March 2, 2009 by · 1 Comment
Filed under: Art 

For the first time since 2002, I actually have tickets to an upcoming concert! And it’s a doozie! Leonard Cohen in Seattle, April 23rd! yay! I’m going with my friend Brad, who is the biggest Leonard Cohen fan I know besides myself.

This will be a once-in-a-lifetime amazing concert, I just know it. I’ve idolized Leonard Cohen for so long. His outlook, his career, his gift with the written word, his love of poetry. He truly agonizes over choosing just the right words when expressing a thought. Not just for their meaning, but for their sound – the aesthetic beauty of the words themselves. And not only does it show in his work, but it impresses me so much as an avid appreciator of well-crafted prose and poetry.

Here is a Review of Leonard Cohen I wrote a couple of years ago that pretty much sums it all up.

Oh, and this: I’M SO EXCITED! YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Conqueror Worm by Edgar Allan Poe

October 17, 2008 by · Leave a Comment
Filed under: Uncategorized 

I love to post this near Hallowe’en:

     Lo! ’tis a gala night
       Within the lonesome latter years!
     An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
       In veils, and drowned in tears,
     Sit in a theatre, to see
       A play of hopes and fears,
     While the orchestra breathes fitfully
       The music of the spheres.
     Mimes, in the form of God on high,
       Mutter and mumble low,
     And hither and thither fly-
       Mere puppets they, who come and go
     At bidding of vast formless things
       That shift the scenery to and fro,
     Flapping from out their Condor wings
       Invisible Woe!

     That motley drama-oh, be sure
       It shall not be forgot!
     With its Phantom chased for evermore,
       By a crowd that seize it not,
     Through a circle that ever returneth in
       To the self-same spot,
     And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
       And Horror the soul of the plot.
     But see, amid the mimic rout
       A crawling shape intrude!
     A blood-red thing that writhes from out
        The scenic solitude!
     It writhes!-it writhes!-with mortal pangs
       The mimes become its food,
     And the angels sob at vermin fangs
       In human gore imbued.
     Out-out are the lights-out all!
       And, over each quivering form,
     The curtain, a funeral pall,
       Comes down with the rush of a storm,
     And the angels, all pallid and wan,
       Uprising, unveiling, affirm
     That the play is the tragedy “Man,”
       And its hero the Conqueror Worm.
                     – EDGAR ALLAN POE –

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