasn’t enough
You don’t wanna be held back from the substitution
I know you’ve seen this before
but now enough is too much
You don’t wanna be set back when
the substitution comes I’m sorry

Silversun Pickups – Substitution

Translation: Carmena CI, per G. V. Catullus

I have lost two friends in the last month.
This is dedicated to them,

Richard Ewaine Pollett
et
Hiroki Ainai.

I have rallied through the many countries and challenged many seas
To be here, O my Brother, and make these miserable rites.
I present you with this last guerdi’on of death,
and say, though in vain, these few words to your mute ashes.
Fortune has taken your living flesh from me
So cruelly have you been burned from the earth–
Dearest brother of mine, take these offerings from my eyes,
recieve this ceremony, this rite, which by the custom of our forefathers
has been handed down —
take, these sorrowful tributes —
take these wet sacrifices
and let me see you in these ashes damp from my many tears.
I say to you and the sea and the sky as if to my own soul, this:
Comrade. Hail. And Farewell.

(CC) NC-A-SA Benjamin George Griffin oct, 2011

I think it’s obscene to put a copyright on the translation of a funerary poem, and even worse to advertise such an insult the internet. You know who you are. Your latin must be sh!t or non existant. For eveyone else, please consider this (CC) Non Commercial, Attribution, Share Alike by Benjamin George Griffin (2011) (con fero Death of a Violinist) id est please share and sharealike for all non-commercial purposes, I ask only that you reference me as the translator.

Much thanks to this translation  by Mr. H. Walker, who was my inspiration in his quite capable rendering of the grandeur and passion of the original Latin. Lating being still,  far and away the best way of reading this glorious piece of classical literature.

The Imperfectionistic Advices of Kid Sigma

The Breakup; the Makeup.

All for one, one for all? The Makeup; The Breakup? A gift I gave to a Great Lover? I Memory I took from a Bad one? -- Pair IV, John Stezacker

<snip!>

break-ups are awesome. my friend said that all relationships are different, but all break-ups are the same. I’m pretty sure I believe the opposite; after all, Tolstoy said, “all happy families are alike, but each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” her break-up with her boyfriend, Kyall, is vastly different to mine with Rob. we are different people, all of us, & Rob & I were dating for months, then long-distance for a year, then living together, & we continued to live together after we had those series of all-out door-slamming, name-calling arguments where we couldn’t stand to communicate with each other or even be in the same room together. but we still love each other now, & we always will. if I cannot be with him, I’m honestly not sure what I will do. write, I suppose, like always, & be successful, & live my life of boats & cats. I will rent a houseboat on the Hamsterdam canals for a week just to taste heaven.

please, just follow your mind & your heart, not your dick or your stomach. wait two years. love waits. tattoos wait. newcastle waits. the rest of the world does not. never ask someone to do for you what you can do for yourself, don’t fucking get anyone fucking pregnant for a good ten years, & try to avoid joining the circus for any real length of time. good men go with good men; good women, too. education is the key to better living! poetry can save the world! Obama For President of the Universe! never! say! die! & so on & so forth. be good, is what I’m saying, & always do your best. trust & respect yourself & others & I’m pretty sure you get like good karma & whatever.

<snip!>

Aside

If—

If—

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
‘ Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!

– Rudyard Kipling, 1895

Three Nicoles’ Couplets

Alas my fears are fruitless
  I have seen this face before
‘Twas all the mustered courage
  ‘Twas all the pain we had a’fore
Just to love you then, and again and again and again
… and now
                 by that door.

                                                          b

Aside

William Burroughs on Love

a la   J*** C**k via fb: These are the last words of William Burroughs— written the day he died

Thinking is not enough.
Nothing is.
There is no final enough of wisdom, experience —
any fucking thing.
No Holy Grail, no Final Satori,
no final solution.
Just conflict.
Only thing can resolve conflict is love,
like I felt for Fletch and Ruski, Spooner and Calico.
Pure love.
What I feel for my cats present and past.
Love?
What is It?
The Most natural painkiller that there is.
LOVE.

The Death of a Violinist

Multās per gentēs et multa per aequora vectus
adveniō hās miserās, frāter, ad īnferiās,
ut tē postrēmō dōnārem mūnere mortis
et mūtam nēquīquam alloquerer cinerem,
quandoquidem fortūna mihī tētē abstulit ipsum.
heu miser indignē frāter adēmpte mihi,
nunc tamen intereā haec, prīscō quae mōre parentum
trādita sunt trīstī mūnere ad īnferiās,
accipe frāternō multum mānantia flētū,
atque in perpetuum, frāter, avē atque valē.
- Gaius Valerius Catullus, Carmina CI

A note died in my ear, here, at your … funeral.
I need to call it that, a funeral, even if the program here says Celebration.
It is a sad day for me. And for H. And I want to feel it all.

A note died in my ear today. My left ear. It hummed to a singular pitch, just moments ago. This note held itself there, in this ear, sharp and clear, a direct line to my brain… then died. A hair in a cochlea sang its last song, and hummed to a tremble, then ….

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