me: i’ve decided i might be bipolar.
brother #2: tri-polar, more like.
Jun 09
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incandescens:
(snerks at something that was written in 250 AD)
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me:
oh dear
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incandescens:
This is a translation of a bit of Chinese poetry written then:
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Satire on Paying Calls in August-
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When I was young, throughout the hot season
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There were no carriages driving about on the roads.
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People shut their doors and lay down in the cool;
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Or if they went out, it was not to pay calls.
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Nowadays -- ill-bred, ignorant fellows,
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When they feel the heat, make for a friend's house.
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The unfortunate host when he hears someone coming
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Scowls and frowns, but can think of no escape.
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"There's nothing for it but to rise and go to the door,"
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And in his comfortable seat he groans and sighs.
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The conversation does not end quickly;
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Prattling and babbling, what a lot he says!
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Only when one is almost dead with fatigue
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He asks at last if one isn't finding him tiring.
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(One's arm is almost in half with continual fanning;
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The sweat is pouring down one's neck in streams).
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Do not say that this is a small matter;
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I consider the practice a blot on our social life.
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I therefore caution all wise men
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That August visitors should not be admitted.
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me:
omg. i would use that ALL YEAR round.
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incandescens:
(grins)
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It's sort of reassuring to know that some problems were still around nearly two thousand years ago.
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The author is Ch'eng Hsiao and the translator is Arthur Waley, for the record.
