flying through clouds of uncertainty on wings of existential dread
So I’ll get more cartoons scanned when I get home and do a real post then, but I was just thinking about this, and god forbid I have a thought without babbling to the internet about it.
I’ve had poems in my head all day, and yay for that. Do you guys ever just get drunk on words? I mean, you just read a poem aloud or think it aloud and the meaning doesn’t even really matter because the flow and beat and tastiness of the language is so delightful? And then, even better, words DO mean things, and poems are like a delightful puzzle that’s never quite solved, but first and foremost, WORDS.
Like this one:
I caught this morning morning's minion, king- dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing, As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of; the mastery of the thing! Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier! No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear, Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.