Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening 
(with apologies to Robert Frost, who, I'm sure, is rolling over in his grave, along with so many others)

Wish I knew whom to credit for this great poetic parody, but I don't. Enjoy:

I have a pretty good idea whose woods these are, believe me.

And let me tell you something, my people say he's a complete nobody.

This guy lives in the village. So what if he sees me stopping here?

I dare him to sue me! I dare him!

And by the way, this snow is pathetic.

These are, by far, the least downy flakes ever!

I hear they import them from Canada.

I don't know. Maybe they did. Maybe they didn't. We're looking into it.

My horse -- he's the most incredible horse, seriously, I have the 

greatest, classiest horses--

My horse doesn't even know what the hell we're doing here.

The horses love me though. They do.

They're always shaking their bells at me, it's very loving.

It's a beautiful thing.

Let me tell you something, these woods are an embarrassment.

They're not dark. They're not deep.

They're nothing. They're for losers.

And I cannot wait to sue this guy.

I cannot wait to sue this guy.

In Mourning

A fascist buffoon elected to the White House and the death of Leonard Cohen all in one week -- less than one week -- is about more than I can bear. If I believed in reading symbolism into everything, I'd say that Cohen died as an act of mourning for what's going on in this country. So rather than pile on with analysis and with facts, which don't mean anything in this age of blind rage and uncontrolled id, I'll let the man speak for himself. RIP, great man, great poet, great prophet:

Anthem 

by Leonard Cohen 

The birds they sang 
at the break of day 
Start again 
I heard them say 
Don't dwell on what 
has passed away 
or what is yet to be. 
Ah the wars they will 
be fought again 
The holy dove 
She will be caught again 
bought and sold 
and bought again 
the dove is never free. 

Ring the bells that still can ring 
Forget your perfect offering 
There is a crack in everything 
That's how the light gets in. 

We asked for signs 
the signs were sent: 
the birth betrayed 
the marriage spent 
Yeah the widowhood 
of every government -- 
signs for all to see. 

I can't run no more 
with that lawless crowd 
while the killers in high places 
say their prayers out loud. 
But they've summoned, they've summoned up 
a thundercloud 
and they're going to hear from me. 

Ring the bells that still can ring ... 

You can add up the parts 
but you won't have the sum 
You can strike up the march, 
there is no drum 
Every heart, every heart 
to love will come 
but like a refugee. 

Ring the bells that still can ring 
Forget your perfect offering 
There is a crack, a crack in everything 
That's how the light gets in. 

Ring the bells that still can ring 
Forget your perfect offering 
There is a crack, a crack in everything 
That's how the light gets in. 
That's how the light gets in. 
That's how the light gets in.

R. I. P., Alan Rickman

More sad news to add to the start of this year. First David Bowie, and now Alan Rickman. Both 69, both died of cancer.

Rickman was simply one of the greatest actors of our time. And a great humanist. Marvelous actor, marvelous man. Why do such beautiful people have to go, while monsters like Dick Cheney still walk about?