Tuesday, January 26, 2010

whitman- song of myself

I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

The last scud of day holds back for me,
It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow'd wilds,
It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.

Change is afoot. even if not today, soon. From this multitude of misunderstandings; wrongdoings; joys that turn into recriminations; sadnesses blown away by the wind and music, I must learn not to get caught up in the laundry cycle of life. Life cannot be prosaic; the conclusion will not suck the way vaccuum cleaners inevitably do. The details, like the icing on the cake, I will inscribe somewhere else. Here I will only mythologize the things that for all intents and purposes, might never have been.

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