Aviary and I are seated at 'our' table and she's saying 'life's so fun' and tapping away on her 'phone (I derive horrible pleasure from that subtle abbreviative indication: forgive me!) - now she's studying or fiddling with her A.M. big hair... the Whiting has passed among us like the wind of the Spirit and blessed us with a breakfast beneficence and we must now unravel the gold of the secret policeman's gospel into the metalwork of wisdom...
Hoist by my own guitar: the library yesterday - the scene, computer user in residence is quietly tapping
away at the Sibelius programme on the first floor in his secret HQ (Buck Pal Rd), and zap! the power goes down for some mysterious guitar-resting-on-the-plug reason... the first time I've fallen prey to the curse of the disappearing data-bytes: is there a home, an after cyber-space life where these translocated works exist in sunny, upland, elysian Microsoft fields, where Steve Jobs plucketh the harp and Bill's Gates are forever open to the blessed and elect...? Oh! yes, one other small occasion of late: the several hundred telephone numbers locked in Blackberry curve purgatory on my dining table.
"Lift up your head, oh ye Bill Gates
and be ye lifted up, ye everlasting doors
and the King of Microsoft comes in..."
I don't know whether I may have mentioned my suspicion that various writings in the final book of the bible, about "giving life to the image of the beast" may have something to do with Artificial Intelligence... presumably, if Apple corp. are involved and still churning out their produits at some future date unknown to all mortal men, it would be called, in hideous parody...
'i-am...'
Isn't there something about the false prophet causing men 'to worship the image of the beast...'???
Anyhow, as I tap away on my Apple (garden of Esca) that all seems dim and distant.
Not to worry you of course!
Uncle M and Aunty B are probably in Iceland at ze moment, due to arrive Nodnol Sunday morning: my heart skipped a beat when I overheard the words "did you hear about the volcano?" as I went to the bus stop after teaching yesterday... knowing dear Uncle M's propensity for natural disasters I would have been unsurprised if something with a name from Hell's dictionary had erupted all over his flight plans, vis. Los Angeles earthquakes and Florida hurricanes and oil slicks...
Good meeting with Rev D.I. from HTCC yesterafter: he's requested two poems for next Saturday's singalong at the Sun.
'They had lamb at the first Christmas
Lamb tender and yet unslaughtered
and greeted by parsnip kings with all the trimmings.
Potato-headed innkeepers said they had no room for them,
the dining mother and father, feeding as we all must feed,
on joy and love and peace between the three...'
He liked the Dove on the Cradle which I also sang for Jane Susle and Mum, Dad, Ran, Jack n Bumble yestereve. They also managed a slice of the Turkey Messiah which was a bit undercooked although should be better when with a strange crowd...
Aviary is still writing away and I've got to get off to my secret Library HQ in Victoria Buck Pal Rd, so I'll leave it there...
Who is good for praying about colds (esbeshially when you've a concert in three days time!!!)?
"I can do everything through him who gives me strength..." even answer the phone...
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