mjj (flemmings) wrote,

My head is bloody but unbowed

1. The thing about last week's heat is that it was erratic-- every other day, for no discernible reason. Mon Weds Fri infernos; Tues and Thurs pleasantly seasonable, and in the latter case cloudy too, so the kids went out without hats. And now we're set for a moderate week. More rain would be appreciated. Though across-the-street neighbour, a porch-sitting 91, says people aren't watering their lawns this year, and ascribes it to the city having replaced all the water meters last year. Do not see the logic myself, but there may be something in it.

2. I have a new philodendron plant! Nobody sells philodendrons-- the last one I saw was four years ago, and someone else nabbed it before I could buy. This one is young and green and bunchy. I like philodendra because they're the one plant I can't kill. Still have a descendant of my first, from 1985, long and stringy and stretching towards the sun in my dining room, but alive. Need to find exactly how much sun these guys need, because it always seems either too much or too little.

3. Finally finished Happy Beaver. Was hoping there'd be at least a nod to the fact that the focus of all the hoo-ha wasn't worth the trouble-- because jeez, even Happy himself implies the man was a sociopath-- but no. A lot of people are dead and no one has learned anything. Back to Whispers Underground, now it's cool enough that I can almost follow the plot, the machinations, and who is where doing what. Railway cuttings mid-city are not something I can easily envisage at the best of times.

4. Back also to the new 100 Demons, which probably requires looking at the old one, because I don't remember Kai vanishing again. Or at least, I thought he came back.

5. Oh look! A Wallace Stevens poem that actually makes sense! (Thank you, First Known When Lost.) Even if I think he *did* steal some of it from the Book of Odes:

The Brave Man

The sun, that brave man,
Comes through boughs that lie in wait,
That brave man.

Green and gloomy eyes
In dark forms of the grass
Run away.

The good stars,
Pale helms and spiky spurs,
Run away.

Fears of my bed,
Fears of life and fears of death,
Run away.

That brave man comes up
From below and walks without meditation,
That brave man.

Wallace Stevens, Ideas of Order (1936).
Tags: 100demons, place, reading_12, rl_12, verse

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