Opinion 134: Escape!

I'm in the mood to throw away these weary books and, abandoning class, read nothing but Homer and Tolkien.

Opinion 133: Again!

Lulled into a stagnant and servile stupidity!

Opinion 132

Reading Marx is fun until you realize he's an economist.

Opinion 131

One wonders if not having any enemies is the sign of an extremely mishandled life.

Opinion 130: drink

He had, furthermore, gone some eight days without whiskey. Each moment brought a different shade of heartache, a different sense of betrayal.

Opinion 129: on his difficulties

Ah, how he pined for a cigarette. It wasn't nearly so bad when he was with reputable company, but when he was among thieves and wretches, or when he was by himself (the most disreputable of all companions, to be sure), his mind and heart felt like lonely pilgrims headed towards a dreary pit of gray. Ah, clean lungs and money in pocket...you are but slight prizes; you are small consolation for such great loss!

Opinion 128: (upon receiving a spiritual vision and the authority to teach [and hand-fire, of course])

You're pretty much going to be the same damn person you are now until the day you die. Improvements, if they come at all, will come scarcely and with little satisfaction. This is a pessimism, yes, but a healthy pessimism if it causes you to consider all the more the invincible mercy of God.

Opinion 127

He watched his terrible, terrible bourbon decrease. He followed its progress with that of the waning calendar. No new nectar could be afforded until December had left him to January's embrace. Another three ounces, another day. When he slowed down his indulgence time itself slowed down, a tortured dream, a Dantean foil.

It was really nothing short of pathetic, seeing that a bottle of god-forsaken OLD HEAVEN HILL only costs $9.99 (well, and your soul and your sense of taste).

Opinion 126: My daughter the Muse

Watching my baby lately it's become clear to me that it is really quite difficult to pick up and place in your view the very thing on which you are sitting. This lesson has, I think, endless ramifications in the intellectual sphere.

Opinion 125: Nicholson's Burden

Seems I've been duped (by the wonderful man pictured above) into writing my senior paper on some aspect or another of Gregory Nazianzus' autobiographical poetry. I've picked up Father McGuckin's fine biography of Gregory once more, finding again this lovely poem (a poem, by the way, which is inexplicably double-spaced, in spite of my best efforts):

"St Gregory Nazianzen"

Of all the ancients,

You I think I could live with,

(some of the time)

comfortable in you

like an old coat

sagged and fraying in the back,

(its pockets drooping with important nothings

like string, an manuscripts of poems)

perfect for watching you off your guard,

rambling round your country garden,

planting roses, not turnips,

contrary to the manual

for a sensible monk;

master of the maybe;

anxious they might take you up all wrong;

shaking your first at the Emperor,

(once he had turned the corner

out of sight);

every foray into speech

a costed regret.

Your heart was like a spider's silk

swingling wildly at the slighest breeze,

too tender for this tumbling world

of mountebanks, and quacks, and gobs,

but tuned to hear the distant voices

of the singing stars

and marvel at the mercy of it all

-John McGuckin

1996

Opinion 124: mea culpa

Really a cruel post for Christmas (opinion 123). I apologize to all the good-natured spirits who rightfully took umbrage at my assualt. Truly, there are only two topics worthy of derision on the day of the Lord's birth: Satan and Herod. Yet they are not so easy as targets, being that they don't put on contemporary worship services come Christmas eve. Nor do they wear big beige sweaters.

Why do I get the sense in so many large American conservative church services that, given the right circumstances and some sort of get-out-of-jail-free card, the singing and hand-raising could very easily and quite quickly turn into an orgy?

But I digress...

Opinion 123:Traditions

Christmas Eve services at the fam's e-free church: a yearly exercise in aesthetic humiliation.