September Daybook

 Date… Friday, September 16

Starting time… 10:20 AM

Mood… pensive.

Outside my window… delicious, cloudy, cool, weather.

I’m thinking… about the service project tonight and how I’m going to get there.

I’m reading… Tolkien’s Silmarillion.

I’m listening to… The Weasel by Capercaillie.

I’m wearing… jeans and my Christendom t-shirt. I don’t think I’ve ever worn pants during one of these daybooks (well, maybe on my old blog).
Yesterday, I… had co-op classes and my math teacher said Really Weird Things. Again.

I’m excited for… the service project. I guess.

I’m sad because… it’s going to be a looooong weekend. And not in a good way.

I’m hungry for… nothing.

The song stuck inside my head is… “Thou Hast Left Me Ever, Jamie” by Karine Polwart. One of them, at least. Well, sort of. Never mind.

I want… to go to the movie theater. 🙂

I love… The Silmarillion.

I loathe… that stupid song known as “If I Die Young”.

This week, my goal is… to survive.

memories, Poetry, seasons

"And never was piping so sad…" *

I just returned from a walk, during which I spent a fair length of time daydreaming about the walks I will take when it becomes cold and the leaves begin to change. There is no greater earthly pleasure than walking in crisp weather, when a chilly wind is blowing and the trees are red and gold, unless it be to lie on a slope with the breeze rustling your hair and leaves flying. It is a little sad to think that it will be weeks, perhaps many, until I may have that delight, but the wait will make it even sweeter when it arrives. I just re-read The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle, which dwells largely on this theme of mortality; the idea that the very fleetingness of the joys of life lends them their beauty and mirth.

It is not quite the Christian perspective, which sees all these things as small, dim reflections of the bliss of heaven, but it has truth in it, though it can be easily corrupted into the carpe diem, the practice of seizing every pleasure now lest it be gone forever. Somehow, I don’t feel that the book intends to teach that; perhaps it is because of the melancholy with which it is so imbued, and which makes it so lovely. One can feel this bittersweetness in Tolkien’s work, in parts of Narnia, in Till We Have Faces, in Homer and Virgil; Yeats is drenched in it; Chesterton hints at it occasionally, though he is a poet of day, rather than of the evening that it lingers in.
It has an affinity for starlight and moonlight and echoes, for dark forests and white flowers; a feeling of autumn, of things pale and ancient and far away. Though not all autumnal poetry is of this sort; there are chiefly two kinds, it seems to me. There is the autumn that is filled with gold and red and hearth fires, the poetry of the harvest; and the autumn that is the fading away of the year, the cold winds, the dying leaves, the bare branches; the poetry of November.
 * Note: the title of the post is taken from Yeats’ wonderful poem, “The Host of the Air”.
awesomeness, Blog, dear readers, language, triumph


I, gentle reader, have coined a new word. I even Googled it to make sure it didn’t exist.


Neo=new, theo=God, phobe=one who is afraid. I coined it to refer to those unfortunate New Atheists (Philip Pullman in particular), whom I hope earnestly you have never heard of, because they are wretched and ruin people’s days, besides having a fascinating ignorance of philosophy.

Spread the word! Use it whenever you get a chance (which will hopefully not be too often)! Use it whenever you talk about New Atheists to your friends in the midst of your delightful philosophical conversations!

Humour, Poetry, writing


I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

Of course, this analysis is notoriously unreliable; I’ve gotten H. P. Lovecraft, Dan Brown, and and James Joyce before, depending on what pieces I put in. However, I just got Shakespeare twice in a row! Surely I must be improving, says I, with tongue firmly in cheek.
The first piece I put in was a fragment of a story which will not be seeing the light of day any time soon, but I’ll vouchsafe the first couple stanzas of the second piece (a poem I wrote a few months ago). I suspect that the faintly archaic language, thee’s and thou’s, and the “alas” near the end of the poem were what did me in.

The sound of silk, a rustling tread,
The rising moon shone golden-red,
The darkness shivered round the tree,

While wind blew in the lea.

“O Lady, Lady,” called the thrush,
His bright voice broke the weary hush,
“O why do you walk alone at dusk,
When wind blows sweet the musk?”

“O Lady, Lady,” sang the lark,
His song made bright and warm the dark,
“O why do you walk alone at night,
As wind blows like a wight?”
awesomeness, random, seasons


It’s September at last! September is one of my five favorite months, after December, June, November, and October. December because of Advent, Christmas, and Christmas break; June because it’s the month of the Sacred Heart, my birthday month (and St. Margaret Mary is my patroness! How awesome is that?) and there’s no school as a bonus, November because it’s fall and cold (I believe we get our best fall foliage here in November, too), October because it’s fall and sort of cold, and September because temperatures begin to go down from 100+ degrees and become bearable again.

Oh my goodness! Monday has a predicted high of only 86 degrees! Be still, my beating heart! And the low is in the high 60s! Let there be mirth and merrymaking! Fall is upon our doorstep! Bliss! Joy! Rapture! Ecstasy!