jottings from tertius |
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views of the world from my worldview window
e-mail me "If there was no God, there would be no atheists." G.K. Chesterton SITES OF NOTE Tektonics Apologetics Ministry blogs4God The Adarwinist reader Bede's Library: the Alliance of Faith and Reason A Christian Thinktank Doxa:Christian theology and apologetics He Lives Mike Gene Teleologic Errant Skeptics Research Institute Stephen Jones' CreationEvolutionDesign Touchstone: a journal of mere Christianity: mere comments The Secularist Critique: Deconstructing secularism Ex-atheist.com: I Wasn't Born Again Yesterday imago veritatis by Alan Myatt Solid Rock Ministries The Internet Monk: a webjournal by Michael Spencer The Sydney Line: the website of Keith Windschuttle Miranda Devine's writings in the Sydney Morning Herald David Horowitz frontpage magazine Thoughts of a 21st century Christian Philosopher one-eighty Steven Lovell's philosophical themes from C.S.Lewis Peter S. Williams Christian philosophy and apologetics Shandon L. Guthrie Clayton Cramer's Blog Andrew Bolt columns Ann Coulter columns PAST JOTTINGS The manyana factor 1 The manyana factor 2 The Myth of the Flat Earth The Myth of the Burning of the Library of Alexandria by Christians "Let me make it clear that I am not a Creationist..." The Myth of Being Burnt Alive for Seeking Pain Relief in Childbirth The Myth of Christian Opposition to the Use of Anaesthesia God-obsessed atheists Diamond in the rough More genocide Jesus, History and Eyewitnesses How do we know anything historically? The machete as a modern weapon of mass destruction Send in the Clones Life is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing Humanist's Love Poem Cartoon reality When the ship comes in... Get Your Own Dirt Total Disbelief Mock on, mock on... The “Piltdown Moth”? More moths and men In a perfect socialist transport-system, there would be no accidents Spin Doctor? Animals Ulterior Motives? Micro macro muck row You may be a fundamentalist atheist if... The hidden God? Useful idiots? Creed Interested in being a Christian without being... Christian? The Blind Men and the Elephant Peering into peer review aPEERances can be deceptive Ockham's razor Broken Wheel Confession Under African skies Your Worldview is Showing Not Waving but Drowning Proudly serving people with no reason to believe As the Ruin Falls Which burnings? Skepticism and gullibilty in the ancient world God’s Grandeur Would the Real Jesus Please Stand Up? Fate by fluke The blunt razor Beware the actor/activist Exclusive Pictures I Walked with A Zombie "It's a dog's life having to raid the dressing-up box for a living" The Myth of "The Jesus Myth" Exposing the myth of secularism White and alienated - except from the cash Despots, dictators, demigogues, democidal maniacs... and useful idiots The religion of atheism Men and women, God and atheism I still haven't found what I'm looking for The tail is wagging the dog "Evolution doesn't give a damn" Truth decay Punishment of witches to be replaced with punning of witches Five Ways to Kill a Man The Crucifixion The Cast of Christmas Reassembles For Easter The Nail Man The writing's on the ossuary Easter commentary by Stephen Jones Atheism lite Coming out of the conservative closet Ship of fools Seven clues to the work of an Intelligent Designer The new anti-semitism? Conservative isn't 'conservative' anymore: it's a label for normal D-generation Mything artefacts Tuning in, turning on, and dropping out Hollywood Halfwits Rave on Religion lite, or, Clayton's religion: the religion you have when you're not having a religion Lovers in a Dangerous Time The Criminal Under My Own Hat Reverie The great big NO Subjectivism and the argument from moral outrage The slippery slope to solipsism Reminding the fellow travellers how tyranny works European Evangelical Darwinism and fundamentalist secularism Anything goes The Dodo dictum The burden of proof? Some more thoughts on the burden of proof History in the dock The reappearance of peer review The first commandment of PC The Parable of the Ants, or, the skeptic's dare On solipsism In Salem, they burn witches don't they? "I would rather wear a burqa than have my eight-year-old child become a sex object" The rule of contextual congruity What about the bond? Revisionist atheism revisited What's so weak about "weak" atheism? Question: When is an atheist not an atheist? Answer: When he's not a theist. Beliefs, I 've had a few The "Did they really say that?" file Telescopic morality Shock! Horror! Bromley the teddy bear caught climbing Ayer's Rock! "Trust me, I'm a scientist" The Apostrophe Catastrophe Fabricating history On the morality of modern ethics Have a nice day... Hitler saw himself as a messiah... just not the Christian one Himmler, the SS , Nazism, Teutonic Knights, the occult and witchcraft... Nothing new under the sun... Make mine sarsaparilla...in a dirty glass Double standard? What double standard? "I Wish I Was A Lesbian" New witches for old Those darned Calvinists Don't laugh, it's only a matter of time j'accuse The "Brights": Smug, Self-satisfied and Stupid Franco, the Jews' Fascist Friend Meet the Brights