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Natch. Couldn't do more, or less, if I was on fire. Might not even notice. Nothing big or small, just how it is for the moment.
Leg has been hounddogging it, as if fleas were an issue. It isn't fleas. Just an ear infarction. Listen, learn, or head on out unfulfilled for all I care. *wink*
More rockabilly while I think on some things. Angel she might be, but devil too.
Yeah, same to ya.
Finally, an oldie but a goody. They might all have some years on them, but this one has some years on my site and ears. The others are new to me. Or... in a new way.
As I've said a thousand times, you won't find a single tat on my too. Not on the outside. But they are there. I suspect there is much more to it all. How do you think dragons are born? Start from the bottom and eat their way to the stars.
Good night, again, maybe, I hope.
Kipling tells us that if we can fill the unforgiving minute with sixty seconds of distance run, then ours will be the Earth and everything in it.
ReplyDeleteKipling, of course, presumes that everybody would want the world.
Speaking personally, I've got my own space to attend to, thank you very much.
IF, if you think about it, is an opportunity with a twist. I'll take Kipling. Many poets are of a worldly nature, often coming from the lower ranks... starting or finishing their through the choice or call of their profession... and as poets poverty is more common than else so that a want has grown in any case, often, at the very least when compared to other pursuits. Plus, their words are quite metaphoric, for they speak to the common quite often, whose hand, head, and hunger lie daily in want. So some... interpretation is required, much as with singers of today. Even if their want has been quenched, the hunger, it seems, remains. And yet I have done some of these things quite plainly.
ReplyDelete"If you can force your heart, and nerve, and sinew; to serve your turn long after they are gone; and so hold on where there is nothing in you; except the will which says to them hold on..." Did that lead to me owning the world? Not our world, perhaps, but my world most certainly, even if the world denies me medication to my death, I am my own through God. Well, and this world isn't the only, or last, world. I think to lose this world, in a fleshy way, but willingly, as Christ did, for the right reasons, is a salvation in and of itself and will lead to owning the world that will come. An inheritance, even for a prodigal son who spent his portion already.
Still, interpretation is required, faith is needed, the divinity of God, Christ, and the Holy Spirit must be assumed, and all... In flat earthly tones, of course, you cannot be debated. I just tend to believe there is more there. Poets aren't really for here or now, unless they are terribly lost. Even they, or their works, can be salvaged.