I should ‘a’ been a poet, but “comparisons are odious”

Between 400 and 450 years ago, Christopher Marlow wrote:

THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD (like me) TO HIS LOVE

COME live with me, and be my love;
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies;
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair-lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy-buds,
With coral clasps and amber-studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

The shepherd-swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.

Just as crazy as I.

Do you doubt it?

Look at the reply:

The nymph’s reply to the shepherd (like Karen’s response to me)

IF all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd’s tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy love.

Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The rest complains of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields:
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall.

The gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,—
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy love.

But could youth last and love still breed,
Had joys no date nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy love.

And so, you can see,

I am not alone in insanity,

my lovely lady

my lust, I can never satisfy.

tm 2009, 2010

Don’t care no more. No, no.

(from the game: Earth No More by Recoil Games and 3d Realms)

“This poor fellow’s weary and confused. Probably doesn’t know what he’s taking about.”  That’s a line they use on the radio station I listen to. They use it all the time; I have no idea if they mean it to mean something, or if it just fits into their idea of being odd, hip, and different.  Generally I do like the music they play.  But, the description does seem to apply to myself.

I’ve given up on the anti-depressant.  The doctor who prescribed it didn’t really know what to expect.  The psychologist I consulted told me to give it six months.  Five months is long enough.  I can’t see it really doing much.  My ennui persists.  Directionless, purposeless, alienated and alone.  I’ve become very settled in my new persona.  I still pick at the guitar; told the teacher I’m ready for more lessons.  I still hike in the mountains; I’ve gotten better at the long hikes, not feeling so much pain, and recovering more quickly afterwards.  But, I will still retire from work in less than two months now.

I’ve initiated the paperwork, notified all that need to know.  I still can’t stand working there any more.  I can hardly stand being there when I am working.  Once the moving everything from one building to another and getting the new lab in place was over, my spurt of energy drained away.  There was a lot to do; working with an electrician to get a dedicated line of backup power, and having the place cleaned and painted.  Looks nice now.  It was a pit before the move. Managed to convince people to move all the old crappy stuff out and store it in an empty lab space.  Surplused out anything else.  It’s a nice place to work now, almost as nice as where I was, but smaller.  Now the department chairman wants to move another lab-full of equipment and supplies in with us.  It will make it cramped and hot and unbearable to work in, if we can even get it all to fit.  Makes me really glad I’m leaving.  Can’t leave fast enough.  On top of that I’m being forced to raise prices on the services I provide because the medical school Dean wants to use the little money he’s been giving us out of the tobacco settlement fund for other things.   I charge people a good rate for our services, but with any increase, we will lose business.  I’ve cut all the expenses to the bone already, gotten the cheapest supplies I can, and still the Dean wants “his” money.  Unfortunately, the researchers there expect DNA services to be available at a reasonable rate.  When business falls off next year, and the lab runs an even bigger deficit, the lab will be closed, and people will bitch and gripe and have to go out of state for DNA research services.  It will cost even more, and will make researchers think twice about bringing any more grants into the place, but, hey, what do I know?  I’m not a great, powerful Dean.  He gets to put up new buildings and claim credit for expanding the work of the University.  The work is teaching and research, but research is going to suffer.  He could care less.  Blames everything on the economy. I’m out of there soon.  I keep trying to make them see the importance of keeping the lab around.  I put a lot into it, and it will die now.

It is so similar to the failed marriage, the work on the old house.  I put a lot into those and now I’ve nothing to show for it. Nothing to show for my life at all.  A small pension.  Might be enough to survive on, but I had so much more in mind before.  “I don’t care no more,” Phil Collins sings on the radio.  “No more, no more, no more.”  “No, no.”

Time to move on.

(Edd China’s motorized sofa, powered by a Mini 1300 cc engine)