Avoiding the sin of discriminatory sexual orientationalism And here's to you, Bishop Robinson Is God ontologically present but methodologically absent? Naturalism bad, naturalism good Lighten up! It's only a movie High noon The play's the thing Home alone The religion of neo-Darwinism The ghost in the machine? I, Me, Mine Naturalism all the way down Tertius' wager Three words: Context. Context. Context. Come on and do the 'planetary bacilli’: get up and dance to the music of blind pitiless indifference! No footprints... only a faint and fading glow Let my people go All you need is hate Gee Whiz! Deep thoughts about deep time and science Neo and the precipice Indoctrinating the Good news Bones of Contention The Grand Sez Who The Hills are alive with the sound of stupidity Words of encouragement Living in the material world "You don't easily give up your best illustration of a deeply held belief" Sorry, Stephen - if you're out there somewhere - it seems you were wrong... "A boot stomping upon a human face... forever" The persuasive Word of God Evolutionary Hymn Don't imagine, just study the history of the twentieth century The Atheist hell: where clubs are trumps When you don't believe in anything except not dying, you don't really believe in anything Wondering where the lions are Telling fibs about God for Marx The Billy Graham of Atheism The world according to Richard The Triumph of Ideology: when science becomes an "ism" The Darwin of Sociology Far From Reality The Myth of Fingerprints When science becomes religion: Heaven on Earth - the Rise and Fall of Socialism Sour grapes If you build it they will leave Carry on up the Khyber: the fatal price of anal intercourse… I read the news today, oh boy...about a lucky man who made the grade Beyond bad (Il)liberal (in)tolerance Charles Darwin social evolutionist Those darn Ruskies The Devil and Ms Jones The hound of heaven Christianity that most paradoxical of religions Skeptic, heal thyself What Tolkien can tell us Closed-minded dogmatists pretending to be otherwise Good science/bad science Don't look for moral relativism in The Return of the King, it ain't there An extended vision TTT Talking Tolkien Gimli tells it like it is Why we all love and need Middle Earth Tolkien and the power of Myth ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() "These are the days when the Christian is expected to praise every creed except his own." G.K.Chesterton "You cannot grow a beard in a moment of passion." G.K.Chesterton |
Monday, May 17, 2004 Saturday, May 15, 2004 Run the race ![]() "Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last; but we do it to get a crown that will last forever. Therefore I do not run like a man running aimlessly; I do not fight like a man beating the air. No, I discipline my body and keep it under control so that after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified for the prize." Paul writing to the Corinthians ![]() Friday, May 14, 2004 Is that all there is? Neuroscientist Vilayanur Ramachandran celebrates his materialistic, mechanistic, reductionist world view while delivering the 2003 BBC Reith Lectures to the applause of the reductionally converted: ...it never ceases to amaze me that all the richness of our mental life - all our feeling, our emotions, our thoughts, our ambition, our love life, our religious sentiments and even what each of us regards as his own intimate private self - is simply the activity of the[..] little specks of jelly in your head, in your brain. There is nothing else. Indeed "it" never ceases to amaze. Which reminds me of a little song... I remember when I was a girl[as sung by Peggy Lee and written by Jerry Leiber & Mike Stoller] Yes, that's all there is, my friend, now go to sleep and dream sweet dreams. There is nothing but atoms and molecules... and jelly... especially in Ramachandran's lecture... Sunday, April 25, 2004 The Beatification of Brian Wilson... God only knows a musical interlude... Let me begin by announcing unambiguously that I am a fan of the music of Brian Wilson and of the Beach Boys. I really do “like” it - with some notable exceptions (trombone dixie, anyone?)… Having made myself clear on this point I must now admit to breaking ranks with received opinion and dissenting from the musical PC of the ruling rock and pop orthodoxy. Here is my confession: I have closely listened to the “definitive” Brian Wilson Beach Boys “masterpiece” Pet Sounds dozens of times in the last couple of years - in both its mono and stereo versions - and I just don’t get it. I have avidly read a plethora of books about the making of the album, about who played and sang what and when and where, about the musical nuances included in each track, about the symbolic significance of the barking dogs and passing train that ends the recording, about the snippets of studio chatter captured in the background and about the ups and many downs in the life of Brian Wilson and its effect upon his “tortured genius”. I have read adoring album reviews from both “lay” music fans and “experts” in the genre. I have heard the praises of the likes of Paul McCartney heaped upon it. I've been to the mountain top. All I can say is hang on to your