{ yesterday's tweets. }

( my milkshake brings all the tweets from the yard. )

LoudTwitter, innit?

{ talking all your money to the grave. }

Soooo. You know how sometimes I get kind-of-then-incrementally-more-until-finally-weirdly-madly interested in a celeb (which, if they are female, tends to be a prelude to full-blown obsession; I don't really understand that sex divide, but whatever)?

Yeah. Hi there, Adrien Brody.

I. do. not. know.

--

Oh gosh, today turned out to be so crazy busy, mostly because Boss Lady's son has been sick this week so since Wednesday I've been the only 'tutor' who has been in all of the classes. I practically swam in because the footway between my house and D continues to be absolutely useless. ( the rest of the day. )

I then spent a lot of time trying to teach various people the difference between delete and backspace. This is my life, guys.

--

Got home, baked, started to read The Secret History, watched Bones, argued with The Mother and The Sister, watched more Bones, watched NCIS (the one with Gibbs' third wife. I watched most of it with the sound muted but I still love it. All the women are SO FIERCE) and then sat down to bitch about my day. Oh LJ, how you love me.

--

Idk, I'm regressing? I'm back to wearing my hair in two plaits/braids.

--

No, but really, Bones. I kind of loved it? This show is basically a procedural and yet the two most recent episodes dedicated whole sections to ( spoilers )

and lots of insinuations that Booth and Brennan are a couple. No, really.

Other things that I liked: poor Hodgins, who kept getting upstaged; the two intern-y guys (The Brit and The Cute One); CAM. Guys, Cam is so badass. I love her. Like. A lot. A LOT. And I also covet both her figure and her wardrobe. Truth.

--

Shut the fuck up, Sienna Miller.

--

Do you know who else is badass? EMILY FUCKING PRENTISS. You bet your balls. Other languages? Check. Cognitive interview? Check. Hot Cop, Bad Cop? CHECK. (What do you mean there were other people in the episode?)

{ Ruth Padel: Learning to Make an 'oud in Nazareth. }

Learning to Make an ‘oud in Nazareth
by Ruth Padel

The first day he cut rosewood for the back,
bent sycamore into ribs and made a belly
     of mahogany. Let us go early to the vineyards
     and see if the vines have budded.
The sky was blue over the Jezreel valley
     and the gilt dove shone
above the Church of the Annunciation.
The second day, he carved a camelbone base
     for the fingerboard.
I sat down under his shadow with delight.

The third day, he made a nut of sandalwood,
and a pickguard of black cherry.
     He damascened a rose of horn
     with arabesques 
as lustrous as under-leaves of olive beside the sea. 
     I have found him whom my soul loves.
He inlaid the soundhole with ivory swans,
each pair a Valentine of entangled necks,
     and fitted tuning pegs of apricot
to give a good smell when rubbed.

The fourth was a day for cutting
high strings of camel-gut. His left hand
     shall be under my head.
     For the lower course, he twisted copper strings
pale as tarmac under frost. 
     He shall lie all night between my breasts.
The fifth day he laid down varnish.
Our couch is green and the beams of our house
     are cedar and pine. Behind the neck
he put a sign to keep off the Evil Eye.

My beloved is a cluster of camphire
in the vineyards of Engedi
    and I watched him whittle an eagle-feather, a plectrum
     to celebrate the angel of improvisation
     who dwells in clefts on the Nazareth ridge
where love waits. And grows, if you give it time.
Set me as a seal upon your heart.
On the sixth day the soldiers came
     for his genetic code.
We have no record of what happened.

I was queueing at the checkpoint to Galilee.
I sought him and found him not.
     He’d have been in his open-air workshop -
     I called but he gave me no answer - 
the selfsame spot
     where Jesus stood when He came from Capernaum
to teach in synagogue, and townsfolk tried
to throw Him from the rocks. Until the day break
     and shadows flee away
I will get me to the mountain of myrrh.

The seventh day we set his wounded hands
around the splinters. Come with me from Lebanon
     my spouse, look from the top
    of Shenir and Hermon, from the lions' dens.
On the eighth there were no more days.
I took a class in carpentry and put away the bridal rug.
We started over
with a child’s ‘oud bought on eBay.
     He was a virtuoso of the ‘oud
and his banner over me was love.