These blustery April days, almost at an end. From the baking sunshine (and the lowering of tops, and raising of hem-lines), to the rainbows in the distance as the rain recedes.
Is this the Region, this the Soil, the Clime,
Said then the lost Arch-Angel, this the seat
That we must change for Heav’n, this mournful gloom
For that celestial light? Be it so, since he
Who now is Sovran can dispose and bid
What shall be right: fardest from him is best
Whom reason hath equald, force hath made supream
Above his equals. Farewel happy Fields
Where Joy for ever dwells: Hail horrours, hail
Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell
Receive thy new Possessor: One who brings
A mind not to be chang’d by Place or Time.
The mind is its own place, and in it self
Can make a Heav’n of Hell, a Hell of Heav’n.
I do like red jeans, and the eye gets older as I get older. There are a few new stories, one of which shall have to wait until I mention it to Cassandra (it happened last week, while walking mental puppy dog, but we had visitors, so I never got round to it), the other while I was wandering around town, not a bit spaced at having been up since 3am that day.
Sometimes it is the teeshirt I wear, sometimes it is as I interject when people are spreading mistruths, sometimes it is as I speak without thinking. But really, why do all the nutjobs end up engaging with me? Cassandra is a calming influence, and the very picture of middleclass respectability, so it happens less when she is around.
I have also started to, when asked for my name, telling people it is Stray. And give out my email address @fundingterrorism.com. Because you know, as much as I do, that it makes sense.
My flickr stream passed 100k views, which impresses me muchly. Sure, it has taken, oh, four years to do so, but I don’t care. I get about 50 views a day, so wasn’t expecting to pass the 100k mark until mid-May, but a huge spike sorted that out. (The spike is due to the Fowlmere set, which while flattering, was slightly perplexing.)
But who has the time?
What matter where, if I be still the same,
And what I should be, all but less then he
Whom Thunder hath made greater? Here at least
We shall be free; th’ Almighty hath not built
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:
Here we may reign secure, and in my choyce
To reign is worth ambition though in Hell:
Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heav’n.
But wherefore let we then our faithful friends,
Th’ associates and copartners of our loss
Lye thus astonisht on th’ oblivious Pool,
And call them not to share with us their part
In this unhappy Mansion, or once more
With rallied Arms to try what may be yet
Regaind in Heav’n, or what more lost in Hell?
