Lola:-
You know more about practical matters in this field than I do.
Is it common to sit in an isolated cell and rant on and on about nothing in particular and without any reference to anything or anybody.I have heard of something called speaking in tongues but I have never been sure what it referred to.
I hope you don't think I have let go of your hand.
Speaking in tongues is a ritual carried out by Penecostals. Do you have them in England?
Lola:-
We had one most of last week.
Mt Athos I mean.
In the book by Vitz there is quite a bit about Freud and the feast of Pentacost.It sounds as if you have to pay for something five times over.I'll come back to Vitz soon.I don't forget anything.Not if it is significant.I found something I think you will like in an excerpt from Miller's Parisian lady friend Colette.
It isn't to hand but I'll fix that.It related to your beautiful image of loneliness which beat my list out of sight.Perhaps tomorrow but I am busy.Money,money money.
Lola:-
What a clunker I am.Colette indeed.My excuse is too much rushfastagogo.It was,of course Anais Nin.
I'll get the passage out soon.
A QUIZ QUESTION-
Who did Nietzsche say was "the freest of all free spirits?
As promised.
"I was so exulted by the idea of eating Jesus's flesh and drinking His blood that I couldn't swallow the Host well,and I dreaded harming it.On my knees.lost to my surroundings,eyes closed,I visualized Christ descending into my heart so realistically(I was a realist then!) that I could see Him walking down the stairs and entering the room of my heart like a sacred visitor.The state of this room was a subject of great preoccupation for me.I fancied that if I had not been good,this room would appear ugly in the eyes of Christ;I fancied He would see as soon as He entered whether it was clear,empty,luminous,or cluttered,dark,chaotic.At that age,nine,ten,eleven,I believe I approximated sainthood.And then,at sixteen,resentful of controls,disillusioned with a God who had not granted my prayers(the return of my father),who performed no miracles,who left me fatherless and in a strange country,I rejected all Catholicism with exaggeration.
The Diary of Anais Nin.
Quoted in Mailer's book about Miller:
Genius and Lust.
This is what Mailer used to introduce the quote-
"Through his eyes,(Miller's),there must have been a fascinating and maddening calm at the civilized center of everything Anais Nin did.It must have been a goad that she would not believe altogether in men like himself who wanted to go out and wrestle with the gods.Centuries of acquired proportion lived in her restraint.She had had a Catholic childhood after all calculated to raise her by slow stages from the XIVth century to the present."
spendius wrote:As promised.
"I was so exulted by the idea of eating Jesus's flesh and drinking His blood that I couldn't swallow the Host well,and I dreaded harming it.On my knees.lost to my surroundings,eyes closed,I visualized Christ descending into my heart so realistically(I was a realist then!) that I could see Him walking down the stairs and entering the room of my heart like a sacred visitor.The state of this room was a subject of great preoccupation for me.I fancied that if I had not been good,this room would appear ugly in the eyes of Christ;I fancied He would see as soon as He entered whether it was clear,empty,luminous,or cluttered,dark,chaotic.At that age,nine,ten,eleven,I believe I approximated sainthood.And then,at sixteen,resentful of controls,disillusioned with a God who had not granted my prayers(the return of my father),who performed no miracles,who left me fatherless and in a strange country,I rejected all Catholicism with exaggeration.
The Diary of Anais Nin.
Quoted in Mailer's book about Miller:
Genius and Lust.
This is what Mailer used to introduce the quote-
"Through his eyes,(Miller's),there must have been a fascinating and maddening calm at the civilized center of everything Anais Nin did.It must have been a goad that she would not believe altogether in men like himself who wanted to go out and wrestle with the gods.Centuries of acquired proportion lived in her restraint.She had had a Catholic childhood after all calculated to raise her by slow stages from the XIVth century to the present."
Very interesting, Spendi.........but I've never had this type of experience in relation to the concept of God. I've always been annoyed by the idea that there would be some being that could create me and tell me how I should behave. I've never believed. And it wasn't the loss of my father that convinced me. I already didn't believe. To me, it just doesn't make any sense.
Hi Lola:-
Are you back?
I didn't say you had.I thought it a nice piece of writing that you might like.I try to please you as you know.I wasn't getting at you.I'm not trying to convert you.I agree with you.But you are a little intolerant of those who need that stuff.I know they use it to do things neither of us like but it is the way of the world.If it rendered dear Anais "good" well that's a benefit.She might have been bad otherwise and that wouldn't have been useful given her position and skill.We couldn't handle all the ladies being like you now could we?The joint would go ape.135 million Lolas?!$$$$$.Us poor men would be frazzle fried to skinny black toast.You wouldn't like that would you.They are not all as intelligent as you.
Lola:-
Both those are very nice indeed.They really are.I will read them a few times.I don't read enough poetry.
Tie me to the mast boyos and stop up my ears-these Sirens my despair they plot/Come Goddess save me quickly now/Show me to a vaguer spot.
spendius wrote:Lola:-
Both those are very nice indeed.They really are.I will read them a few times.I don't read enough poetry.
Tie me to the mast boyos and stop up my ears-these Sirens my despair they plot/Come Goddess save me quickly now/Show me to a vaguer spot.
You thought those lines of mused idealogism to be poetry Spendius?
What dost thou fear?
Mathos may be slain,
Pan is not here,
And will not come again.
No horned Faun
Treads down the yellow leas,
No God at dawn
Steals through the olive trees.
Mathos may be dead,
But he will be e'er divine
Those little red
Rose petalled lips of thine.
On the high hill
No ivory dryads play,
Silver and still
Sinks the autumn sad day.
Mathos may laugh
At least a smile.
The flying horse leads by a mile
The antler of Pan the cloven hoof.
He may be standing,
On Spendius's roof.
Well well well, Mathos.........sooo you haven't run away after all. You've just been lurking in the shadow..............in your crimson libido speedo like some whacko Romeo........or is it Juliet?
Welcome here, but watch where you're puttin those hooves, busta.
MG.........MG! Where oh where are you when we need you?
Lola:-
No.I didn't think of my lines as poetry.Rather a rhythmical pattern of melifluous prose which came fully formed into my poor little noggin of a sudden
in response to your sweet,irresistable song(s).
This is poetry-
"Deep down--concealed within my soul,
That light lies hid from men,
Yet glows unquenched--though shadows roll,
Its gentle ray can not control--
About the sullen den.
Was I not vexed,in these gloomy ways
To walk unlit so long?
Around me,wretches uttering praise,
Or howling o'er their hopless days,
And each with Frenzy's tongue--
Guess who.And no Googling.I didn't.
Spendius:-
Without Google, I am lost.
Just a guess..........Emily Bronte?
Lola:-
That's terrible.Do you mean that all this wit,wisdom and wampum you so graciously display is just Googled up.Oh-my innocence.And I thought you were the most intelligent and erudite lady I have come across in yonkey's dears and now you tell me that your entire repetoire is nothing but a skilful deployment of your tender fingertips.
Who do you think is ahead in Round 2?
Lola:-
There you go.Restored my faith.As quick as a flash of lightning.
no, it's poetic licence
f'm Iast.........doesn't roll off the tongue like the other one.
While I don't always use Google, for those many subjects about which I am underinformed, I do.
It's a great way to be edified, guided and directed, as I am by my friends spendius, bernie and georgeob.
