Ognuno sta solo sul cuor della terra
trafitto da un raggio di sole:
ed è subito sera.
(Salvatore Quasimodo)
(The author of this blog would like to thank all her siblings-and-partners-in-crime, who came and exposed themselves, so beautiful, so naked, so poignant, so funny, so brilliant. Thank you. You made my earth move, you changed my life.
She would also like to point out that the idea for an anniversary post was put into her head by someone else. Bloody poets.)
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
This Post Is About Orgasms, Take Two, aka The Second Coming. The Anniversary Edition, Including the Final and Ultimate Truth on the Matter at Hand.
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24 comments:
Who - moi? What? I didn't do anything - well, and if I did it was all this lady's doing really. She started it, your Honour and I just - well and the company was so exquisite, funny and brilliant, like she says. The earth moved, your Honour, it's true. It always does but we pretend not to notice the second coming, the third and fourth -
Now everybody's talking about it
just look what we started.
I'm mad I am, sister - and so, by association, are you.
x
But you didn't have to do this - really you didn't. Too kind.
Kind? Tish and pish, Sistah. It's all in the name of good, indecent, pointless fun. It rules. A fine idea of yours and I am very appreciative.
I will be back in a while - just returned from wolf-walk and my paws are frozen. Mwah in the meantime.
Okay. Right. Have clicked on your link now, and see what you mean. "Order now, only two in stock..." - why do I find that phrase totally titillatingly funny in this context?
Right, I'm going to keep an eye on it. If the number goes down to 1 I'll now that you've made an order. Come come, you know you want to!
Seestah! - my RL sis and I used to call each other that in the good old days.
Oh - and kmsfvusx - which obviously means -
Typo Alert!
It's 'know', not 'now'.
Well yes. Hello, Typo Signs. I can't help but feel that this person has tapped into our area of special inexpertise and wonder and is making good money out of it. Hmmm. It feels a little like someone churning money on other people's religious beliefs.
(Not going to disclose whether I want to or not, but I did read through everything I could have for free (cheapskate) and was amused, although undecided as to whether I thought it was pappy or not. Probably yes, which would certainly mean if I could have it for free, I would leaf through it. )
Oh - and kmsfvusx (obviously) means Kilometres of Sensual Fantasy-Vortex Uniting the Sexes. Measurement of feeling of being heard, used within the context of conversing about the inconversible things which cannot be uttered.
I must go and wash some rugs. I know, I know, it's close to midnight. Don't ask, Seestah (hello to anyone else who may look in, too).
Mwahs in the meantime, as ever.
Don't ask? Damnation and all, but we have a right to know why you must wash rugs at midnight. Either you are getting rid of some incriminating evidence or you are becoming a clean freak. I think the former would be preferable. On the other hand you may simply be losing your marbles. You're mad, you are. Me too but loading the washing machine at midnight is as far as I've got in that department. Hearing you loud and clear, sees. We can survive everything but death. Har!
No, I've tried, but I still don't get it. Any of it. Not in an "I was walking down the stret having a conversation about Luddites and mid-sentence felt compelled to tell my companion that I rather liked the tree over there which meant my companion didn't get where I was coming from", but in an "I understand all the words (leastways, the english ones), but not in the order in which they've been strung together".
I'm not asking for an explanation, just some assurance that I'm not the only one.
Should I go away now and read the previous post...?
Hello But Why - well, it's like this: (shall I tell her Anna or will you? 'Tis your blog after all)
Having said that, please don't be thinking that you're the only one. Me, I rely on inspired guesswork. If I come up with the wrong answers no-one says.
Signs, Dr But, hello. Sorry about sluggish reply rates and Signs, be my guest. Tell her how it all was and is, and I will try to get back to the pair of you with my version of the story soonish. Sorry to be a bit cryptic, both here and in the post (although that may have been intentional, if I really dig into my soul). Hoping you are both well...
xx xx
Oh it's not just you, but why? - I'm perplexed but in a purely intrigued rather than frustrated kind of way.
Erm.
housut, what a lovely thing to see you here. (Hei also, again, But, Signs.) Please all forgive my hasty reply here but I'm trying to get back to you before you think me rude and horrid, yet currently not able to write properly. I am being held captive by a bunch of aliens and they are doing experimental surgery on my life. No I'm not, I'm just writing bollocks here. Lovely to see you. Sorry also to be so cryptic in the post here, although maybe I actually did it on purpose, in which case I'm even sorrier. Anyway. Love you all, please talk amongst yourselves should the mood grab you, and I'll promise to get back to you v. soon. (And hei housut, I am aware of your charming-lovely comment at the post below this one, and I shall get back to you there post haste.)
In the meantime, have some love, dear good people.
xxx
No rush, dearest anna, all in your own good time x
Okay, so, yes. Um, hum. It seems I have quite a lot of diverse explaining to do, so I shall see what comes out of this one. Right. Rugs. Sees - you know what it's like, I know you do. There can be things that stare at you, all accusatory, for the longest while, which you just cannot undertake. Can't there? And then suddenly, you know it is possible to do something about them, and you know there's nothing for it, carpe diem, go wash the rugs your poor wolfi dogot girl made a mess on quite some time ago when she had been fed cake by her doting (human) grandmother (giving an entirely new tang to Little Red Riding Hood, no?) and which have been waiting for this moment on the balcony, sometimes coated in snow, even if it is midnight on a Friday and you have a working week plus numerous upsets of varying kinds behind you and it'd be a perfectly acceptable solution to life to sit and vegetate, or go to bed, or have a little drink of some description, or whatever. So yes. So, embarrassing to dogot as this sorry tale is, that's The Tale of the Friday Rug Wash (and don't you breathe a word to her that you know, k?).
