Thursday, April 05, 2012

Thornies

And so it was that I finished indexing the many branches and roots and twigs and other woody-woodened-he bits of the huge plant that had bracketed my life and entrellised my days.

The tree of the knowledge of good and evil is not the tree of eternal life. Anyone who has read the old tales knows this.

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Thursday, February 09, 2012

Thorns

They grow, as other green does
You cannot tell buds from them
When both are young

They can be very long, sharp
As the words of leaving love
Or nails fresh hung

I remember grasping them
Gasping when the flowers failed
Götterdämerung

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Thursday, July 21, 2011

Thrym

Here's an old linguist's joke:
Beautiful Þrymr, wake unto me
Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee.
Sounds of the rude world, heard in the day,
Lulled by the moonlight have all passed away.
Of course, Þrymr in Norse means 'uproar', and it is also the name of the king of the giants whom Thor slew in his quest to regain his hammer. For now, Thursday favours me, and I am happy for it.

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Thursday, February 10, 2011

Thu Thu Thu

I can't actually think of Thursdays these days without thinking of the upcoming Kenneth Branagh movie starring Anthony Hopkins and Rene Russo. Oh yes, and also Chris Hemsworth and Natalie Portman.

See? I am biased by age. I can recall certain names more easily than others; it must shock some of you that I can recall Rene Russo's name and face much more easily than Natalie Portman's.

Thursday is a day not dedicated to war, as some of you might think. It's a day dedicated to noise, shock, and other alarming phenomena. I think today might well heave up some of this.

It's all too much for this old man.

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Thursday, November 26, 2009

Thursday's Child

When I was young, my father taught me a rhyme that went like this:

Monday's child is fair of face;
Tuesday's child is full of grace;
Wednesday's child is full of woe;
Thursday's child has far to go;
Friday's child is loving and giving;
Saturday's child works hard for his living;
And the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.

I was born on a Friday, and I suppose it would be nice to live up to that. But my life really has turned most frequently on the fulcrum of Thursday, which (as perhaps some of my old acquaintances from Oldham Hall will remember) has always been my longest day.

It is so even now. For some reason, I retain the urge to pack my Thursdays solidly. Thursdays are for early-morning lectures and workshops and teaching sessions; Thursdays are for working lunches and afternoon meetings; Thursdays are Serene days, on which the shipments come in; Thursdays are the days which only allow me to unwind after 11 pm. They need not be so, but they still are.

For some odd reason, the rhyme I quoted earlier on only has two known names: some people call it the Monday's Child rhyme, which is eminently logical; some other people call it the Thursday's Child rhyme, which isn't. I have always wondered why.

But I was born just before midnight on Friday, and unfortunately, I still have to work hard for my living — and, with Frost, I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep. It's sad when a Friday's child ends up an hybrid of both Thursday and Saturday — sad, but all too expected.

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Thursday, July 12, 2007

Thursday Again

It is so tiring to sit here sometimes. For most of the days in the month, I am content; when they retired us, we went freely and with a sense of relief. Ragnarok had been averted, now was the age of men, and old warriors like me could hang up our hammers and play chess. (I play a mean game; nothing I like better than hacking off a man's two bishops and leaving him to suffer. And I have no qualms about sacrificing a queen for rook-and-three-pawns. But I digress.)

I was sipping coffee and reading the Annals Assessing An Aggravated Age And Auditing Antagonistic Adults (yes, typical alliteration) in peace, when my hammer, so long mounted on the wall, began to glow. This is not an everyday occurrence. My hammer is forged of uru and it only glows when in the presence of the svartalfar, the undead, or an imp of the perverse.

Naturally, I stood up. The wielding of storm and lightning requires space (and time, of course) and I was not used to dealing with things sitting down. "Mjolnir, what is it?" I asked the hammer. Silly question. Most hammers are too dumb to answer questions, although not dumb in the sense of 'lacking vocal ability'. Lacking an aural answer, I looked around.

And there it was. On my carpet, someone had flung a pamphlet. It had a characteristically lurid cover and title for that kind of tract. Across its polychromatic cover was plastered the phrase Why Your God Does Not Exist. I smiled grimly to myself. Feeding its author to Huginn and Muninn would be fun, although a ravenous indigestion (or two) would probably be the result.

I opened the tract, knowing what I would find. As usual, the commonplace arguments. Let me summarise them for you; you, in this twenty-first century of the days of the Christ, have probably heard them in various forms before.
  1. A natural occurrence is by definition that which happens regularly and frequently. A miracle is by definition something that happens rarely and unpredictably. Evidence for the former is by definition more common than evidence for the latter. A reasonable person accepts that for which there is more evidence rather than that for which there is less. Hence reasonable persons prefer natural occurrences over miracles.

  2. If God is fully good, He would destroy evil. If God is fully powerful, He could destroy evil. Since evil exists, God is either not fully good or not fully powerful.

I laughed. There are gods, and there are gods. And there are spurious arguments. Huginn and Muninn, in the absence of my late (although, some say early) ancestor's continuing absence, had frequently parodied these arguments over my head. Let me summarise Huginn and Muninn.
  1. Humans are a natural phenomenon. They frequently use their intelligence to modify their environment to support their continuing existence. Yet it is clear that the spontaneous emergence of humanity has happened only once, and also that humans have an increasing tendency to not believe that a superior intelligence has adjusted cosmological constants to support their continuing existence. They prefer to believe that it a unique sequence of events occurred instead. Of course, there is no evidence that either is a superior case, since both look to be miraculous. Who is fooling whom?

  2. Let us assert that evil exists. Then if God is fully good, He would want evil to be destroyed. And if God is fully powerful, He would have the power to do so. Hence the fact that evil continues to exist implies that if God exists, evil will be destroyed one day.

Birds, birds. Those two are so funny. I told Mjolnir to switch itself off, took the pamphlet to the shredder, and went back to my journal and some Taiwanese coffee. I muttered to myself (or is that 'my self'?) the mystic phrase, "Lim peh ka li kong..." I am sure that there is plenty of implicit deity in that phrase.

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