Thursday, November 11, 2004

Double Snake Eyes

Well, it's my favourite day of the year. 11/11. It could be a good day, or I might get killed. Who knows? Perhaps The Rapture will begin. All I know is that 11:11 triggers the obsessisive section of my brain. It is small, but for one day of the year I encourage its growth.

To kick off, here is a wonderful story of Australia's oldest man who turns 106 today. Plenty of other 11 references, as well.

Expect China to build a better missile, now that our venerable leader intends to continue with the ignorant missile defense shield.

Lest we forget. But what happens now that we have forgotten? We have forgotten why those before us died for our freedom - SO THAT IT WOULD NEVER HAVE TO HAPPEN AGAIN. That was naive.

The study of Wilfred Owen at high school opened my eyes to the power of poetry. I haven't come across a poet since who is quite as skilled. He was shot trying to cross a canal exactly one week before Armistace Day.

Anthem for Doomed Youth

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
-Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,-
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.


3 comments:

TimT said...

My favourite day of the year is possibly the 30th of February. Or the 10th of Smarch. Though I do have a thing for palindromical dates and times as well.

An acquaintance of mine, here in Newcastle, is proposing a public holiday on the first of May. He wants it to be called 'Me-Day'. Everybody saves up to buy a present for themselves.

Chas said...

Great idea. Pity it's so far away. We'll have to remember to publicise the shit out of it come April.

And just to clarify my post a bit, I didn't intend to imply that Wilfred Owen was skilled at getting himself killed crossing a canal. I meant skilled at poetry. Not that he was unskilled at getting himself killed crossing a canal, it seems he suceeded at the first attempt.

Anonymous said...

you've been googlewhacked!
palindromical seer