And then there's the obscurity of the post itself (hello, But, housut). Well it's like this, you see - exactly a year earlier (from the date of posting the obscure post under which we are here gathered thuslike) I wrote a post about orgasms. The post itself wasn't all that remarkable, although it did contain a couple of v.good quotes which made it worthwhile - but, for whatever reason, it became a meeting point for some of us who, over time, got to know each other rather well and lovingly, as the conversation ranged from bollocks to what's-this-life-all-about and various things in between. My dearly beloved esteemed Signs suggested an anniversary post, and, well, here we are.
As for the non-English words (this particularly for you, tri Mutta, since you pointed it out), I enclose a translation of my own (under signature), because I don't like the English translations in official circulation. As Signs knows, I am super fluent in faux Italian, and have consequently translated the thing from the Finnish translation, which I have known since early childhood.
So, I think that just about clears everything up nicely. Onwards, upwards, downwards, sideways, and see you all soon.
Mwahs and x's all round.
Anna,
Thankyou kindly for the translation, but - Oh my. It appears I have reached The Last Photo. Is this the fabled End Of The Internet? Can I now hang up my router and return to my day-job??
Something tells me that even if I have now found the source of truth at the heart of the web, there's always a good bit of humour around the corner. Or even something a bit geeky. I suspect the truth's not all it appears to be, anyhow...
Everyone alone at the heart of the web
pierced by humour
and suddenly, it is ...
(please use own initiative when inserting final word.)
Hei again, Tri ?. Yes, this is The Fabled End of the Internet, you clever intrepid explorer geek, but shhhh. We don't want all the plebs from The Unfabled End of the Internet rushing in, do we - and besides, we're continually working to push the boundaries further and further, and thus the end is not likely to stay in place for very long. As for hanging up your router and returning to your day-job, well. A decision of that magnitude must be yours and yours alone, but please consider this - could you ever be really happy in Normal Life again?
And please let me assure you that the truth is not all it appears to be, but much, much more besides. Shhh.
Poi, verso l'alto, verso il basso, lateralmente
ok but wait, stop - I mean I hope you're not expecting me to use my initiative because the initiative bank has overdrawn its resources, and there never was much in that department in the first place. As long as that's understood.
And listen, Mutta and Housut (for when in Finland.. etc.) - another wonderful fact about the first Great O Post is that I only really barged in at about comment 116, if my memory serves me. I got fed up lurking, as one does, and asked our hostess to give me a resume of the thread so far. And she did! For this alone, even without her other many virtues, she has been granted an honorary doctorate from the University of Signs. Everyone else has to pay exorbitant amounts for this.
I think you have hit the nail on the head, But Why, when you say that the truth is not all it appears to be - in Blogoslavia anything can happen. And I'm not even sure about that.
Oh God, Signs - lateral Italian. I think I see what you mean with it, but there's no way of telling really, is there, this being, as you so correctly point out, Blogoslavia.
Speaking of things where I didn't necessarily see what was meant, I came to this whilst trying to find something to send you at the "Freudian fire-engines and no cigars" thread. It is apropos nothing whatsoever, but fairly incomprehensible, at the very least to my wee bird-brain, whilst titillating me with a sense of maybe I'd understand if only I understood. Therefore, and as it was solely because of What You Said that I stumbled across it, please have some Lacan. If you know about this stuff, please explain. (This goes for you too, Mutta, housut, anyone else looking in. Enlighten me in my intellectual twilight, please.)
All I know is that he doesn't know how to say Freud. I suppose he can't help that, being French, but still - it just sounds like Fred. And I don't know what he's on about, sorry. Me, I like to skim the surface of things and then just make up my own version as I go along. It might not be accurate, but it works for me. One has to risk coming out with a lot of bollocks but quite often no-one but oneself realises so it works out.
Hope your heart is doing ok. Sometimes I am blue like in I wish I had a river to skate away on. Just saying, melancholy Sees.
Oh Sees. Sadly, I am freshly out of frozen rivers for skating-away purposes to send you (spring, you know), but here, have this to cheer you up anyway.
(Speaking of Fred...for some reason your comment jolted my memory and up bubbled my older son, at age seven, making up his own (and, in my clinically objective opinion, vastly improved) version of the rhyme in the fairy tale:
Fee, fi, fo, fum,
I smell the blood of an Englishman [hello, darling, if you're looking in],
Be he alive, or be he dead,
I'll grind his bones and call him FRED.
Thus proving, really, that a great linguistic talent of bollocks is going utterly to waste in him as we speak. And sees - "risking coming out with bollocks" is, as you well know, a bit like "risking coming out with art". Yes.)
My heart, my love (thank you for asking), sinks and bobs, sinks and bobs. What else can a mother's heart do? Apart from break and go on, of course. How is your skating mood? Sorry to leave you here unattended to for such an age. Hope you've blown into the embers of the fire, pulled up a chair and a blanket, wiped the dust off one or several of my worthy tomes, had some tea brought in by the invisible butler, and generally made yourself at home.
Lovely to see you. Mwahs abound...
This is lovely - more so because of receiving it in fragments, and I would not have guessed it was by Robert Bridges.
Thank you.
Glad you liked it. I (shamefully) knew nothing at all about Robert Bridges until this thing had me googling him a bit, and I will say (here in the relative secrecy of this depth) that I thought not so much of the poem once I read it all in one go, as it were. Somehow here the fragmentedness and combination of things seems to work.
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