Thursday, November 18, 2010


Lara likes going to my Homeland partly because she can find "cute" dresses (or dresses that look like coats) there. Taylor likes going because she can read her cheesy vampire novels, bake cookies, and/or drive my daddy's old truck.
I like going home because I grew up with a library. A library due to my mother's endless appreciation of literature, poetry, and prose. When I can go home I feel it call to me and often I stay up late reading words long forgotten but still inspiring. One of my favorites by the great Edgar Allen Poe. (Who by the way was stationed and wrote (e.g., The Gold Bug) in Charleston, SC and it is widely believed that his beloved Annabel Lee was a Charleston girl)


Lo! 'tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.

Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly-
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Woe!

That motley drama- oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.

But see, amid the mimic rout
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes!- it writhes!- with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.

Out- out are the lights- out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

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