ungraceful ears
Sep. 30th, 2007 03:03 amWas disgracefully lazy this evening, and rather than writing or being otherwise productive, got out the Neverwinter Nights 2 game that was a birthday present and played it.
Well. Eventually played it. After doing a lot of patching, updating my video card drivers, and turning all the graphics options down to the lowest level. One could wish this was not necessary. Oh well. Still quite fun. I will note that my in-game foster father is adick thoroughly unsympathetic gentleman. Also, for an elf, he has some of the ugliest ears I've ever seen.
---
If I have made, my lady, intricate
If I have made, my lady, intricate
imperfect various things chiefly which wrong
your eyes (frailer than most deep dreams are frail)
songs less firm than your body's whitest song
upon my mind - if I have failed to snare
the glance too shy - if through my singing slips
the very skilful strangeness of your smile
the keen primeval silence of your hair
- let the world say "his most wise music stole
nothing from death" -
you will only create
(who are so perfectly alive) my shame:
lady whose profound and fragile lips
the sweet small clumsy feet of April came
into the ragged meadow of my soul.
-- e. e. cummings
Well. Eventually played it. After doing a lot of patching, updating my video card drivers, and turning all the graphics options down to the lowest level. One could wish this was not necessary. Oh well. Still quite fun. I will note that my in-game foster father is a
---
If I have made, my lady, intricate
If I have made, my lady, intricate
imperfect various things chiefly which wrong
your eyes (frailer than most deep dreams are frail)
songs less firm than your body's whitest song
upon my mind - if I have failed to snare
the glance too shy - if through my singing slips
the very skilful strangeness of your smile
the keen primeval silence of your hair
- let the world say "his most wise music stole
nothing from death" -
you will only create
(who are so perfectly alive) my shame:
lady whose profound and fragile lips
the sweet small clumsy feet of April came
into the ragged meadow of my soul.
-- e. e. cummings