Diplomatically transformed.
As I watch’d the ploughman ploughing,
posted by Crawdad @ 9:28 PM
4 comments
From Alizarin: "Most people now know him for his immortal baritone solo in "Naan, the Musical," but I first met Charles under very different circumstances, when he was the first white man to infiltrate the harems of Ottoman Istanbul. He did this through a daring combination of fluent Arabic, nerves of steel, and a surprisingly misleading silk two-piece. Opening the wrong door in the wrong palace, I was ten seconds away from causing an international incident when he approached me, silently took my hand, and led me to a saferoom he called "The Oubliette." Four bottles of Glenlivet later, we were fast friends. Since then, we have mapped the Nile, summited Kilimanjaro, and dove in Barbados for Blackbeard's treasure. He's the man you want piloting your charter vessel; he can tell you if that painting is really a Rembrandt, he can argue your case at the Old Bailey, and he can fend off flesh-eating monkeys while you get the engine started."
4 Comments:
Am I the only one who doesn't usually see death as the harvest according?
Also, I like the idea of life as the tillage.
I didn't realize until just now that I might also have been attracted to this poem because it's about making food. Good, living, raw food, of course. (And pizza. Life is tilling the pizza fields.)
Are you hallucinating, Charles?
I like the pink ones!
Drinka drinka drinka... raw foods pretty...
Yes, food related hallucinations were my first thought, about you reading the poem that is.
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