St. Valentine's Day Massacree

Happy St. Valentine's Day, O noble friends. On this day we commemorate martyrdom of St. Valentine of Rome under Claudius II, the very god-emperor on the coin I received for my birthday, in addition of several other martyred St. Valentines about whom I have no comment. Of course, we also must celebrate pagan fertility, for tomorrow is Lupercalia! I do not know how you plan to commemorate this excellent Roman festival, but allow me to tell of you of my acts on this day, beginning at six o'clock of the morning, the true beginning of any day, for that is the purpose of any weblog, to yell out into the aether all manner of dull details of daily existence!

At 6:00 am I sleep soundly, dreaming of something that I do not recall any longer. My excellent good friends certainly were not involved, though, as I did not awake with a warm bosom and happy thoughts. Fortunately, my dreams must not have been dark, either, as I did not awake in inexplicable misery.

At 7:05 am my alarm sounds. This is not pleasing to me, as it interrupts my dreams and forces me to face reality. I am not friend to the alarm. It is informed that I should prefer to snooze.

At 7:10 am my alarm tells me to cease snoozing. I tell it that I am not finished snoozing, and that I shall continue to snooze for as long as the will to snooze yet compels me to snooze.

At 7:15 am my alarm tells me once again to cease snoozing. I again tell it that I am still not finished snoozing, and that I shall continue to snooze as long as the will to snooze yet compels me to snooze.

At 7:20 am my alarms tells me once again that it is time to cease snoozing. I agree, so I rise from my bed, proceeding to engage in hygiene.

At 7:41 am I return to my room and ponder what I shall wear on this day. Observing my closet I find three shirts and two pairs of pants. Two of the shirts are beige, and one shirt is grey. Finding that decision difficult, I turn to pants. They are both the same, being blue jeans, so I take the pair nearest to me. Returning to the shirts, I reason within myself that if I wear the grey shirt, I will be left with naught but beige, but if I wear a beige shirt, I shall be left with both beige and grey. This compels me to choose beige, in the name of balance. Last I must find a pair of socks. Opening my sock drawer, I find several colors of socks: light grey, dark grey, beige, navy blue, and black. There are three pairs of light grey socks, which also happen to be my favorite color for my socks. I choose the lightest of the light grey socks. Having done these things, I dress myself.

At 7:48 am I don my coat, gloves, and satchel (which is far too excellent a word to pass up, even if it is not the most accurate descriptor). A mighty thirst, however, overcomes me, so I drink of the water that rests upon my dresser.

At 7:50 am I realize that I have ten minutes to reach my destination, which happens to be a ten minute walk away. I depart.

At 8:00 am I arrive at my destination, which is The Development of Christianity, as taught by Dr. Edwin Yamauchi. Again, I encourage you, my friends, to read his books.

At 9:15 am I depart thence walking, enduring the elements at a slower pace, causing my walk to near fifteen minutes in length.

At 9:28 I arrive once again in my room, and I notice the unfinished Greek work on my desk, due at 11:00 am. I listen to Jethro Tull's Heavy Horses and finish that wretched task.

At 9:47 am, still listening to Heavy Horses, I complete the appointed Greek translation (in this case the rare horror of English to Greek) and activate my computer. I visit most of my usual internet destinations, and then I come to my own weblog.

At 10:06 am I begin writing of my St. Valentine's Day, as recorded here now.

At 10:23 am I must choose a new music to hear, Heavy Horses having ended not long before. The latter album always fills me with great joy according to association. Now I hear Debussy's La Mer.

At 10:28 am I ponder the immense humor inherent in the word "snooze," and I use it an obscene number of times as I describe the acts of my St. Valentine's Day.

At 10:46 am La Mer ends. I think about going out to learn Greek.

At 10:50 am I realize that I must find my way to my Greek class by 11:00 am, despite the fact that it is a fifteen minute walk away. I walk with great expediency.

At 11:01 am I arrive for Greek, but I am on time.

At 11:56 am I complete the learning of Greek on this day, and I go out and across a courtyard to another stately edifice where I must learn philosophy.

At 12:02 pm I take a seat in the front room of this stately edifice, and sitting there I muse. The things I muse about are these: snow, ice, sunlight, moonlight, starlight, the latter three reflected on the former two, trees, icy trees, water, flowing water, music, poetry, romance, and phantoms.

At 12:19 pm I take myself upstairs to learn philosophy. I learn several things, none of them philosophical. Also, I learn several other things, all of them philosophical.

At 1:47 pm I am released from philosophizing, and I stare out the window for a short while. for the sun is shining across the frozen trees. Afterward I depart, planning to meet myself for a repulsive luncheon alone in celebration of St. Valentine's Day.

At 2:06, having obtained my repulsive luncheon, I eat it. It consists of a sandwich and potato-like substance. Someone forgot to put the swiss cheese on my sandwich, making me sad thereby, and the potato-like substance was much too hot. Thus did I eat a truly repulsive luncheon.

