Mamalujo

I enjoy history, running, surfing, hiking and sailing.

Some books I've read recently: On the Road, The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie by Muriel Spark, Michael D. O'Brien's Plague Journal, James Bradley's Imperial Cruise, about Theodore Roosevelt's 1905 diplomatic mission to Asia, Tim Powers' Expiration Date, Walter M. Miller, Jr.'s A Canticle for Leibowitz, Keith Donohue's The Stolen Child based on my favorite Yeats poem of the same name, Ron Hansen's Atticus, Shusaku Endo's Silence, Mary Doria Russell's The Sparrow, G.K. Chesterton's Orthodoxy, Theodore Rex by Edmund Morris, The Devil in the White City by Erik Larson, Cormac McCarthy's The Road, Strangers and Sojourners by Michael D. O'Brien, Thomas Cahill's Mysteries of the Middle Ages, Anthony Beevor's The Spanish Civil War, Graham Greene's The Power and the Glory, Ron Hansen's Mariette In Ecstacy, The Kite Runner, Richard Henry Dana's Two Years Before the Mast, the Voyages of Joshua Slocum and Rod Dreher's Crunchy Cons.

• 1.Iamdudum
• 2.The Newman Guide to Choosing a Catholic College
• 3.Ars Disputandi
• 4.National Shrine
• 5.Seat 12
• 6.Cristiada (film)
• 7.Maria Esperanza de Bianchini
• 8.Acerba Animi
• 9.Barbara Nicolosi
• 10.National League for the Defense of Religious Liberty
• 11.Aristeo Pedroza
• 12.Faustino Rayo
• 13.Jesuite
• 14.Los Rios District
• 15.The Quest for Shakespeare
• 16.Moran's Oyster Cottage
• 17.Maximato
• 18.Cristo Rei of Dili
• 19.Cristo del Sagrado Corazon
• 20.Iniquis Afflictisque
• 21.Dilectissima Nobis
• 22.Beda Chang
• 23.Ronald J. Rychlak
• 24.Tadich Grill
• 25.The New Anti-Catholicism: The Last Acceptable Prejudice
• 26.Godspy
• 27.Adrian Fortescue (martyr)
• 28.Pavol Peter Gojdič
• 29.Anacleto González Flores
• 30.Clare Asquith
• 31.Atrocities committed during the Spanish Civil War
• 32.El Adobe de Capistrano
• 33.Martyrs of the Spanish Civil War
• 34.Red Shirts (Mexico)
• 35.Affaire Des Fiches
• 36.Red Terror (Spain)
• 37.Communist terrorism
• 38.Tomás Garrido Canabal
• 39.William Shakespeare's religion (begun as a section of the Shakespeare article and forked to new article by other editor)

AB OVO USQUE AD MALA

(Furtive my Anglish its mi furst linguage.)

Litter pyx of pottery por ewe or ewers:

Here is no water but only rock Rock and no water and the sandy road The road winding above among the mountains Which are mountains of rock without water If there were water we should stop and drink *** What is that sound high in the air Murmur of maternal lamentation Who are those hooded hordes swarming Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth Ringed by the flat horizon only What is the city over the mountains Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air Falling towers Jerusalem Athens Alexandria Vienna London Unreal

-T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land

Blessed sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain, spirit of the garden, Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit still Even among these rocks, Our peace in His will And even among these rocks Sister, mother And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea, Suffer me not to be separated

And let my cry come unto Thee.

-T.S. Eliot, Ash Wednesday

Where are the eagles and the trumpets?

Buried beneath some snow-deep Alps. Over buttered scones and crumpets Weeping, weeping multitudes Droop in a hundred A.B.C.’s.

-T.S. Eliot, A Cooking Egg

Our four avunculists. And, threestory sorratelling was much too many, they maddened and they morgued and they lungd and they jowld. Synopticked on the world. ... Our wholemole millwheeling vicociclometer, a tetradoma-tional gazebocroticon (the “Mamma Lujah” known to every schoolboy scandaller, be he Matty, Marky, Lukey or John-a-Donk), autokinatonetically preprovided with a clappercoupling smeltingworks exprogressive process, (for the farmer, his son and their homely codes, known as eggburst, eggblend, eggburial and hatch-as-hatch can) receives through a portal vein the dialytically separated elements of precedent decomposition for the verypet-purpose of subsequent recombination so that the heroticisms, catastrophes and eccentricities transmitted by the ancient legacy of the past; type by tope, letter from litter, word at ward, with sendence of sundance, since the days of Plooney and Colum-cellas when Giacinta, Pervenche and Margaret swayed over the all-too-ghoulish and illyrical and innumantic in our mutter nation, all, anastomosically assimilated and preteridentified paraidioti-cally, in fact, the sameold gamebold adomic structure of our Finnius the old One, as highly charged with electrons as hophaz-ards can effective it, may be there for you, Cockalooralooraloo— menos, when cup, platter and pot come piping hot, as sure as herself pits hen to paper and there’s scribings scrawled on eggs. -James Joyce, Finnegans Wake