ego. Here’s one of the milder accolades: “Brian Wilson's gift to 20th-century music elevated this pop album into a beguiling musical and emotional cogency that still operates outside pop culture's fickle space-time continuum--and limited critical lexicon.” (See here for a selection of more typical and less restrained puff pieces.) But that's not me. Despite my own recognition of Brian Wilson’s fine talents as a composer, arranger and producer I feel somewhat like the little boy in the story of the Emperor’s New Clothes. Pet Sounds IS - oh, Caroline no - wildly overrated. There I’ve said it. Maybe I just wasn't made for these times, but no matter how much I admire Brian Wilson and recognize his talent I just can’t find it in myself to put on rose coloured glasses or take the blue pill and agree with the orthodox opinion that Pet Sounds is the greatest pop album ever made and that Mr Wilson is a certified musical genius. He may be a master of melody (perhaps) and a pop prodigy (probably) but a “genius”? Wouldn't it be nice, but no. There are great moments on Pet Sounds and some lovely tunes suffused with a strong sense of wistful introspection for which the contribution of lyricist Tony Asher should be acknowledged. But it really isn’t that “cutting edge” or even, dare I say it, “ground breaking”. It certainly was a major departure from previous Beach Boys output but calling this album “the greatest album of all time” is an overblown and extravagant piece of revisionist romanticism. Here today everyone in the business of Pop and Rock seems to be getting in on the act, trying to outdo each other by praising the album and relating how pivotal it is to their own musical and personal development as a “serious” artist. Alas one may be condemned as a heretic for even suggesting that it may not be THAT good. I thought I was out on a limb on this issue but I have discovered that there are a few other heretics out there who can see that the Emperor, while not completely naked, is not adorned in the finest royal purple either. God only knows my admiration and respect for Brian Wilson remains undiminished. But I agree with Michael Barclay that: “Wilson’s truly amazing accomplishment wasn’t Pet Sounds, but the single he recorded immediately after: “Good Vibrations.” In a mere three-and-a-half minutes, Wilson betters all the highs of Pet Sounds: the band’s vocal intricacies are in full force; it’s structurally daring for what is essentially a bubble-gum pop song; and the instrumentation features theremin and a rhythm section driven not by drums but cellos, bass, and tambourines. Perhaps the song’s commercial validation makes it less cool than the (deservedly) popular indifference Pet Sounds met upon its release.” Yes, Pet Sounds the album is just alright with me; it is “good” and certainly historically important for pop music but, in all fairness, I could only call it "great" as a piece of high quality elevator music. And I'm not damning it with faint praise: I really like elevator music. addendum: Sarah D. Bunting at Tomato Nation thinks that there may in fact be a “Pet Sounds Principle” that operates among the musical cognoscenti but because she invokes the “N” word and I have made my own confession I have no need to go there… but you might. Friday, April 23, 2004 Liberal media...what liberal media? Stefan Sharkansky over at Oh, That Liberal Media! gets it in one with his definition of a Liberal: someone more secular than religious, typically hostile to religion in public life, but reluctant to criticize any religious practices of non-Christian people of color. Thursday, April 08, 2004 I trawl the megahertz I am telling myself the story of my life, stranger than song or fiction. We start with the joyful mysteries, before the appearance of ether, trying to capture the elusive: the farm where the crippled horses heal, the woods where autumn is reversed, and the longing for bliss in the arms of some beloved from the past. I said 'Your daddy loves you'. I said 'Your daddy loves you very much'; he just doesn't want to live with us anymore'. The plane comes down behind enemy lines and you don't speak the language. A girl takes pity on you: she is Mother Theresa walking among the poor, and her eyes have attained night vision. In an orchard, drenched in blue light, she changes your bandages and soothes you. All day her voice is balm, then she lowers you into the sunset. Hers is the wing span of the quotidian angel, so her feet are sore from the walk to the well of human kindness, but she gives you a name and you grow into it. Whether a tramp of the low road or a prince, riding through Wagnerian opera, you learn some, if not all, of the language. And these are the footsteps you follow - the tracks of impossible love. 12 days in Paris, and I am awaiting for life to start. In the lobby of the Hotel Charlemagne they are hanging photographs of Rap artists and minor royalty. All cigarettes have been air-brushed from these pictures, making everyone a liar, and saving no-one from their folly. As proud as Lucifer, I do nothing to hide my kerosene dress and flint eyes - which one steady look, are able to restore to these images their carcinogenic threat. So what if