864. You’re welcome to disagree

864rudbeckia

After a while, ones thoughts become meaningless; sort of like a rudbeckia scampering down a dark alleyway. It’s like a storm-tossed piece of Chippendale furniture forever gathering dust on the sky-walk of life. Nothing makes sense, but it seems logical. It’s like there’s something to understand when there isn’t nothing to understand. You understand?

It’s like a blade of grass standing dew-driven to receive the hopping blackbird that’s looking for its morning song; a lyrical melody plaintively resembling a lamb cavorting in fields of strawberries.

And why? one must needs ask. Why? Why in all the cloud of forever-knowingness does the mist of meaning hang forever o’er the poetic function of adjectival innuendo? Why?

And finally, I’d just like to say…

That’s what I think. You’re welcome to disagree.

38 thoughts on “864. You’re welcome to disagree

  1. Cynthia Jobin

    I don’t disagree. As to why? Part of the answer is in the loveliness of what you have written here…as to the full (I don’t like the word “meaningful”) answer….only Saints Felicity and Perpetua know for sure.

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          1. Cynthia Jobin

            I agree, it sounds beautiful, and enjoyed listening to this—thank you! Of course I looked up the poem he is singing, by Yuri Starostin. Here’s the refrain:

            “Coachman, do not rush the horses!
            I have nowhere to hurry anymore,
            I have no one to love anymore,
            Coachman, do not rush the horses! ”

            I also don’t speak or understand Russian but have several friends who do, so I know a few things like “hello”, “goodbye”, “thank you.” I remember from the book “A Clockwork Orange” how the hoodlums took the Russian word “horosho” meaning “nice” or “beautiful” and turned it into “horror show”…

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              1. Cynthia Jobin

                My rudbeckia have nothing in common with tumbleweed…..It’s pretty ghastly, the film clips I saw yesterday on TV about the tumbleweed in Australia, deep as January snow in Quebec, and they’re calling it “the hairy panic”! How do you shovel–move, discard–hairy panic?

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  2. Susanne

    It freaks me out when our posts thoughts occasionally collide. Yours: “It’s like a storm-tossed piece of Chippendale furniture forever gathering dust on the sky-walk of life.” Mine: “wobbly as a New Year’s Eve sky table top”. As to why? Because, in the words of our PM, it’s 2015. (Out of context of course, but completely applicable.) And, I might add, I love the potential uses of dew-driven. ie. What in the name of dew-driven blades of grass do you mean? If you know what I mean. You know? OML – oh my lord – this is a brilliant piece of parody. My newest favourite! Holy scampering rudbeckia!

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