\nMy connection has been a bit spotty the past few days. Partly, Comcast sucks. Partly, our weather sucks. If it ain’t 120% humidity, it’s wind strong enough to topple buildings. I wanted to run a “Swinburne Poem a Day” post-a-thon (at least through the end of the month), and I wanted to start two days ago, but I also wanted a pony for my eighth birthday, and that never materialized, either. I will try to make amends today. Before I do, though, I must toot my own proverbial horn for a moment.\n<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\nMost of the visitors to this site are of the non-human variety: robots, spiders, crawlers, and the occasional piece of referrer spam<\/a>. I don’t post often, and when I do, it’s usually meaningless tripe like “I just made this obscure upgrade to my webpage coding that should have no effect on what you see!!!” The rare fleshy and semi-sentient visitors I get usually come for a select few pieces of information: sample SAS code<\/a>, nutrition information for Frito-Lay SUNCHIPS®<\/a>, info about Altoids sours<\/a>, Info about Caroline Myss or Greenwich University<\/a>, Blümchen<\/a> photos, any number of books<\/a>, or, sadly, pornography (there’s none here, strangely enough). It seems that what little actual informational content is here might be marginally useful to someone else. I am happy to report that I am currently the first site returned on the following Google searches:\n<\/p>\n \nI’m pretty sure that means I’m cool.\n<\/p>\n \nSo now—a Swinburne poem for your enjoyment before I go drown my thirst in the company of the saucy barmaid who brightened my day so much on Monday. Well, not so much in her company<\/em> as in her service area<\/em>, but whatever…\n<\/p>\n \nIf you loved me ever so little, \nO beautiful lips, O bosom \nAs the lost white feverish limbs \nMy heart swims blind in a sea \nA broken, an emptied boat, \nWhere, when the gods would be cruel, \nThe racks of earth and the rods \nMere pangs corrode and consume, \nI wish you were dead, my dear ; \nI wish you were stricken of thunder \nIf I could but know after all, \nYou are crueller, you that we love, \nAs plague in a poisonous city \nAs a tame beast writhes and wheedles, \nHe is patient of thorn and whip, \nYou thrill as his pulses dwindle, \nYour hands nailed love to the tree, \nAnd for all this, die will he not ; \nNP: David Gray, This Years Love<\/i><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" My connection has been a bit spotty the past few days. Partly, Comcast sucks. Partly, our weather sucks. If it ain’t 120% humidity, it’s wind strong enough to topple buildings. I wanted to run a “Swinburne Poem a Day” post-a-thon (at least through the end of the month), and I wanted to start two days […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-80","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/michaelhoke.name\/oldblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/80","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/michaelhoke.name\/oldblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/michaelhoke.name\/oldblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/michaelhoke.name\/oldblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/michaelhoke.name\/oldblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=80"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/michaelhoke.name\/oldblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/80\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/michaelhoke.name\/oldblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=80"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/michaelhoke.name\/oldblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=80"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/michaelhoke.name\/oldblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=80"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}\n
\n
\n I could bear the bonds that gall,
\nI could dream the bonds were brittle ;
\n You do not love me at all.\n<\/p>\n
\n More white than the moon’s and warm,
\nA sterile, a ruinous blossom
\n Is blown your way in a storm.\n<\/p>\n
\n Of the Lesbian Sappho, adrift
\nIn foam where the sea-weed swims,
\n Swam loose for the streams to lift,\n<\/p>\n
\n That stuns me ; swims to and fro,
\nAnd gathers to windward and lee
\n Lamentation, and mourning, and woe.\n<\/p>\n
\n Sea saps it, winds blow apart,
\nSick and adrift and afloat,
\n The barren waif of a heart.\n<\/p>\n
\n Do they go for a torture ? where
\nPlant thorns, set pain like a jewel ?
\n Ah, not in the flesh, not there !\n<\/p>\n
\n Are weak as foam on the sands ;
\nIn the heart is the prey for gods,
\n Who crucify hearts, not hands.\n<\/p>\n
\n Dead when life dies in the brain ;
\nIn the infinite spirit is room
\n For the pulse of an infinite pain.\n<\/p>\n
\n I would give you, had I to give,
\nSome death too bitter to fear ;
\n It is better to die than live.\n<\/p>\n
\n And burnt with a bright flame through,
\nConsumed and cloven in sunder,
\n I dead at your feet like you.\n<\/p>\n
\n I might cease to hunger and ache,
\nThough your heart were ever so small,
\n If it were not a stone or a snake.\n<\/p>\n
\n Than hatred, hunger, or death ;
\nYou have eyes and breasts like a dove,
\n And you kill men’s hearts with a breath.\n<\/p>\n
\n Insults and exults on her dead,
\nSo you, when pallid for pity
\n Comes love, and fawns to be fed.\n<\/p>\n
\n He fawns to be fed with wiles ;
\nYou carve him a cross of needles,
\n And whet them sharp as your smiles.\n<\/p>\n
\n He is dumb under axe or dart ;
\nYou suck with a sleepy red lip
\n The wet red wounds in his heart.\n<\/p>\n
\n You brighten and warm as he bleeds,
\nWith insatiable eyes that kindle
\n And insatiable mouth that feeds.\n<\/p>\n
\n You stript him, scourged him with rods,
\nAnd drowned him deep in the sea
\n That hides the dead and their gods.\n<\/p>\n
\n There is no man sees him but I ;
\nYou came and went and forgot ;
\n I hope he will some day die.\n<\/p>\n