A cup of tea and shutting down the computer, of course. And so it shall be. But first… a poem.

We stood by a pond that winter day,
And the sun was white, as though chidden of God,
And a few leaves lay on the starving sod,
– They had fallen from an ash, and were gray.

Your eyes on me were as eyes that rove
Over tedious riddles solved years ago;
And some words played between us to and fro –
On which lost the more by our love.

The smile on your mouth was the deadest thing
Alive enough to have strength to die;
And a grin of bitterness swept thereby
Like an ominous bird a-wing….

Since then, keen lessons that love deceives,
And wrings with wrong, have shaped to me
Your face, and the God-curst sun, and a tree,
And a pond edged with grayish leaves.

Thomas Hardy, “Neutral Tones.”

My wife read it to me tonite while I was in the bath. She said it has the same sentiment as a lot of the bands we like. She read me another that Hardy wrote about his mother’s death. I’m convinced that exposure to Hardy at too young an age is what made my wife into a lover of Sartre novels. It’s too late to save her, but I hope others can learn from this experience. I urge you friends, lock away your Hardy lest your daughters grow up beset by sympathy for existential crises.

In other news, I found another fucking white hair.

Time for tea!

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