At 2:16 pm I divined that I must replenish my supplies of water and juice, both of which I love to drink, so I walk to the shop down the hall from the repulsive food court. Now, in purchasing water, I am given three options. The first is a very large bottle of tap water which tastes of government tampering, sure to impurify my precious bodily fluids. I do not purchase this water. The second is a lesser bottle of tap water, also tasting of government tampering, but it possesses a bit more class. All the same, I do not purchase it. The third choice is purified water that claims to come from lands far away. I do not know about lands far away, but this water has been purified of government tampering at least, so I purchase it. The juice selection is much simpler: cherry-pomegranate and blackberry-blueberry. I would purchase pomegranate-blueberry, but I already have some. Having paid for these things, I return to my room, braving the lessening cold and witnessing the inevitable fleeting of profound beauty, that is, the melting of the frozen trees. I recall my wanderings in the frozen field last midnight under clear, starry skies, thereby fulfilling several dreams of mine.

At 2:28 pm I reach my dwelling, and I deposit my beverages in the refrigerator. Also, I turn my computer on, desiring to relate to my dear beloved friends my St. Valentine's Day celebrations. As that begins, I recall the three "Candy-Grams" I purchased last week to be delivered on this day. It is clear to me that they were never sent, despite the fact that I paid for them, as none of the intended recipients, three fellows in the corridor who would not understand, received them. They all were supposed to contain inappropriate passages from my poem, The Cockatrice. This is all very disappointing, for I had so been looking forward to the reactions of these individuals receiving anonymous, strange poetry.

At 2:40 pm I begin recounting my acts once again, also playing "Echoes," by Pink Floyd. "Echoes" ends shortly after 3:00, and I do not listen to anything else, as I must depart for unpleasantness at 3:15 or so.

At 3:20 pm I cease once again writing, taking up my coat and other necessary possessions, going out to face considerable boredom and longsuffering.

At 3:31 pm I arrive slightly late to be educated in Ancient Jewish History according to the radical minimalist interpretation spawned out of Julius Wellhausen's principle of higher criticism in the historical interpretation of the Hebrew Scriptures. While there, the professor spoke the word "right" 329 times over a period of one hour and fifteen minutes. On 24 January he spoke it 261 times and on 29 January he spoke it 268 times. Statistically speaking, he has spoken it an approximate mean of thrice every minute or once every twenty seconds, and that is just asinine. Today he even said, "That would be wrong, right?" It is very funny especially when I realize that I frequently do not agree with him. "Right? Right?" he says. "Wrong," I say.

At 4:51 pm, the villain having run his class late, I depart for the great fun of piano studio class, which consists of an hour and a half of listening to my fellow piano students play, the interest of which runs the gamut of thoroughly excellent to numbingly dull, followed by the upperclasspeople and graduate students commenting upon the performance.

At 6:26 pm piano studio class ends, and I return to my room and gather my things in preparation for an early departure. I have stated before that I am taking Friday off on the grounds that I can do so with little effect.

At 6:57 pm transport my things to the automobile that will take me away.

At 7:05 pm the automobile takes me away. The radio begins to distress me shortly thereafter, so it is changed to WGUC 90.9 FM, which is playing love songs and romance-associated music. It plays several nice pieces of music, including a Borodin string quartet, but then it begins to play some less nice music, so I cease listening to the radio, instead resorting to the compact discs. On the way back I obtain a dinner of "fast food."

At 7:58 pm I arrive at home to my lush river valley, and I dine on my "fast food." I also dine on a salad of field greens, and I drink a delicious cherry-pomegranate juice. The lights are dimmed, and I accompany my meal on the synthesized harpsichord. It is very nice, and I wish my friends could have been there.

At 8:00 pm, in the meantime, my family turns on the television to watch Lost, which I watch with them. First the previous week's episode is played. I missed it last week, so I watch it at this time. An hour later, the new episode is broadcast, garnering my interest.

At 10:07 pm I play the piano to myself for a brief while. It is Bach's Two-Part Invention in Bb, that is number fourteen, and I play it several times.

At 10:28 pm I engage in my nighttime hygiene ritual. As I do this I philosophize. The things about which I philosophize are these: blasphemy, ontology, the inversion of ontology, double-edged swords, modes of analysis, the simplification of the whole, form, Platonic Forms, ideal forms, qualities, and illusions.

At 11:05 pm I return to my underground lair, where I decide to watch insipid television in the form of cartoons. It is time, I think, for a bit of mindlessness.

At 12:07 am I remind my friends that my days change at 6:00 am. Also, I take up typing the acts of my day once more. I am also watching the film Batman Begins at this point, which have discovered is being broadcast on the television.

At 12:56 am I complete my St. Valentine's Day romance, wishing my noble friends an excellent St. Valentine's Day, also. Until I decide to sleep I shall muse some more on musical matters, for I have several ideas, both musical and esoteric, that need writing.

In conclusion, I provide a work of poetry (the most appropriate Art for St. Valentine's Day), about which I make no claims of quality or indeed any positive claim at all, except that I wrote it, that the numbers (not the dates, mind you) associated therewith are of importance, and that it was composed on the following dates:
12 October 2007, 7 December 2007, 8 December 2007, 18 December 2007, 20 December 2007, 29 December 2007, 13 January 2008, 28 January 2008, 8 February 2008, 12 February 2008.
You might think it should be longer or better, but it is not so, alas!
________

Best it be that thy savor be sung
with reveries rung
on bells heavenly hung

high atop peaks aethereal (where
mountain mists most fair
linger long in the air)

on a crystalline carillon carved in twilight,
but befallen by night,
gilded in pale moonlight,

and an arcane chorus calls out over the moor
that neither valley nor
hilltop hears not the roar

of obscure echoes and shadowy dreams
conjured alone in the misty moonbeams.