if writing should laugh, not weep

Then, so that he would be a good rider (especially of horses) all his life long, they made him a lovely big wooden horse, which he made to prance, jump, canter, charge, and dance all at once, as well as walk, pace, trot, gallop, amble and go the pace of a hobby, a hackney, a camel and an onager. And he made it change the colour of its hair, as monks change their chasubles, depending on feast days: bay, sorrel, dapple grey, rat colour, roan, cow, speckled, skewbald, piebald, white. And he himself, using a big beam set on wheels, made himself a hunting horse, and another one from the beam of a winepress for everyday use, and from a great oak a mule with a horse-cloth for his bedroom. And he had ten or twelve more for relays, and seven to act as post horses. And he had them all sleep next to him. [Raelais]

(do I even have to say that I most love the hobby horses sleeping next to the giant boy, hobby horse nighttime snuggling)

things I like today

- that slaughter is laughter with an s.

- that once upon a time, meteors were called exhalations.

- that the joplin line I've liked so much all these years, I am as constant as the northern star, is extracted from julius caesar, and is one of the last things he says. his constancy, we are to believe, is what in part makes him a tyrant (quote unquote). for joplin, it is the material of a good love. and for someone else, love is tyranny and shakespeare and joplin are bedfellows!