And egg she active or spoon she passive, all them fine clauses in Lindley’s and Murrey’s never braught the participle of a present to a desponent hortatrixy, vindicatively I say it, from her postconditional future. (Finnegans again)

FOOL: Give me an egg, nuncle, and I'll give thee twocrowns.

KING LEAR: What two crowns shall they be?

FOOL: Why—after I have cut the egg i' th' middle and eat up the meat—the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i' th' middle, and gavest away both parts, thou borest thy *** o' th' back o'er the dirt. Thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown when thou gavest thy golden one away. If I speak like myself in this, let him be whipped that first finds it so. -Shakespeare, King Lear, act 1, scene 4

Truly, thou art damned, like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side. -Shakespeare, As You Like It, act 3, scene 2

The vulgar boil, the learned roast, an egg. -Alexander Pope, Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace, Epistle ii, Book ii, Line 85

מִיכָאֵל‎, A pyxis ortu ortu of sum thegns:

the farced epistol to the hibruws, not for vegetarian Wagnerians

The Blud of the mortars is the cede of the smirch. Thus leap of rhizome profusus monstrance.

Peristerium

dREAmbLabbering

You should tell that story to Dali. He has held the world monopoly on eggs ever since Christopher Columbus gave it up. Omelettes, fried eggs, scrambled eggs, hard-boiled eggs, soft-boiled eggs – Dali has used them for everything. -Picasso

Wow! Quiet! the birds are making an awful racket in the Row tweep? tswip! creet! clink! crack! ding dong the bell rope bird of break of day -Jack Kerouac, Old Angel Midnight

Who began before non-existence's dependence on existence, Who came before the chicken and the egg Who started out enormous Light the dark brilliance of the Mystery for all good hears to shroud inside

-Jack Kerouac, Pomes all sizes

- - -- - Μεγαλύνει - -----

Who would hang from the domed ceiling of his house
A figure of the world with colours in it
So that the figure of the universe
And ‘not just single things’ would meet his sight

When he walked abroad. As from his small window
The astronaut sees all he has sprung from,
The risen, aqueous, singular, lucent O
Like a magnified and buoyent ovum

Or like my own wide pre-reflective stare
All agog at the plasterer on his ladder
Skimming our gable and writing his name there
With his trowel point, letter by strange letter.

–Seamus Heaney, Alphabets

A DRINK OF WATER

She came every morning to draw water Like an old bat staggering up the field: The pump's whooping cough, the bucket's clatter And slow diminuendo as it filled, Announced her. I recall Her grey apron, the pocked white enamel Of the brimming bucket, and the treble Creak of her voice like the pump's handle. Nights when a full moon lifted past her gable It fell back through her window and would lie Into the water set out on the table. Where I have dipped to drink again, to be Faithful to the admonishment on her cup, Remember the Giver fading off the lip.

-- Seamus Heaney

The moon's host elevated in a monstrance of holly trees, he makes dark tracks, who had untousled a first dewy path into the summer grazing.

-Seamus Heaney, The Last Mummer

“If it’s a symbol, then to hell with it!” - Flannery O’Connor

Southward through EDEN went a River large, Nor chang'd his course, but through the shaggie hill Pass'd underneath ingulft, for God had thrown That Mountain as his Garden mould high rais'd Upon the rapid current, which through veins Of porous Earth with kindly thirst up drawn, Rose a fresh Fountain, and with many a rill Waterd the Garden; thence united fell Down the steep glade, and met the neather Flood, Which from his darksom passage now appeers, And now divided into four main Streams, Runs divers, wandring many a famous Realme And Country whereof here needs no account - Paradise Lost

About that original hen. ... please kindly communicake with the original sinse we are only yearning as yet how to burgeon. It's meant milliems of centiments deadlost or mislaid on them but, master of snakes, we can sloughchange in the nip of a napple solongas we can allsee for deedsetton your quick. - Finnegans Wake

  _____________________________________________________________________________________________ Ad maiorem Dei gloriam