Deep Thought #321

Lyrics like "Sunrise, sunrise, looks like morning in your eyes" can drive me insane. I mean, what the hell else is a sunrise supposed to look like? Why, thanks for telling me, because I absolutely never would have thought of that. *groan*
Reminds me of my least favorite line in The Fifth Child (a book that isn't worth the paper it was printed on, and we read it in grade 12 in school): "He looked at her with his hostile-looking grin that looked hostile." Wow. Something hostile-looking looks hostile. Who woulda thunk.

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( Bei uns daheim geht die Sonne am Abend auf. )

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Deep Thought #322

"...Wolfgang Petersen lets the battle of Troy last two weeks instead of ten years..." (heard on the radio)

Ooook. Why exactly? I mean, I fully well understand that he can't do it in real time; but whether you pretend that the two hours last ten years or two weeks shouldn't make so much difference. Oh, it's the age of the heroes, right? You wouldn't want to have to show them aging?
Still, I'm not sure I like it. "Look, guys, we've been here only two weeks, but we realized we don't like the climate, and the food, and the Return of the King DVD is coming out the next day, and anyways, so you get this nice little gift box horse to make up for the strain, or as a wedding gift, or whatever. Bye!"
Sure.

Oh well.

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( Holzpferde haben eine jahrtausendealte Tradition in Griechenland! )

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You look at trees and label them just so/ For trees are 'trees', and growing is 'to grow'...

Jörg and I went running this evening. He had planned to do so since December; in a moment of recklessness, I had agreed to accompany him.
The way is a pretty one, around one of the many water reservoirs around here, and a mere 9 kms. And my legs feel as though they're about to fall off any second now, and I'm not entirely sure they manage to support my weight much longer. Of course, that's my own fault, because my sportive ambition forbids the consideration of giving up, so unless the road end or I break down, I run on. Fortunately, the road ended before I would have broken down.
When I ran before, it was a 3 km route through the forest near my parents' house. It took me about as long as it took to recite Mythopoeia in my head, which I always did simultaneously.
Today, the route was thrice as long, and it took me twice as long to recite the poem, in part because the effort kept diverting me, because I had almost forgotten parts, and also because Jörg kept talking. Eventually I recited the last stanzas aloud so he'd shut up. While running, mind you.
Well. I'm still alive, and I suppose I should be proud, and I'll sleep deeply tonight. But if I ever read in some story about some captured character being dragged after his horse-riding captors, I'm going to feel profoundly sorry for him.

Speaking of stories: The more I watch the news these days, the more I think that escapism is very much rectified. Anyone who goes about in this world without sometimes busying their mind with the imagined, unreasonable, insane, is to be considered dangerous, for they must be really insane.

Cannot cope. Off to Valinor.

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( Du nennst die Bäume grad so, denn du weißt/ Dass ein Baum 'Baum', und wachsen 'wachsen' heißt... )

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