A Dream Within a Dream
“I confess I do not believe in time. I like to fold my magic carpet, after use, in such a way as to superimpose one part of the pattern upon another. Let visitors trip. And the highest enjoyment of timelessness―in a landscape selected at random―is when I stand among rare butterflies and their food plants.- nabokov
Wednesday, December 24, 2025
We are now ready to tackle Dickens
We are now ready to tackle Dickens. We are now ready to embrace Dickens. We are now ready to bask in Dickens. In our dealings with Jane Austen we had to make a certain effort to join the ladies in the drawing room. In the case of Dickens we remain at table with our tawny port. With Dickens we expand. It seems to me that Jane Austen's fiction had been a charming re-arrangement of old-fashioned values. In the case of Dickens, the values are new. Modern authors still get drunk on his vintage. Here, there is no problem of approach as with Austen, no courtship, no dallying. We just surrender ourselves to Dickens' voice--that is all. If it were possible I would like to devote fifty minutes of every class meeting to mute meditation, concentration, and admiration of Dickens. However my job is to direct and rationalize those meditations, that admiration. All we have to do when reading Bleak House is to relax and let our spines take over. Although we read with our minds, the seat of artistic delight is between the shoulder-blades. That little shiver behind is quite certainly the highest form of emotion that humanity has attained when evolving pure art and pure science. Let us worship the spine and its tingle. Let us be proud of being vertebrates, for we are vertebrates tipped at the head with a divine flame. The brain only continues the spine, the wick really runs through the whole length of the candle. If we are not capable of enjoying that shiver, if we cannot enjoy literature, then let us give up the whole thing and concentrate on our comics, our videos, our books-of-the-week. But I think Dickens will prove stronger.”
― Vladimir Nabokov
Friday, December 19, 2025
A Dream Within a Dream By Edgar Allan Poe
Poems & Poets
Friday, November 28, 2025
Friday, November 21, 2025
Saturday, November 1, 2025
Thursday, October 30, 2025
TO A VULCAN by Sherna Com.èrford
TO A VULCAN
by Sherna Com.èrford
There is a sharing of self,
Reacliing...
Talting...
Joining...
Love.
There is understanding, and quiet pride.
Wild, passionate shouting.
A seelcing and a growing.
Life, and a nurpose in living.
There is sorrow and pain.
A drawing in,
Weeping,
An agony,
Lespair.
Sometimes there is death.
I weep for you. You will not weep for yourself. You lcnow sorrow, have lcnown love,
And deny it.
Is life worth this price?
A man-machine would pay no price.
Would die. What logic bids you live?
La Géante— Charles Baudelaire
La Géante
Du temps que la Nature en sa verve puissante
Concevait chaque jour des enfants monstrueux,
J'eusse aimé vivre auprès d'une jeune géante,
Comme aux pieds d'une reine un chat voluptueux.
J'eusse aimé voir son corps fleurir avec son âme
Et grandir librement dans ses terribles jeux;
Deviner si son coeur couve une sombre flamme
Aux humides brouillards qui nagent dans ses yeux;
Parcourir à loisir ses magnifiques formes;
Ramper sur le versant de ses genoux énormes,
Et parfois en été, quand les soleils malsains,
Lasse, la font s'étendre à travers la campagne,
Dormir nonchalamment à l'ombre de ses seins,
Comme un hameau paisible au pied d'une montagne.
— Charles Baudelaire
The Giantess
At the time when Nature with a lusty spirit
Was conceiving monstrous children each day,
I should have liked to live near a young giantess,
Like a voluptuous cat at the feet of a queen.
I should have liked to see her soul and body thrive
And grow without restraint in her terrible games;
To divine by the mist swimming within her eyes
If her heart harbored a smoldering flame;
To explore leisurely her magnificent form;
To crawl upon the slopes of her enormous knees,
And sometimes in summer, when the unhealthy sun
Makes her stretch out, weary, across the countryside,
To sleep nonchalantly in the shade of her breasts,
Like a peaceful hamlet below a mountainside.
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
Wednesday, October 8, 2025
Dada poem
You And no one is going to be an American citizen.
I want to be a good reason to get better than your parents!
The only thing that you wake up is is a critique of the rings of popcorn.
It was pretty much the same stuff as being anything.
you are familiar with your disagreement with potato chips
The only thing that you wake in space and is a critique for the book.
It depends on what you want to say.
A Cry from an Indian Wife by Emily Pauline Johnson
A Cry from an Indian Wife Emily Pauline Johnson My Forest Brave, my Red-skin love, farewell; We may not meet to-morrow; who can tell What ...
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Bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunnt-rovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk Interjection (nonce) A sound which ...
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A commandment Vasyl Sagaydak 1990 Never let a barbarian on your doorstep, my son – No matter if he comes with war or with sweet vows. He w...



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