this is largely bravado? I have only 12 days in Paris and I'm awaiting for life to start. I'm setting out my stall behind a sheet of dark hair, and you, the hostage of crazed hormones, will be driven to say: 'I am the next poet laurate and she is the cherry madonna, and all of the summer is hers.' At first I don't notice you, or the colour of your hair, or your readiness to laugh. I am tying a shoelace, or finding the pavement fascinating when the comet thrills the sky. Ever the dull alchemist. I have before me all the necesary elements: it is their combination that eludes me. Forgive me ... I am sleepwalking. I am jangling along to some song of the moment, suffering it's sweetness, luxuriating in it's feeble aproximation of starlight. Meanwhile there is a real world ... trains are late, doctors are breaking bad news, but I am living in a lullaby. You might be huddled in a doorway on the make, or just getting by, but I don't see it. You are my one shot at glory. Soon I will read in your expression warmth, encouragement, assent. From an acorn of interest I will cultivate whole forests of affection. I will analyse your gestures like centuries of scholars poring over Jesus'words. Anything that doesn't fit my narrow interpretation I will carelessly discard. For I am careless ... I'm shameless ... and - ('Mayday, Mayday, watch the needle leave the dial') I am reckless, I am telling myself the story of my life. Soon, I will make you a co-conspirator: if I am dizzy I will call it rapture; if I am low I will attribute it to your absence, noting your tidal effect upon my moods. Oblivious to the opinions of neighbours I will bark at the moon like a dog. In short, I'm asking to be scalded. It is the onset of fever. Yesterday they took a census. Boasting, I said 'I live two doors down from joy.' Today, bewildered and sarcastic, I phone them and ask 'Isn't it obvious? This slum is empty.' Repeat after me: happiness is only a habit. I am listening to the face in the mirror but I don't think I believe what she's telling me. Her words are modern, but her eyes have been weeping in gardens and grottoes since the Middle Ages. This is the aftermath of fever. I cool the palms of my hands upon the bars of an imaginary iron gate. Only by an extreme act of will can I avoid becoming a character in a country song: 'Lord, you game me nothing, then took it all away.' These are the sorrowful mysteries, and I have to pay attention. In a chamber of my heart sits an accountant. He is frowning and waving red paper at me. I go to the window for air. I catch the scent of apples, I hunger for a taste, but I can't see the orchard for the rain. There are two ways of looking at this. The first is to accept that you are gone, and to light a candle at the shrine of amnesia. (I could even cheat). In the subterranean world of anaesthetics sad white canoes are forever sailing downstream in the early hours of the morning. 'Tell the stars I'm coming, make them leave a space for me; whether bones, or dust, or ashes once among them I'll be free.' It may make a glamorous song but it's dark train of thought with too many carriages. There is, of course, another way of looking at this: Your daddy loves you; I said 'Your daddy loves you very much; he doesn't want to live with us anymore.' I am telling myself the story of my life. By day and night, fancy electronic dishes are trained on the heavens. They are listening for smudged echoes of the moment of creation. They are listening for the ghost of a chance. They may help us make sense of who we are and where we came from; and, as a compassionate side effect, teach us that nothing is ever lost. So... I rake the sky. I listen hard. I trawl the megahertz. But the net isn't fine enough, and I miss you - a swan sailing between two continents, a ghost inmune to radar. Still, my eyes are fixed upon the place I last saw you, your signal urgent but breaking, before you became cotton in a blizzard, a plane coming down behind enemy lines. Paddy McAloon Listen here Wednesday, April 07, 2004 the world according to Hollywood "at least 80% of our contemporaries can not comprehend the world around them without the aid of metaphors derived from movies" Uncle We are sick and the sickness is "scientific humanism" This life is much too much trouble, far too strange, to arrive at the end of it and then be asked what you make of it and have to answer, "scientific humanism." That won’t do. A poor show. Life is a mystery, love a delight. Therefore, I take it as axiomatic that one should settle for nothing less than the infinite mystery and the infinite delight; i.e. God. In fact, I demand it. I refuse to settle for anything less. I don’t see why anyone should settle for less than Jacob, who actually grabbed ahold of God and wouldn’t let go until God identified himself and blessed him. Walker Percy Tuesday, April 06, 2004 The peril of postmodernism: manufacturing and distorting facts, evidence and history in the cause of politically correct ideology In Disarming History: How an award-winning scholar twisted the truth about America's gun culture - and almost got away with it Joyce Lee Malcolm calmly and clearly lays out the timetable that led to the exposure