Songs of Strife and Passport Control
Much has been made of disorder and sloth. Both are qualities rumbling along the conduits of life this past week, with demands from work shifting gears from simmer to boil while an unwelcome return of a sore throat and fever left me feeling less than smugly equipped.
I thus finished Monsignor Quixote today and was charmed again by Mr. Greene. This is perhaps one more reason to buy the three volumes of biography by Norma Sherry. My reading of The Kindly Ones has been tempered by the brush fire of controversy provoked by its polemical camps of reviewers. I am at page 200 in the Littell and for the prsent, will likely continue with my Scandinavian side route, the present course being The Conqueror by Jan Kjaerstad.
My copy of Les Miserables featured in my dream last night, so was Omar Epps in his House role, Foreman, though the links have vanished in the wakeful hours of internal coughing and outdoor bleakness. i have thought about Jorge Semprum quite often as of late. It could prove to be The Kindly Ones and other thoughts concerning survivor literature. I viewed a bland-to-dreadful documentary about Pynchon the other night. If only its ranks had been more erudite than the potty souls who find the profile of Slothrop on potato crisps.
I thus finished Monsignor Quixote today and was charmed again by Mr. Greene. This is perhaps one more reason to buy the three volumes of biography by Norma Sherry. My reading of The Kindly Ones has been tempered by the brush fire of controversy provoked by its polemical camps of reviewers. I am at page 200 in the Littell and for the prsent, will likely continue with my Scandinavian side route, the present course being The Conqueror by Jan Kjaerstad.
My copy of Les Miserables featured in my dream last night, so was Omar Epps in his House role, Foreman, though the links have vanished in the wakeful hours of internal coughing and outdoor bleakness. i have thought about Jorge Semprum quite often as of late. It could prove to be The Kindly Ones and other thoughts concerning survivor literature. I viewed a bland-to-dreadful documentary about Pynchon the other night. If only its ranks had been more erudite than the potty souls who find the profile of Slothrop on potato crisps.
posted by jon faith at
5:01 PM
3 Comments:
As always; when do you find time for much scanning of print? Lovin' the Alfred Doblin, though it was a charm getting in da flow.
My body's organs are working overtime in re-volt of the "Special Liver Olympics 2009" that are taking place near Plaza Drive in NA. They feel left out after so much attention has been paid to you know who; "Mister Liver" himself. Wow, how could this have happened.
With the news of the strange happening daily in the world, how could this have happened without the major networks not catching hold of this story.
You go liver!!
I likewise have been blanketed with fielding calls and notes from the spleen and myriad minor glands about the dearth of competitive outlays. Our silence is only criminal.
Pancreas
Let us all sing the praises of the pancreas,
It has never been an organ of distinction --
Though it functions day by day,
In a most convenient way,
It has never had the glory that the liver gets.
Let us all raise our glasses to the pancreas,
Just secretin’ alkaline digestive juices,
Into the intestine
Just to neutralize the stomach acid
That could be remaining on the food
Hey pancreas, hey pancreas,
You are my favorite organ,
Hey pancreas, hey pancreas,
I can’t think of anything that rhymes with organ…
Pumpin’ out from the lovely Isles of Langerhans
Comes the insulin that regulates the sugar in the blood
And that’s why so high I rank it
And I’ll drop a note to thank it
May you never have a cranky pancreas!
Hey pancreas, hey pancreas, have a nice day!
Heywood Banks
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