My best friend and I have a thing for the High Line. Ever since the completion of the second part we have been speculating on how long it will take for the third part to be completed. Now there is a date for when it will open to the public. If your bet was September 21st, then you have won. Hooray! I cannotwait to see it. No, I will not be rushing to 30th St. and 10th Ave. on that day. It is a Sunday and I do not like how the MTA treats me on Sundays. Anyway, Monday seems like a smarter day to visit if you are like me and will probably be visiting by your lonely self. Not complaining. Also It is smarter because they are hosting eventsthe entire week to mark the completion of the project. Have a blast! Jane
Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand:
Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!
There has been a little conversation between myself and Edna St. Vincent Millay’s speaker in “Second Fig” for months now. Sometimes I would forget to think or talk to her for days or even weeks, then run into her riding the shades of a slow afternoon or merging with the shadows of an eerie night. Most recently, though, I have been finding her lisping within conversations shared with others and reading her on pages here and there. The thing is, often, in polite society, we speak only of our minor headaches in such ways that arouse neither genuine pity nor concern for our wellbeing but shine a dim light on our shared struggles in the search of infinite satiation. And this is why the lines of “Second Fig” are irritating––they are shamelessly honest. They can even be called coarse in that they seem to mock and brag simultaneously without apology. T…
Civilisation is hooped together, brought
Under a rule, under the semblance of peace
By manifold illusion; but man’s life is thought,
And he, despite his terror, cannot cease
Ravening through century after century,
Ravening, raging, and uprooting that he may come
Into the desolation of reality:
Egypt and Greece, good-bye, and good-bye, Rome!
Hermits upon Mount Meru or Everest,
Caverned in night under the drifted snow,
Or where that snow and winter’s dreadful blast
Beat down upon their naked bodies, know
That day bring round the night, that before dawn
His glory and his monuments are gone.