the devil, mr. woland, and floating heads

A blog entry from a couple days ago that I never got around to posting. . .

日本語で書けます！凱がありました！！！！
(translation: I CAN WRITE IN JAPANESE! I HAVE TRIUMPHED!!!!)
(translation part two: After two hours of fighting with the stupidity that is the Windows Language Bar, it will once again allow me to switch back and forth between Japanese and English, allowing me to do my Japanese homework. If you should experience similar problems -- i.e. the Language Bar won't pop up on your desktop or display that you have different languages installed -- try setting your default language to Japanese rather than English. This doesn't actually make any part of your system switch to Japanese. Makes no sense, but there you go.)

---

And now, to begin.

I. The Devil and Mr. Woland.

satisfying

I think it must be utterly unsatisfying to not be able to blame someone for natural phenomena that you do not appreciate or (at least profess to) understand.

Example. "God, I understand the initial source of cramping. But really? Is it really necessary to involve my lower back and digestive tract as well?" Then, crabbily, not directed at anyone in particular: God is clearly a man.

This is why I couldn't be an atheist.

---

I bought a book, because I have no self control.

Or rather, because when I walked by the poetry section I picked it up, because I had heard of the poet, and flipped to this page --

. . .
Still the atmosphere quivers
with the initial word
dressed up
in terror and sighing.
It emerged
from the darkness
and until now there is no thunder
that rumbles yet with all the iron
of that word,
the first
word uttered ---
perhaps it was only a ripple, a drop
and yet its great cataract falls and falls.
. . .

the same ---

. . .
Aún la atmósfera tiembla
con la primera palabra
elaborada
con pánico y gemido.
Salió
de las tinieblas
y hasta ahora no hay trueno
que truene aún con su ferretería
como aquella palabra,
la primera
palabra pronunciada:
tal vez sólo un susurro fue, una gota,
y cae y cae aún su catarata.
. . .

Pablo Neruda, "La Palabra"

I'm not sure how to keep my eyes from jumping to the English side of the page first.

In any case, I thought at the time it was brilliant, and whether it is or not, to understand a little bit of poetry would allay some quiet fears of mine. . .