Today's crow.
My favourite joke at the moment. A girl goes into a pub with her boy friend. The boy friend says:
"I love you." The girl says: "That must be the beer talking." the boy friend says: "No, it's me talking to the beer."
Only one good thing comes out of Barrett Bonden's decision to abandon his thought-provoking and thoughtful blog called Works Well. It was entertaining, witty and to the point even when its original focus on technology became blurred. The good thing that came out of its closure was an hour- long telephone conversation - good at least for me, rather than for others who have lost Works Well permanently. Knowledge of Bonden's granite-like character inspires little hope of revival. His reasons for closing it are mysterious, though we know that someone - another blogger - was wounded by a comment which he made, not on his own blog, but on the other blogger's blog. The whole business is disturbing. As from a face behind a veil two mysterious eyes stare out, benign, kindly, wise, accusing, suspicious, menacing? Who knows? At first my response to the news was such that I reacted to it without fully understanding why Works Well was to go. My comment on Works Well ( comment number 21 of 21) was written in indignation as well as partial ignorance. However it earned me the epithet "gnomic" which gave BB the opportunity to use the word and me to learn its meaning. Gnomic I like. Now there is the topic Why do people blog to explore, the dangers of blogging and so on. From time time gnomic utterances will now transpire, a poor substitute for those of BB himself.
3 comments:
My emotions got the better of me in WW's comment section. I shall miss it. I read your comments with a full heart.
Granite-like character. Granite's treacherous stuff. On rock-climbs it wears slowly and very evenly, eventually polishing up to the texture of glass. Rained on, it becomes impossibly slippery. Famed for its durability it has killed a lot of climbers. Behind each seemingly worthwhile quality one may often find a defect.
Worth a sonnet which would fall away badly in the third quatrain. But then it wouldn't be the first time.
Plutarch, you take such wonderful photos of birds, especially of crows. Were I a feathered crow, I would be honored to have you snap my portrait.
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