of fraud perpetuated by Emory University history professor Michael Bellesiles in his book Arming America: The Origins of a National Gun Culture. Bellesiles is only the latest in an ever-growing line of academic historians and scientists found guilty of manipulating the evidence in order to produce works of ideologically driven political correctness. The liberal intelligentsia and media lauded the book when it first came out... now they are not so vocal. Real historical writers probe factual uncertainties, but they do not invent convenient facts and they do not ignore inconvenient facts. People are entitled to their own opinions, but not to their own facts. Sunday, April 04, 2004 Shout shout Shout shout don't leave a doubt C. & C. Reid Thursday, April 01, 2004 Thursday, March 25, 2004 There are many thought-provoking posts over on Alan Myatt's blog Imago Veritatis I highly recommend it. Here are just a couple of recent posts: Leviticus and Today's Morals in which Alan deconstructs the sophistry of "those who do not believe the Bible's teachings [but] take it upon themselves to instruct those of us who do as to what it means". This phenomenon is so widespread as to be a virtual epidemic. Nothing highlights it more than plethora of reviews of "The Passion of the Christ" in which secular liberal film reviewers, who loudly proclaim their skepticism, atheism or agnosticism and proudly admit they haven't darkened the doors of a church or a synagogue since their school days, take to pontificating about the theology of the film and the details of New Testament history. Suddenly people for whom God is not a live option set themselves up as experts in the true essence of religion and of Christianity. Such hypocrisy from people who are not Christians, or even vaguely religious, reaches bizarre heights when the film gurus start lecturing Christians on the "real" message of the Gospel and of Christianity. Why Atheism in which he points out that "atheism turns out to be a wish projection of the atheist". He elaborates: Atheism, then, can be understood as a sort of psychological crutch for those who are unable to face up to the reality of God's sovereign rule of the creation. Not being able to deal with the implications of such rule, the atheist fabricates a universe more amenable to his tastes. All the while, he convinces himself that he is being rational, objective, just following the evidence, etc., making his wish projection an elaborate self-deception. The atheist is sincere in his unbelief, but he is wish projecting, just the same. I also recommend his series on Leftist morality in which he provocatively notes that "Leftists want the right to be personally immoral and publicly righteous" and that "leftist secular morality... involves an inherent contradiction between the desire to stand for certain human rights that are always and everywhere valid, and the desire to define morality in such a way that allows for right and wrong to be determined by individuals and cultures as they evolve, without the restraint of an absolute standard." A classic case of stating the bleeding obvious? Shock! Horror! New scientific research show that: Family discipline, religious attendance, attachment to school cut levels of later violence among aggressive children Aggressive 15 year olds who attended religious services, felt attached to their schools or were exposed to good family management were much less likely to have engaged in violent behavior by the time they turned 18, according to a new multi-ethnic study of urban youth by University of Washington researchers. "Aggressive 15 year olds who attended religious services, felt attached to their schools or were exposed to good family management were much less likely to have engaged in violent behavior by the time they turned 18." "Living in a run-down and crime-ridden neighborhood or associating with antisocial peers, can encourage antisocial or unhealthy behaviors." The earth-shattering findings were published in the journal Social Work Research, in a study funded by the National Institute on Drug Abuse. These "experts" from the University of Washington are kidding (sic) aren't they? I mean did they really need to be funded to conduct a study merely to discover what all realistic and wise people have always known?...Well, at least all non leftist liberal elitists have always known? Wise men worked this out long ago without the help of either a PhD or a funded study: The apostle Paul wrote: Children, obey your parents because you belong to the Lord, for this is the right thing to do. "Honor your father and mother." This is the first of the Ten Commandments that ends with a promise. And this is the promise: If you honor your father and mother, "you will live a long life, full of blessing." And now a word to you fathers. Don't make your children angry by the way you treat them. Rather, bring them up with the discipline and instruction approved by the Lord. Earlier a guy named Solomon said: Fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge. Only fools despise wisdom and discipline. Listen, my child,to what your father teaches you. Don't neglect your mother's teaching. What you learn from them will crown