Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Bored at work, I just picked up the Independent from last week and read my horoscope. Which told me I should "expose [my]self to concentrated doses of poetry this week." Done, and done. Do y'all know about this Wordsworth cat, by the way? Holy crap.
But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
And passing even into my purer mind,
With tranquil restoration: — feelings too
Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,
As have no slight or trivial influence
On that best portion of a good man's life,
His little, nameless, unremembered, acts
Of kindness and of love.
My other horoscope tells me that I should invent a trumpet that can be used as a flame-thrower while it's being played. Well, okay, that's already been invented, so I guess I'd have to try for something similar in spirit. A flugelhorn that shoots ninja stars every time you hit a low E? A violin bow that transforms into a lightsaber, allowing you to fiddle, slash, and stab merrily all at once? Ah, weaponized musical instruments. As if music itself couldn't already hurt us badly enough.

Seriously, though, I really love the idea of going undercover as a trumpet-player into a situation that might require the use of a flame-thrower.

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