No, my brain didn't get eaten.
But a chat with a friend tonight reminded me of college, and the patented Newly pick-up technique. Basically, it consisted of poetry and flowers. Not my poems - I majored in English Literature and could 'borrow' other peoples'
Keats was always a good one.
I dusted off an old book of his poetry that I salvaged from the house of oddness and found a favourite of mine:
When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
Thank you, Mr Keats. So sad you died so young.
I also wrote poetry. Pages and pages while I was courting The Ex. All of it bad and buttock clenchingly embarassing to look at now.
I burnt it when I moved out of the house of oddness.
