I’ve been feeling slightly under the weather, recently. The thunderstorm isn’t helping. I hope it clears up and so does my head.
It’s been good to watch the Shavian wiki grow to 14,000 words. I’m not sure what to do with it now. I have considered putting in filters so you can see the text in various other reform systems like Unifon or Deseret. I’m also considering printing the lexicon with lulu.com or similar, as a pronouncing dictionary.
We moved dorothy last night, and I think some mail may have been lost in the meantime, so if you mailed me and didn’t get a reply, please mail me again.
I know some of you liked seeing pictures of Rothko the kitten, but he isn’t really much of a kitten any more.
I went to the shops, and the person serving me said, “As a Welshman, I’m sure you love singing. You’re a tenor, aren’t you? Would you like to join our choir? We need tenors.” I’m not actually Welsh, though it seems to be a common misconception. But joining the choir could be fun.
Some people take not just the poem but even the formatting.
As to names of computers: currently our naming scheme is saints (Dorothy Day is at least on the canonisation track). Previously, it was colours (green, spectrum, charcoal, lavender, haematite). When I lived alone before I moved here, it was characters from Njal’s saga. There was njal, and bergthora, and hrut, which was an enormous tower that didn’t fit anywhere.
I am trying to write more. I don’t always think the results are very good.
A ghost complains about blackberries
And I have nothing else to do again
But walk these halls and wish I wasn’t here,
But picking berries in a country lane.
A shadow is my face, the dust my brain,
My voice is but an echo in your ear.
And I have nothing else to do again
But counting every pace to keep me sane.
Dead as I am, I’ve nothing else to fear.
But, picking berries in a country lane;
Within me lives the spectre of a pain,
The ache of endless summer, yesteryear,
And I have nothing else to do again
But live in memory without my chain
And walk an aimless autumn Cambridgeshire…
But picking berries in a country lane.
Each universe must reach its long refrain.
A moment all my chains must disappear
And I’ll have nothing else to do again
But picking berries in a country lane.
