Apparently our ( modern ) bad Christmas faith comes from the Biedermaier period where they turned inward and sat on their Aunt Fannie´s couch in order to avoid having to greet Metternich´s secret police blowing on frozen fingers outside on the imperial streets. Marvellous how we´re back to the ” thin twine of red blood ” ( Seamus Cashman ), the Christmas goose as Girardian sacrificial victim in new snow which has been falling this unholy Christmas night of good sleep. I have no Jewish answer. eg. What was Abrahamic Abram up to ?
A full year it is since last we typed such jolly thoughts, the season´s greetings to all, also to our sundry. I wish myself well as well ? The healing air, healing sleep, grub, breathing ? Composing in this cold ?
Dear Próinsias,
Perhaps we´ll initiate a daily shortie from Phrank to Próinsias ( and back ? Hmmm ) for these few Silly Silent Nights now ? Off in the stilly morning and mind the dresser . This eg. ventilates some of the emanations of this little christmassy
soul, its daily re-living, re-flecting each snowy Christmas day the very next day ; it
reconciles the given I / Me Split to the pursuit of peace, no mean rabbit in the snow . It sums up all of my white yesterdays; it comments on the fury
temporarily gagged or for the sacred present bound; it bathes in the very civil civility of this festive time as we go easy with this our cold myth and also with all our loved ones an´ all.
It puts shape on frozen form, you might say.
That means no sweat of the soul this Xmas .
No spark of stupid what? No bottle-necked anger, no resentment nor bite-my-neck-so as-I´ll-bite-yours-back bickering or snickering . No lickering to snowy excess . It means a frosty patience in my
neck of these hoary woods and the mutinous
Shannon ( – once again that adjective ? – Shure we had it last year also ! ) waves all blown and torn apart, the wintry wind-chill factor factored into the numbers of drowned Athlone sheep. Pursue poor peace, you white-flecked
soul-music. Peace – or at least pieces therefrom, I´d say.
Heavenlystrains with all their velvety parallel sixths and glissing thirds wrapped in our souls´anaesthetic, Próinsias ? ( All turkey knives,every goose carver lies still dormant in Chistmas kitchens ; let them sleep on in
the killer´s sleep ; there´ll be time for a thin twine of red blood in the aviary. )
Your Fond And Only Christmas Mirror, Phrank
—–Ursprüngliche Mitteilung—–
Von: Fbcorcoran
An: fbcorcoran@aol.com
Verschickt: Mi., 22. Dez. 2010, 8:10
Thema: Self – Referentiality – why ever not ?
Dear Próinsias,
Perhaps a daily shortie from Phrank to Próinsias ( and back ? Hmmm ) for these few Silly Nights now ? Off in the stilly morning. This ventilates at least some of the emanations of the christmassy
soul, its daily living out each our snowy Christmas evening the next day ; it
reconciles the ( this year less. Maybe. ) split I / Me to pursuing peace, no mean snow-rabbit. It sums up all ( well, these few seasonal ) of my yesterdays and it comments gently enough on the fury
temporarily ( or for longer , perhaps ? ) gagged, for the sacred present bound, the very civil civility of this festive time as we go easy with this our cold myth and with all our loved ones an´all. Put
shape on frozen form. That means no soul – sweat.
No stupid spark of what? No sparking off bottle-necked anger or resentment or bite-my-neck-so as-I´ll-bite-yours-back bickering or snickering . No lickering to snowy excess . Patience frosty in my
neck of the frosty woods ´n all and the mutinous
Shannon waves ( ah ! once again ? – Shure we had that last year ! ) all blown and torn apart by the wintry wind-chill factor on our drowned Athlone sheep. Pursue poor peace, ye white-flecked
soul-musics. Peace – or at least pieces therefrom, I´d say.
Strains heavenly with their velvety parallel sixths and glissing thirds all wrapping up our souls´anaesthetic, I suppose, Próinsias ? ( Turkey knives or goose carvers are still dormant; let them sleep
the killer´s sleep . there´ll be time for a thin twine of red blood in the aviary. )
Your fond Christmas Mirror, Phrank
—–Ursprüngliche Mitteilung—–
Von: Fbcorcoran
An: fbcorcoran@aol.com
Verschickt: Mi., 22. Dez. 2010, 14:32
Thema: Self- Referentiality at Xmas – why ever not ?
Dear Próinsias,
Perhaps we´ll initiate a daily shortie from Phrank to Próinsias ( and back ? Hmmm ) for these few Silly Silent Nights now ? Off in the stilly morning and mind the dresser . This eg. ventilates some of the emanations of this little christmassy
soul, its daily re-living, re-flecting each snowy Christmas day the very next day ; it
reconciles the given I / Me Split to the pursuit of peace, no mean rabbit in the snow . It sums up all of my white yesterdays; it comments on the fury
temporarily gagged or for the sacred present bound; it bathes in the very civil civility of this festive time as we go easy with this our cold myth and also with all our loved ones an´ all.
