Literary Interlude: Potpurri

Our regularly scheduled poem has been pre empted on account of fifo's rising from the dead. Well, that kinda put me in mind of Macbeth. So...

Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time,

Ere humane statute purg'd the gentle weal;

Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd

Too terrible for the ear: the time has been,

That, when the brains were out, the man would die,

And there an end; but now they rise again,

With twenty mortal murders on their crowns,

And push us from our stools: this is more strange

Than such a murder is.

(Act 3, Scene 4)

A thought...

A man wrestles a tiger. The tiger is a 600lb Bengal, and the issue is never in doubt

to anyone except the man, that is. For the odd moment or two, the man manages to hold

off the beast. He turns his head. "See," he says, "I'm in control here." Then inevitably, inexorably, the beast slips his grasp and the dance continues.