Sunday, April 14, 2013

Weekend Interlude

We pass through life like clouds through a room.
Berndnaut Smilde, Nimbus D'Aspremont, 2012

Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,
Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep seas swell
And the profit and loss.

A current under sea
Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell
He passed the stages of his age and youth
Entering the whirlpool.

Gentile or Jew
O you who turn the wheel and look to windward,
Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.

— T.S. Eliot, from The Waste Land

As that other inevitability approaches tomorrow, do not forget the Boatman. Nobody ever said on his deathbed he wished he’d spent more time preparing taxes.

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