It puts shape on frozen form, you might say.
That means no sweat of the soul this Xmas .
No spark of stupid what? No bottle-necked anger, no resentment nor bite-my-neck-so as-I´ll-bite-yours-back bickering or snickering . No lickering to snowy excess . It means a frosty patience in my
neck of these hoary woods and the mutinous
Shannon ( – once again that adjective ? – Shure we had it last year also ! ) waves all blown and torn apart, the wintry wind-chill factor factored into the numbers of drowned Athlone sheep. Pursue poor peace, you white-flecked
soul-music. Peace – or at least pieces therefrom, I´d say.
Heavenlystrains with all their velvety parallel sixths and glissing thirds wrapped in our souls´anaesthetic, Próinsias ? ( All turkey knives,every goose carver lies still dormant in Chistmas kitchens ; let them sleep on in
the killer´s sleep ; there´ll be time for a thin twine of red blood in the aviary. )
Your Fond And Only Christmas Mirror, Phrank
—–Ursprüngliche Mitteilung—–
Von: Fbcorcoran
An: fbcorcoran@aol.com
Verschickt: Mi., 22. Dez. 2010, 8:10
Thema: Self – Referentiality – why ever not ?
Dear Próinsias,
Perhaps a daily shortie from Phrank to Próinsias ( and back ? Hmmm ) for these few Silly Nights now ? Off in the stilly morning. This ventilates at least some of the emanations of the christmassy
soul, its daily living out each our snowy Christmas evening the next day ; it
reconciles the ( this year less. Maybe. ) split I / Me to pursuing peace, no mean snow-rabbit. It sums up all ( well, these few seasonal ) of my yesterdays and it comments gently enough on the fury
temporarily ( or for longer , perhaps ? ) gagged, for the sacred present bound, the very civil civility of this festive time as we go easy with this our cold myth and with all our loved ones an´all. Put
shape on frozen form. That means no soul – sweat.
No stupid spark of what? No sparking off bottle-necked anger or resentment or bite-my-neck-so as-I´ll-bite-yours-back bickering or snickering . No lickering to snowy excess . Patience frosty in my
neck of the frosty woods ´n all and the mutinous
Shannon waves ( ah ! once again ? – Shure we had that last year ! ) all blown and torn apart by the wintry wind-chill factor on our drowned Athlone sheep. Pursue poor peace, ye white-flecked
soul-musics. Peace – or at least pieces therefrom, I´d say.
Strains heavenly with their velvety parallel sixths and glissing thirds all wrapping up our souls´anaesthetic, I suppose, Próinsias ? ( Turkey knives or goose carvers are still dormant; let them sleep
the killer´s sleep . there´ll be time for a thin twine of red blood in the aviary. )
Your fond Christmas Mirror, Phrank
—–Ursprüngliche Mitteilung—–
Von: Fbcorcoran
An: fbcorcoran@aol.com
Verschickt: Do., 23. Dez. 2010, 10:23
Thema: Fwd: Self- Referentiality at Xmas – why ever not ?
Dear Próinsias,
Marvellous how we´re back to the ” thin twine of red blood ” ( Seamus Cashman ), the Christmas goose as a Girardian sacrificial victim in the new snow which has fallen this
unholy night of good sleep in spite of the world´s ( – Ouch ! ) suffering. I have no Jewish answer. What was Abrahamic Abram up to ? How´ll I peer through the thick snow ? A
full year it is since last we typed such jolly thoughts, the season´s greetings to all, also to sundry. I wish myself well as well ? Pursue peace like a snow-hare ? How ? Healing
air, healing sleep, grub, breathing ; composing, conscious harp-playing, ” níl neart go cur le chéile ” is surely untouchable in its re-assuring Old Irish spondees. Yet I ache for
its content and then to kick its anti-maverick bias down the slippery 67 steps.
Dear Próinsias,
Perhaps we´ll initiate a daily shortie from Phrank to Próinsias ( and back ? Hmmm ) for these few Silly Silent Nights now ? Off in the stilly morning and mind the dresser . This eg. ventilates some of the emanations of this little christmassy
soul, its daily re-living, re-flecting each snowy Christmas day the very next day ; it
reconciles the given I / Me Split to the pursuit of peace, no mean rabbit in the snow . It sums up all of my white yesterdays; it comments on the fury
temporarily gagged or for the sacred present bound; it bathes in the very civil civility of this festive time as we go easy with this our cold myth and also with all our loved ones an´ all.
