nineveh_uk

My Facebook is full of Brexit. The news is full of Brexit. Work is full of busy-ness and I really need to kick this bug completely before a 7 hour meeting next Tuesday. And when I seek for escapism no-one on the internet has written Frasier Crane/Alistair Burke*, and the best reading of How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix on YouTube is by Cecil Day-Lewis who alone seems to grasp, as much one can in his tones, that this is an onomatopoeic poem about galloping horses.

But some things retain the power to entertain, and today the cupboard turned up a print-out of a long-ago meme, and a poetic parody that I don't imagine will ever cease to charm me. At ninety I shall be there complaining that the memes these days are nothing to when I were a lass...

LOLcat for the Makers
John Dunbar (c. 1500)

I that in heill wes and gladnes
Am trublit now with great sicknes
My sicklie stait is no surprise:
IM IN UR BASE KILIN UR GUYZ.

Death sovran is of all the tubez,
Of rich, of poor, of l33t, of n00bz;
No mortal shal escaip his eyis:
IM IN UR BASE KILIN UR GUYZ.

Al flesh is dust; we are but bones;
Baith knight and maid he freely pwns;
Against his glanse brooks no disguyse;
IM IN UR BASE KILIN UR GUYZ.

He draws al to his dark bucket;
Whoe'er ye be, ye're surely f***kit;
The Walrus wil not sympathise;
IM IN UR BASE KILIN UR GUYZ.

Our base are al belong to Death
And have done since our natal breath
(This point I'd like to emphasise):
IM IN UR BASE KILIN UR GUYZ.

(First posted here. Original here.)

*The opera producer played by Patrick Stewart who Frasier doesn't realise he is dating. Best line to describe his genius, courtesy of Niles, "He staged a Philip Glass opera last year and no-one left!"

Crossposts: https://nineveh-uk.livejournal.com/429378.html

Have His Carcase in lolcats.

( IM ON UR ROCK )

Strong Poison
Gaudy Night
Busman’s Honeymoon by

antisoppist

One day I shall join the digital age. Meanwhile:

Why, why, why are some people incapable of taking a photograph without placing the subject off-centre with her legs amputated mid-calf?

Looks at would-be gorgeous photograph of self.

Mourns.

Oh well. I can enlarge the head-and-shoulders portion.

Also, don’t bother taking photos in art galleries without flash. Your hands will shake.

In other news, my parents are coming to stay for the weekend. The flat is not ready to receive them. With a bit of luck, the weather will remain dry. We're hoping to go for a walk along the Ridgeway and other sites of interest of the sort that turn up in poetry.

Finally, I have posted at

lolauthors. No, not the usual suspects!

I hate it with the power of a thousand suns.

Alas, this is only metaphorical. I would be perfectly happy with a small fragment of one sun, if only it could be concentrated at a structurally vulnerable point of the building.

On a happier note, anyone who has not seen

antisoppist’s Busman’s Honeymoon in lolcats should hie there now. Don’t miss the bonus aspidistra pic.

I am making progress on the Romilda Vane fic, pretending that Snape can cover the absence of plot and wishing I found Romilda herself a more interesting character. At least I have managed to summon the will to cut the self-indulgent Andromeda/Nymphadora stuff. Only three weeks, no pressure. Therefore I should really not be scribbling down ideas for Potterverse/Wimsey mpreg, in which I don’t bottle out of the actual mpreg bit, but exile the poor chap to Corsica, have him begging for the story to be omitted from the Ganymede Club Book, and include the line “his plans for the autumn had not included being vigorously rogered by his valet.”

I did not mention that the New York trip included some marvellous fashion indulgence in the form of an exhibition on Luxury at the Fashion Institute of Technology, which I had planned in advance, and the wonderful surprise of the Metropolitan Museum’s enormous exhibition on Paul Poiret, an early C20 Parisian couturier. I bought the magnificent catalogue from Amazon (£12 cheaper, and no hauling home of a 3kg heavier suitcase), and am having rather unrealistic thoughts about reproductions. More realistic thoughts have provided Gaudy Night’s Viennese Opera Singer with a wardrobe. I am not going to buy The House of Elliot on DVD. I am not.

ETA: Speaking of aspidistras, Google has failed to tell me how they reproduce (other than by being divided when they outgrow the pot), but does offer mid-century vicar/aspidistra postcard smut (worksafe).

That is, Strong Poison in lolcats. I'd been doing useful things and felt I was allowed some time off.

( Really there's no excuse )

I have put Gaudy Night in lolcats (although not, I stress, with actual cats). On the plus side, I am much more technologically adept than I was yesterday.

( IM IN UR COLLEGE )

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Poetry for troubled times

Completing the set

My photos are back from the printers

A short comment on the job and other things:

Those things which we ought not to have done

Because it was there

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June 2025

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