The Frivolous Cake

nonsensedimension:

A freckled and frivolous cake there was

That sailed on a pointless sea

Or any lugubrious lake there was

In a manner emphatic and free

How jointlessly, and how jointlessly

The frivolous cake sailed by

On the waves of the ocean that pointlessly

Threw fish to the lilac sky.

Oh, plenty and plenty of hake there was

Of a glory beyond compare,

And every conceivable make there was

Was tossed through the lilac air.

Up the smooth billows and over the crests

Of the cumbersome combers flew

The frivolous cake with a knife in the wake

Of herself and her curranty crew

Like a swordfish grim it would bounce and skim

(This dinner knife fierce and blue),

And the frivolous cake was filled to the brim

With the fun of her curranty crew.

Oh, plenty and plenty of hake there was

Of a glory beyond compare-

And every conceivable make there was

Was tossed through the lilac air.

Around the shores of the Elegant Isles

Where the cat-fish bask and purr

And lick their paws with adhesive smiles

And wriggle their fins of fur,

They fly and fly ‘neath the lilac sky-

The frivolous cake, and the knife

Who winketh his glamorous indigo eye

In the wake of his future wife.

The crumbs blow free down the pointless sea

To the beat of a cakey heart

And the sensitive steel of the knife can feel

That love is a race apart.

In the speed of the lingering light are blown

The crumbs to the hake above,

And the tropical air vibrates to the drone

Of a cake in the throes of love.

(The Frivolous Cake by Mervyn Peake, published in Titus Groan)

startrekmademequeer:

[ding dong, ding dong]

Hello, sir and/or madam! Have you heard the good news?

image

(via flarechaser)

discardingimages:

OH HAI :3
'Hours of Joanna the Mad', Bruges 1486-1506.
BL, Add 18852, fol. 412r

discardingimages:

OH HAI :3

'Hours of Joanna the Mad', Bruges 1486-1506.

BL, Add 18852, fol. 412r

(via ilivebetweenconcretewalls)

'The pungent aroma of dirty feet is apparently irresistible to mosquitoes, as a brave scientist, Bart Knols, discovered when he sat in a lab in his underwear to find out which parts of the body the pests are most likely to target. He found that 75 percent of the bugs homed in on his feet, but after he washed them with deodorant soap, the mosquitos bit randomly.’

A single sentence will suffice for modern man. He fornicated and read the papers. After that vigorous definition, the subject will be, if I may say so, exhausted.
Albert Camus (The Fall)

Kevin Curtis is a Dead Man