Cousin Stephen, you will never be a saint. Isle of saints. You were awfully holy, weren’t you? You prayed to the Blessed Virgin that you might not have a red nose. You prayed to the devil in Serpentine avenue that the fubsy widow in front might lift her clothes still more from the wet street. […]
Dacoit: noun; one of a class of criminals in India and Burma who rob and murder in roving gangs. A member of a band of armed robbers in India or Burma. A bandit. Origin: Hindi and Urdu. I love dictionaries. I like opening them up to a random page and just reading, discovering words and […]
Like quills upon the fretful porpentine. That phrase just makes the modern reader stop and wonder. What, you ask yourself, is a porpentine? And why is it fretful? We never learn, although later interpreters would knowingly tell us a porpentine is a porcupine in today’s argot. Porcupine itself dervices from the Old or Middle French […]
See that picture up top? That’s our waterfront, at least after they mandated the boat clubs to get rid of their shacks and put up those little lockers. It used to be quite the place down there. We’d get totally drunk and stoned just a little ways past the old folks home which would be behind you and maybe 1000 feet to your right. At night we would make a fire, usually a small one, and there wasn’t any high rise condos on the island across there for any one to call the cops, so it was usually all good (Read more…)
Ashes fall from the chimney so maudlin. Sodden haunts returning thoughts to your flue. Did your body snap? Was it made of porcelain? Could my shakey hand prepare a splint to repair poor ghostly? Kindling. Little kindling. Lit a fire under. Kindling. Little kindling. Lit a fire under and over you. Winter came to asphyxiate the autumn’s neck. Cold and cruel the lonely coffin of black and ash. The solstice split our spirits in two. Will this pain subside by dousing it with sad sapphire? Kindling. Little kindling. S’all remains of. Kindling. Little kindling. Lift my blanket under and over
. . . → Read More: Walking Turcot Yards: Buried Horses – Tom Dacre’s Blues
Defenestrate: To eject or throw (someone or something) from a window.
Kludge: an improvised device, usually crudely constructed. Typically used to test the validity of a principle before doing a finished design.
Portmanteau: Made by combining two (or more) words, stories, etc., in the manner of a linguistic portmanteau.
Tmesis: The insertion of one or more words between the components of a compound word.
Acalculia: The condition of lacking basic mathematical skills.
A dog’s breakfast: a poor job; a mess; “they made a real dog’s breakfast of that job”.
Panoply: A splendid
. . . → Read More: The Equivocator: 12 Words I (Re)Discovered in 2012
I wanna round dance neath the stars tonight I wanna stand up for what I believe tonight I wanna see peace in the skies tonight I wanna be love neath the stars tonight
Moidered. It sounds like something from the Three Stooges. Or maybe something Tony Soprano would say.”I moidered him.” But it actually means “crazed,” according to Samuel Johnson in his famous dictionary of 1755. It’s long since left the stage of English usage. … Continue reading →
“Faith is better than doubt and love is better than hate.” – Sir Wilfrid Laurier, 1918 “Love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear.” – Jack Layton, 2011
A year after Jack Layton’s untimely passing, the presence of the former NDP Leader is still felt across Canada, ironically however it is in his last words where such a feeling may be in doubt.
In a letter to Canadians written before he died Jack Layton wrote compellingly about the need for political change, for people to care enough to act. His last words in the
. . . → Read More: The Scott Ross: Layton’s Last Words Were First Laurier’s
This is really quite impressive, and even funny in many places: -via Jim Anderson, who’s book, DEADLINE, you should check out if you like mysteries. Alltop speaks funglish!
A while back, I posted a poem written by Drew Dillinger. It begins: it’s 3:23 in the morningand I’m awakebecause my great great grandchildrenwon’t let me sleepmy great great grandchildrenask me in dreamswhat did you do while the planet was plundered?what did you do when the earth was unraveling?
Words have power. And these are powerful words.
I am not the only one who think so. Recently a congresswoman quoted the poem during Congressional hearings on climate change legislation.
DellingerPoem_Congress from drew dellinger on Vimeo.