Quaesivi (Piers)

Figliolino,
° While it’s true that you’ve landed in high cotton, and higher to come, it must be acknowledged that the field itself lies so very low that tidewater laps its very edge.
° So you’d better just slip inside Sant’ Ephaistiano while nobody’s looking--you know how intolerant infidels are--and celebrate the Dormition of la Guadalupe. The Tournemire would do just fine . . . .
° And then why not hire Joel (“ah Joel”--yes, Tex Tyler was entertaining at Trattoria Coloreproibito the other night, no Cowboy in sight) to set the proper Lectio?

In omnibus requiem quaesivi . . . .
Qui creavit me, requievit in tabernaculo meo . . . .

((Nota bene: here’s the entire dispute between Rome and the da Vinci Codesque Gnostics. They claimed that Σοφια, having emanated from God, gave Virgin birth to the deficient tribal god (JahwehSabaoth) of the Jews. While we Americans affirm with Rome that Σοφια, aka la Guadalupe, gave birth to the allsufficient Sun.))

Quasi cedrus exaltata sum in Libano,
et quasi cypressus in monte Sion.
Quasi palma exaltata sum in Cades,
et quasi plantatio rosae in Jericho.
Quasi oliva speciosa in campis,
et quasi platanus exaltata sum juxta aquam in plateis.
Sicut cinnamomum, et balsamum aromatizans odorem dedi;
quasi myrrha electa dedi suavitatem odoris.

Joel nothing--any cottonpicker in any field in the world could set those words to fragrant musick.

§

° Though yes, certainly Joel. For if you use the infidels’ money to pay for a platinum setting, how sweet that would be.
° Not at all as our rulers use our own tax money to pay for cheating us at home and for murdering babies in Libano and points East.

° Picking big green worms off the flowering tobacco, Giac.

Rip-oso

Fool and Juggler--in riposo.

° And not on account of Ferragosto.
° Megalomane, my 2 year old HP thoroughbred (fast and big and strong), is in R(equiescat) I(n) P(ace)-oso. Yes, he lost his thread and died.
° At least, Microsoft said he lost his thread. Don’t see how, I know I don’t have it.
° And Symantec swears a Trojan silkworm didn’t devour his thread; but you know what the fake Lorelei Lee said to the French judge, “But your Honour, I never swear.”)
° And HP has moved to India, and wisely and timeously so.

° So, Megalomane died. And the computer geek resurrected him, at the cost of all my recent files.
° And I spent a day restoring all the files and programs and settings.
° And then he died again.
° So I resurrected him by appealing to the Recovery Wizard that dwells across the Great Partition. And just before Megalomane dies again, I did think I would post this summary notice.

° As we prepare to celebrate the great Summer Festival of la Guadalupe, we find that my beloved Piers is in high cotton, with every expectation of next year’s crop being even higher. So there’s my retirement all provided for.
° We find my little gypsy Coz hoeing that very long row called wedded bliss.
° We find the little Lad pursuing his B.A. in Art, minor in Starvation. And yet I do not think he will starve.
° We find Sandy mired down in the molasses of wealth.
° We find Lettye bleeding from her heart like the Pelican, niente da fare.
° We find Julja having done the one thing the French do better than be Rational, but I’m too polite to call its name.
° And Leggero is off to Charleston, for good, in senso doppio.

° Megalomane’s last movie, before he began to make those clicketyclack sounds of incipient cybermadness, was Room with a View.

Truth! Beauty! Love!

If there is Truth, we hominids are too mentally deficient to apprehend it; if there is Beauty, it lies in the eye of the beholder; and if there is Love, it’s worthless in comparison with Lust, with Liking, or with Parental Duty.

° My most recent movie, that made me cry and salt up the inside of my glasses, was Gone with the Wind, on the arthouse bigscreen. For I’m a lot like Scarlett, all Southerners are, even Tonio Scalia. And I wasn’t crying at the end, because I know Scarlett got what she wanted and what she needed and what she was capable of appreciating.
° Namely, she got a Cat and its Kitten to rear (Ashley and Beau), she got Tara (and the money to maintain it), she got a hobby (eating beignets and costillas), and she got rid of that codpiece of a Rhett.
° Who went off to Charleston, for good.--Giac, lo Sciocco di foolandjuggler