We -- that's Roufa and Mimi -- have reached an age where we can finally enjoy our being intelligent. We can't complain. There was some trouble coming to terms with it during the Age of Ignorance, but no more. For one, it's great to hear our teenage nephew say he's proud to have “two professors” in his family. (We are not professors.) When he had to interview someone important for school and realized that athletes, singers, actors and actresses were not very reachable, he came to us. We explained nuclear physics to him in two neat paragraphs, made him happy and his teacher very impressed. This is what we are intelligent for.
No matter what your IQ, you will not make sense of life and death and love and evil in a million words. Maybe in a few of them. If you are any lucky, you will produce the Purest Nugget of Green. Sell it to the locals for Gold. Tomorrow you may die. Your words still lingering to spook your family and friends, like a vacant pair of slippers next to your bed; an orphaned package of cigarettes, dirty laundry – will they wash them?
While we are writing this, the white noise of the Internet is consuming itself, a multiverse of flaming lips bellow at the firmament:
Fire! I am fire! I am on fire!
A million babies push their way out to the world, girls and women become mothers, mothers become mothers again, mothers lose their children, mothers reject their children, childless mothers stall in confusion, their cradles still unfilled. A nun is dead.
Someone out there is dealing his world for some change. And would you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?
Of course you would.
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We are not going to die tomorrow. What are the chances anyway. Sven will sting us a million times, on many days to come. We will buy a French Bulldog, preferably black with a white stripe across the muzzle. We will give her a funny name.
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The first reader to guess right the names of everybody famous or rather famous that we have quoted in this post wins a FREE! subscription to our blog. And a FREE! visit from us.
5 comments:
Thanks to everyone who checked and in particular those who joined the discussion
http://www.blogcatalog.com/discuss/entry/every-poet-is-a-thief-spot-the-poet
The competition is still open! End of next week or a little later we will publish answers here, as a comment. Meanwhile, there is a little tip in the next post.
Have fun!
Ho! I like the idea of our words lingering after us like a pair of vacant slippers when we are gone. Though in our house, they are more likely tobe floating in the air with the spare dog hair :)
And what about those funny toys lurking under the couch... But hey, all pets go to heaven, where they can play with the humans' missing socks!
Ok, here are the ANSWERS! Our sources in odrer of appearance:
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds sang about "those sinister dinner deals", in: The Mercy Seat
U2 stole and sang: (she moves in) Mysterious Ways
Milan Kundera has elaborated repeatedly on the Age of Ignorance.
Lord Percy, company of Blackadder, hoped to produce gold in one afternoon; he produced the Purest Nugget of Green.
Don De Lillo wrote a book called White Noise
There is a group called The Flaming Lips
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds sang "I bellowed at the firmament" in Papa won't leave you, Henry
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds sang "babe, I'm on fire" in Babe, I'm on Fire.
Leonard Cohen sang "for the mother in confusion, her cradle still unfilled" in Heart With No Companion
Pink Floyd sang "and would you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?" in Wish You Were Here
Alanis Morissette sang "of course you are" in Are You Still Mad
We didn't steal that much, did we.
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The million dollar question - we don't know the answer: there's a painting (belonging to a doublet of paintings), contemporary art, where the phrase "a nun is dead" or "a nun has died" is written. We admired the painting at an exhibition several years ago. We'd love to know the name of the artist. We seem to remember it was a female name, but we're not sure. All the googles in the world could not help us.
Oops, we forgot: the confetti that illustrates the post is by Kurt Vonnegut - just click on it.
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