The Argyle Sweater by Scott Hilburn for May 13, 2009
May 12, 2009
May 14, 2009
Transcript:
Bug in middle: I'm talkin' to Pete, right, 'cept it was like he wasn't listenin'. Then, suddenly, he stands up, circles the campfire a few times and jumps right into the flames. Craziest thing ever, huh, Jessie? Jessie...?
Reminds me of the Jethro Tull tune called Moths (from Heavy Horses album):
The leaded window opened
to move the dancing candle flame
And the first Moths of summer
suicidal came.
And a new breeze chattered
in its May-bud tenderness —
Sending water-lillies sailing
as she turned to get undressed.
And the long night awakened
and we soared on powdered wings —
Circling our tomorrows
in the wary month of Spring.
Chasing shadows slipping
in a magic lantern slide —
Creatures of the candle
on a night-light-ride.
Dipping and weaving — flutter
through the golden needle’s eye
in our haystack madness. Butterfly-stroking
on a Spring-tide high.
Life’s too long (as the Lemming said)
as the candle burned and the Moths were wed.
And we’ll all burn together as the wick grows higher —
before the candle’s dead.
The leaded window opened
to move the dancing candle flame.
And the first moths of summer
suicidal came
to join in the worship
of the light that never dies
in a moment’s reflection
of two moths spinning in her eyes.
Reminds me of the Jethro Tull tune called Moths (from Heavy Horses album):
The leaded window opened to move the dancing candle flame And the first Moths of summer suicidal came. And a new breeze chattered in its May-bud tenderness — Sending water-lillies sailing as she turned to get undressed. And the long night awakened and we soared on powdered wings — Circling our tomorrows in the wary month of Spring. Chasing shadows slipping in a magic lantern slide — Creatures of the candle on a night-light-ride. Dipping and weaving — flutter through the golden needle’s eye in our haystack madness. Butterfly-stroking on a Spring-tide high. Life’s too long (as the Lemming said) as the candle burned and the Moths were wed. And we’ll all burn together as the wick grows higher — before the candle’s dead. The leaded window opened to move the dancing candle flame. And the first moths of summer suicidal came to join in the worship of the light that never dies in a moment’s reflection of two moths spinning in her eyes.