The Mountains of the Moon

April 26, 2015 | Posted by Peter Jakobsen | PETER'S WRITING, Poetry |

(photo by Jeroan Komen)

The World’s surfeit of idiots; A fool’s load, a most wearisome state – Future’s boot is upon its tired face, Beautifully marred and pale. Arise – go and bathe in light softly gloating; Taste waters both creamy and dark – Idle away in the colors of night that softens ground hungry for warmth. Descend into valleys not trod by men, Ramble about with weightless bulk, Over the Mountains of the Moon, Beautifully marred and pale. Rake over paths taken but abandoned, Know of their presence but cover them over; Enter, then, into the Valley of Shadow and Have the gorgeous…

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Rodent and Firefly

April 26, 2015 | Posted by Peter Jakobsen | PETER'S WRITING, Poetry |

Euclid (the other one) by Domenico Maroli, 1650s

St. Peter: How came you to be down there. Sir Alfred Ayer: You mean in Logical Positivism’s chair? St. Peter: And generally in such infernal spot. Sir Alfred: Specifically, it is a seat best known as hot- However, others burn intensely for theirs it’s not. St. Peter: Bertrand Russell, Berkeley, Hume and Wittgenstein, you mean? Sir Alfred: Precisely and many others now not read or seen. Daubed with the mud of metaphysics, you can see where they’ve been; Off verifying nonsense, their minds are not clean. St. Peter: And why are you in the Seventh Circle? Sir Alfred: I thought…

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Bluebeard

April 26, 2015 | Posted by Peter Jakobsen | PETER'S WRITING, Poetry |

There lived a cold unloving man who dwelt alone in castle walls But tension worthy of a clan kept him company under a high-strung roof. Dreading women, loving battle and the hunt, A Bluebeard; frightened of, frightening children. His cellar stocked with vintage wine and bodies of the loved ones Who knew too late the fate that came of knowing him: Tied to sterile dreams, fated to form an empty vessel, Drained of all emotion, drunk by a leech’s thirst. Speed is of the essence, there’s no time to catch a breath, Hurtling deathwards with precision; He keeps the past…

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Straggler

April 26, 2015 | Posted by Peter Jakobsen | PETER'S WRITING, Poetry |

"Isle of the Dead" by Arnold Böcklin (1880)

He felt he had lost the edge, Somewhere along the way. He thought he could only improve, That his powers were permanent, But he badly misjudged his talents And the transient mood of the throng, Woke to find he had lost the edge, Somewhere along the way. So he glanced more sharply, more often At the image growing closer before him; Rubbed the surface of the mirror with vigor, To gain clarity of perception, But with deep disappointment, he realized That the portrait grew ever still fainter, One day it would blacken and vanish, Somewhere along the way.    

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The Worst Movie of All Time

April 22, 2015 | Posted by Lesley Jakobsen | Classic Film, Documentary, FILM |

L takes no prisoners

Peter’s admirable list of anaesthetic films is frightening, truly scarey.  To think that I have sat through all that rubbish.  However, it lacks one thing – mention of the worst film of all time.  That most tendentious, over-rated, over-blown, self-adoring snore-inducing piece of celluloid-poo of all time, starring the worst actor of all time.  Yes, that’s it.  Of course I mean LAWRENCE OF ARABIA. You know that scene in Donnie Darko in the cinema?  You thought that Donnie, Gretchen and Frank were watching The Evil Dead with some distorted clock faces and stuff?  Wrong.  Obviously they are watching Lawrence of Arabia.  Consider.  One of them has…

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