you with grace and clothe you with honour. My child, if sinners entice you, turn your back on them! They may say, "Come and join us. Let's hide and kill someone! Let's ambush the innocent! Let's swallow them alive as the grave swallows its victims. Though they are in the prime of life, they will go down into the pit of death. And the loot we'll get! We'll fill our houses with all kinds of things! Come on, throw in your lot with us; we'll split our loot with you." Don't go along with them, my child! Stay far away from their paths. They rush to commit crimes. They hurry to commit murder. When a bird sees a trap being set, it stays away. But not these people! They set an ambush for themselves; they booby-trap their own lives! Such is the fate of all who are greedy for gain. It ends up robbing them of life. In the midst of a society enamoured of technology but bereft of those much maligned and politically incorrect "traditional values" we discover that our children are being robbed of life. We have the answers, bur perhaps we love the questions too much... Sunday, March 21, 2004 Pee-wee Herman escapes the Big House but may never be allowed back in the Play House 'Pee-wee Herman' gets three years probation on obscenity charge "What’s it like in the big house, Micky? Tis a pity that some of Pee Wee's more recent big adventures have tragically involved indecency, obscenity and child pornography... Saturday, March 20, 2004 The modern myth of Christian aggression The Gray Monk: The modern myth of Christian aggression. Myths? I've known a few... Another one bites the dust courtesy of The Gray Monk "If you're gay, bi, or transgendered, we embrace you. But if your orientation is toward Jesus, you'd better keep it to yourself..." For What it's Worth Passion bashin' is in fashion Margaret Wente writing in The Globe and Mail struggles to come to terms with the power of the Passion and concludes that secular liberals may be... out of touch... Surely not!? Judging by most of what you read, Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ is the most dangerous, disgusting movie of all time. Even if you haven't seen it, you know that it's a gore-filled splatterfest with anti-Semitic overtones, that Mel Gibson's father is a flat-out Holocaust-denier, and that Mel himself is a sinister marketing genius. memo to Ms Wente: Read the book The message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. For it is written: The passion against the The Passion... Charlie Reece on why secularists hate "The Passion of the Christ" Mel Gibson, the actor and director, has done Christians a favor with his movie "The Passion of the Christ"... remind[ing] Christians of the malevolence many secularists feel toward them and their religion. I have never seen the level of personal attacks directed against Gibson launched against any other director, plenty of whom have produced bloody garbage and soft porn. Even when the Disney people hired a convicted pedophile to direct a movie that had pedophile overtones, the critics were all "ho-hum" and "so what." If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first. If you belonged to the world, it would love you as its own. As it is, you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world. That is why the world hates you. Wednesday, March 17, 2004 Spalding Gray RIP Spalding Gray's Body Found Washed Ashore on Brooklyn Waterfront The depressed monologuist and actor really had tried "swimming to Cambodia"... Starry, starry night. Paint your palette blue and grey, Look out on a summer's day, With eyes that know the darkness in my soul. Shadows on the hills, Sketch the trees and the daffodils, Catch the breeze and the winter chills, In colors on the snowy linen land. Now I understand what you tried to say to me, How you suffered for your sanity, How you tried to set them free. They would not listen, they did not know how. Perhaps they'll listen now. Starry, starry night. Flaming flowers that brightly blaze, Swirling clouds in violet haze, Reflect in Vincent's eyes of China blue. Colors changing hue, morning field of amber grain, Weathered faces lined in pain, Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand. Now I understand what you tried to say to me, How you suffered for your sanity, How you tried to set them free. They would not listen, they did not know how. Perhaps they'll listen now. For they could not love you, But still your love was true. And when no hope was left in sight On that starry, starry night, You took your life, as lovers often do. But I could have told you, Vincent, This world was never meant for one As beautiful as you. Starry, starry night. Portraits hung in empty halls, Frameless head on nameless walls, With eyes that watch the world and can't forget. Like the strangers that you've met, The ragged men in the ragged clothes, The silver thorn of bloody rose, Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow. Now I think I know what you tried to say to me, How you suffered for your sanity, How you tried to set them free. They would not listen, they're not listening still. Perhaps they never will. Vincent by Don McLean Saturday, January 31, 2004 Wednesday, January 21, 2004 still missing |