Song: Lady of the Dew
She may visit you tonight
Cast in red uncanny light.
Her perfume may make you dream
You float on a silver stream.
She's the Lady of the Dew,
Child of morning, bride of night.
She has power over you.
No, you will not want to fight.
Sharp logic and bright light
May convince you she can't be.
Then comes dusk; then comes night.
You'll believe what you can see.
She may visit you tonight.
She's the Lady of the Dew,
Cast in red uncanny light.
Her perfume may make you dream
She has power over you.
Floating down a silver stream,
No you will not want to fight.
She's the Lady of the Dew,
Child of morning, bride of night.
You'll believe what you can see
After dusk, into the night.
She's the Lady of the Dew
Cast in red uncanny light.
*
Copyright 2009 Hans Ostrom
Showing posts with label red light. Show all posts
Showing posts with label red light. Show all posts
Monday, May 4, 2009
Friday, February 13, 2009
54. Why I'm Renowned
I should preface these remarks by acknowledging that I'm not renowned. I regard this as a preliminary phase, however.
I remember driving a 1967 Chevrolet Camaro, silver-green, on empty wet streets of Davis, California, a long time ago, or a short time ago, depending on your view of history. The radio was on, the dashboard lit up, the pistons in the engine doing fine, the car poised at a red light, the streets with that black, rained-on sheen.
I was the most famous person in that car. I was sitting in a black leather bucket-seat, looking at streets, keeping an eye on the red light, waiting for it to go dark and for a green light to come on.
I was doing okay. I was getting by. I owned a Camaro--sure, it was used--and I was coming back from a party. Some day, after I'm famous, people will read this and say, "How did he know he'd be renowned?"
Alternatively, no one will reads this, and I won't be renowned, in which case: what have I lost? I'm renowned because I say I am. I don't believe this to be true, but it's nice to write a sentence like that every once in a while. The kind of renown I'm discussing here is not just pathetic; it's homeopathic. It is sometimes referred to as "boasting" or "delusion." It could be something for which someone might become renowned (there are precedents), ridiculed, or ignored, and you know how these three possibilities are really all of a piece. You know.
But as I indicated at the beginning ("indicated" is such a renowned way of putting it), I'm not renowned. I'm still in what I call a preliminary phase, stopped at a red light, so to speak. But I'm doing okay.
I remember driving a 1967 Chevrolet Camaro, silver-green, on empty wet streets of Davis, California, a long time ago, or a short time ago, depending on your view of history. The radio was on, the dashboard lit up, the pistons in the engine doing fine, the car poised at a red light, the streets with that black, rained-on sheen.
I was the most famous person in that car. I was sitting in a black leather bucket-seat, looking at streets, keeping an eye on the red light, waiting for it to go dark and for a green light to come on.
I was doing okay. I was getting by. I owned a Camaro--sure, it was used--and I was coming back from a party. Some day, after I'm famous, people will read this and say, "How did he know he'd be renowned?"
Alternatively, no one will reads this, and I won't be renowned, in which case: what have I lost? I'm renowned because I say I am. I don't believe this to be true, but it's nice to write a sentence like that every once in a while. The kind of renown I'm discussing here is not just pathetic; it's homeopathic. It is sometimes referred to as "boasting" or "delusion." It could be something for which someone might become renowned (there are precedents), ridiculed, or ignored, and you know how these three possibilities are really all of a piece. You know.
But as I indicated at the beginning ("indicated" is such a renowned way of putting it), I'm not renowned. I'm still in what I call a preliminary phase, stopped at a red light, so to speak. But I'm doing okay.
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