February 2013

26 01 2018




The Great Gretsky: The Aging of a Superstar

26 01 2018

Hallidd's Weblog


A. E. Housman. 1859–
To An Athlete Dying Young
The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.
To-day, the road all runners come, 5
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.
Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay, 10
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.
Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers 15
After earth has stopped the ears:
Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honours out,
Runners whom renown outran
And the name died before the man. 20
So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,

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The Lonesome Thoughts of Bob Dylan…

26 01 2018

Hallidd's Weblog

When I was in college at the University of Windsor a friend of mine invited me to a party in Detroit. I declined. I’d had problems crossing the border. They thought I was a slug. My hair was too long. Or I was the wrong sex. He went. There was a bunch of people in the room. Smoking dope. Listening to loud music. Eating blocks of ice cream. One of the guests was Bob Dylan. He sat in the corner. Talking to no one. His head bowed. Lost in some thought. My friend said Dylan was like that all evening. And I couldn’t lose the impression of Dylan in a world by himself. His mind, drifting.

Bob Dylan's Lonesome ThoughtsV2

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The Ugly Face Of The Time Machine

26 01 2018

Hallidd's Weblog

Its odd as human that once a technology gets old, we become sentimental about it. There was an old factory in Guelph, Ontario from the early 20th century that had been abandoned. Touring the building one was struck by the craftsmanship needed to construct such a place and what a hell-hole it must have been to work there. It is as if Dante’s inferno and paradiso were caught in one image, one experience.

The Ugly Face of the Time MachineCV2

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A Tear Fell From Her Fingernail

26 01 2018

Hallidd's Weblog

Mothers participate in something that is a kin to being joined with the rest of the universe. Or at least life. After everything has passed, they still know that they were part of something marvellous. Men are spectators. We are like the moon. Grey, lifeless. Circling the womb.

A tear fell from her fingernail

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‘I love a man in trousers’…

26 01 2018




Daisy, Daisy…

26 01 2018