After many years of having no visible presense on the web, I have decided it is time to get with the program.<\/p>\n
Frankly, though, the image that comes to mind is that of the poet Avrillia in\u00a0The Garden of the Plynck<\/a>:<\/p>\n …[Sara] leaned over the balustrade and looked down into Nothing. It was very gray.<\/p>\n “Do you throw your poems down there?” she asked of Avrillia, in inexpressible wonder.<\/p>\n “Of course,” said Avrillia. “I write them on rose-leaves, you know–“<\/p>\n “Oh, yes!” breathed Sara. She still thought she had never heard of anything that sounded lovelier than poems written on rose-leaves.<\/p>\n “Petals, I mean, of course,” continued Avrillia, “all colors, but especially blue. And then I drop them over, and some day one of them may stick on the bottom–“<\/p>\n “But there isn’t any bottom,” said Sara, lifting eyes like black pansies for wonder.<\/p>\n “No, there’s no real bottom,” conceded Avrillia, patiently, “but there’s an imaginary bottom. One might stick on that, you know. And then, with that to build to, if I drop them in very fast, I may be able to fill it up–“<\/p>\n “But there aren’t any sides to it, either!” objected Sara, even more wonderingly.<\/p>\n Avrillia betrayed a faint exasperation (it showed a little around the edges, like a green petticoat under a black dress). “Oh, these literal people!” she said, half to herself. Then she continued, still more patiently, “Isn’t it just as easy to imagine sides as a bottom? Well, as I was saying, if I write them fast enough to fill it up–I mean if one should stick, of course–somebody a hundred years from now may After many years of having no visible presense on the web, I have decided it is time to get with the program. Frankly, though, the image that comes to mind is that of the poet Avrillia in\u00a0The Garden of the Plynck: …[Sara] leaned over the balustrade and looked down into Nothing. It was very gray.… Continue reading I’m here! Is anybody out there?<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-9","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-mole-end","entry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/onionsauce.com\/mole_end\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/onionsauce.com\/mole_end\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/onionsauce.com\/mole_end\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/onionsauce.com\/mole_end\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/onionsauce.com\/mole_end\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=9"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/onionsauce.com\/mole_end\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/onionsauce.com\/mole_end\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=9"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/onionsauce.com\/mole_end\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=9"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/onionsauce.com\/mole_end\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=9"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}\n
come along and notice one of my poems; and then I shall be Immortal.” And at that a lovely smile crossed Avrillia’s face.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"