It puts shape on frozen form, you might say.
That means no sweat of the soul this Xmas .
No spark of stupid what? No bottle-necked anger, no resentment nor bite-my-neck-so as-I´ll-bite-yours-back bickering or snickering . No lickering to snowy excess . It means a frosty patience in my
neck of these hoary woods and the mutinous
Shannon ( – once again that adjective ? – Shure we had it last year also ! ) waves all blown and torn apart, the wintry wind-chill factor factored into the numbers of drowned Athlone sheep. Pursue poor peace, you white-flecked
soul-music. Peace – or at least pieces therefrom, I´d say.
Heavenlystrains with all their velvety parallel sixths and glissing thirds wrapped in our souls´anaesthetic, Próinsias ? ( All turkey knives,every goose carver lies still dormant in Chistmas kitchens ; let them sleep on in
the killer´s sleep ; there´ll be time for a thin twine of red blood in the aviary. )
Your Fond And Only Christmas Mirror, Phrank
—–Ursprüngliche Mitteilung—–
Von: Fbcorcoran
An: fbcorcoran@aol.com
Verschickt: Mi., 22. Dez. 2010, 8:10
Thema: Self – Referentiality – why ever not ?
Dear Próinsias,
Perhaps a daily shortie from Phrank to Próinsias ( and back ? Hmmm ) for these few Silly Nights now ? Off in the stilly morning. This ventilates at least some of the emanations of the christmassy
soul, its daily living out each our snowy Christmas evening the next day ; it
reconciles the ( this year less. Maybe. ) split I / Me to pursuing peace, no mean snow-rabbit. It sums up all ( well, these few seasonal ) of my yesterdays and it comments gently enough on the fury
temporarily ( or for longer , perhaps ? ) gagged, for the sacred present bound, the very civil civility of this festive time as we go easy with this our cold myth and with all our loved ones an´all. Put
shape on frozen form. That means no soul – sweat.
No stupid spark of what? No sparking off bottle-necked anger or resentment or bite-my-neck-so as-I´ll-bite-yours-back bickering or snickering . No lickering to snowy excess . Patience frosty in my
neck of the frosty woods ´n all and the mutinous
Shannon waves ( ah ! once again ? – Shure we had that last year ! ) all blown and torn apart by the wintry wind-chill factor on our drowned Athlone sheep. Pursue poor peace, ye white-flecked
soul-musics. Peace – or at least pieces therefrom, I´d say.
Strains heavenly with their velvety parallel sixths and glissing thirds all wrapping up our souls´anaesthetic, I suppose, Próinsias ? ( Turkey knives or goose carvers are still dormant; let them sleep
the killer´s sleep . there´ll be time for a thin twine of red blood in the aviary. )
Your fond Christmas Mirror, Phrank
—–Ursprüngliche Mitteilung—–
Von: Fbcorcoran
An: fbcorcoran@aol.com
Verschickt: Mi., 22. Dez. 2010, 14:32
Thema: Self- Referentiality at Xmas – why ever not ?
Dear Próinsias,
Perhaps we´ll initiate a daily shortie from Phrank to Próinsias ( and back ? Hmmm ) for these few Silly Silent Nights now ? Off in the stilly morning and mind the dresser . This eg. ventilates some of the emanations of this little christmassy
soul, its daily re-living, re-flecting each snowy Christmas day the very next day ; it
reconciles the given I / Me Split to the pursuit of peace, no mean rabbit in the snow . It sums up all of my white yesterdays; it comments on the fury
temporarily gagged or for the sacred present bound; it bathes in the very civil civility of this festive time as we go easy with this our cold myth and also with all our loved ones an´ all.
It puts shape on frozen form, you might say.
That means no sweat of the soul this Xmas .
No spark of stupid what? No bottle-necked anger, no resentment nor bite-my-neck-so as-I´ll-bite-yours-back bickering or snickering . No lickering to snowy excess . It means a frosty patience in my
neck of these hoary woods and the mutinous
Shannon ( – once again that adjective ? – Shure we had it last year also ! ) waves all blown and torn apart, the wintry wind-chill factor factored into the numbers of drowned Athlone sheep. Pursue poor peace, you white-flecked
soul-music. Peace – or at least pieces therefrom, I´d say.
Heavenlystrains with all their velvety parallel sixths and glissing thirds wrapped in our souls´anaesthetic, Próinsias ? ( All turkey knives,every goose carver lies still dormant in Chistmas kitchens ; let them sleep on in
the killer´s sleep ; there´ll be time for a thin twine of red blood in the aviary. )
Your Fond And Only Christmas Mirror, Phrank