I call today a disaster
She calls it December the 3rd
Call it what you will, I’m heartbroken still
Words are just words
I haven’t looked up a tracklisting, but I probably have most of the songs. Still, this is likely my most anticipated musical experience of January, despite the fact that both Bruce Springsteen and Against Me! have new albums coming out.
I don’t normally read modern literature. It’s not that I’m a snob, but my personal experience has not been pleasant, not to mention the fact that the classics more often than not come at a cheaper price.
I first read Gaiman when I was twenty-two, I think. It was Stardust, and I adored it. I’ve considered myself a fan ever since, but have put off reading anything else by him. That all changed a couple of days ago when I saw this at Powell’s and thought it would be right up my wife’s alley (I usually pick up something for her when I go book shopping). I leafed through it and found myself intrigued and sat down to read about half of it that day. Because of work and the holiday, I did not finish it as soon as I had planned, but once I did, I added all of Gaiman’s books to my Amazon wish list. This was simply one of the best fairy tales I’ve read in a long time. I won’t go into details because my wife follows me, and I don’t want to spoil anything for her. I will say that the Hempstocks were the perfect encapsulation of the faerie concept. Just fantastic. Now I need a copy of my own.
Adults follow paths. Children explore. Adults are content to walk the same way, hundreds of times, or thousands; perhaps it never occurs to adults to step off the paths, to creep beneath rhododendrons, to find the spaces between fences.
Neil Gaiman, The Ocean at the End of the Lane
'One struggle more,' and I am free
From pangs that rend my heart in twain;
One last sigh to love and thee,
Then back to busy life again.
It suits me well to mingle now
With things that never pleased before:
Though every joy is fled below,
What future grief can touch me more?
Then bring me wine, the banquet bring;
Man was not form’d to live alone:
I’ll be that light, unmeaning thing
That smiles with all, and weeps with none.
It was not thus in days more dear,
It never would have been, but thou
Hast fled, and left me lonely here;
Thou ‘rt nothing, —all are nothing now.
Lord Byron, from ‘One Struggle More’
…no one has ever confided his pain, his desire, his dream to the sea in vain.
Gabriele D’Annunzio, Pleasure
Translated by Lara Gochin Raffaelli