T. S. Elliot, The Hollow Men, Pt I: We are the hollow men We are the stuffed men Leaning together Headpiece filled with straw. Alas! Our dried voices, when We whisper together Are quiet and meaningless As wind in dry grass Or rats’ feet over broken glass In our dry cellar Shape without form, shade without colour, Paralysed force, gesture [...]fungrim
The lair of Lars J. Nilsson. Contains random musings on beer, writing and this thing we call life.
To those close to me, it’s no secret that I have been too close the wall for comfort the last couple of months. Since November I’ve tried to step down a bit, to sleep more and to relax. However, I’m getting more and more certain that this may not be enough. For years I’ve known that the ambition driving me has [...]fungrim
Tonight the firebird will rise from the ashes, spring will come again and the son be reborn. Funky stuff. Although, as folk tales go, the execution of Christ seems rather unimpressive. And illogical too, I mean, how on earth is that supposed to save us? And lets see, Jesus gets one day of torment and one day of death and then he’s [...]fungrim
Oh, hell. I was going to resume posting with a summary of my week in Val Thorens. But… The world has a way of fucking you up. Seriously. So here’s a lyric instead, courtesy of Iron Maiden (Smith/Dickinson): Kill for gain or shoot to maim But we don’t need a reason The Golden Goose is on the loose And never out of season [...]fungrim