Tuesday, December 31, 2024
Euro Somewhere: A Dis-knee Landing. Souvenirs and Memories.
Why do I mythologize? Am I a threat to La Haine? Should the Atlantic Ocean expand and the Pacific Ocean decline. Clean up the garbage patch it's the grand finale! Do I need pity? Of course I do. Pick the pits from my fruitless tree. Yes hitite my halloween eye whenever you can relate. I have no where else to go in the storm. I will quit work. It's pointless. Tomorrow I will get a job being a Samuel Beckett Ventriloquist. But I don't know if I will ever do another birthday party. Ok someone elses turn to work. It's career night watching nothing. Belle should survive long term. Better with her mother? Of course. Will they play video games together in the future? If we have electricity perhaps. Entropy. Emmancipation. Welth in a cold castle wrapped in a tapestry. I will do what I do. Enjoy them in my and their momments. We may have to cook over fire again. The planet warms, and the forests have been hunted low. Nothing blankets the landscape. Who is write and who will become illiterate. We are almost there. Recycling death. I greet the sky everyday. I find wealth in her movie. Will she direct another. I will direct another novel. If I ever write one. Maybe someday if its not stolen with every keystroke. HAL where is my UFO frisbee? I want to throw it at you. You look like you are hitchhiking to the NSA borg.
At least they get paid.
Monday, December 30, 2024
Dear Homer, Should I Write In My Room Till I'm Dead?
Highway collisions hurt. I can see why post Caeser poking everyone with a gladius in Euro somewhere a lot of fed up people wanted to immigrate to America. Hadrian's wall must have been a good speedbump. Speaking of bumps, there was a beautiful Colorado pregnant snowboarding woman at the hospital who looked happy and kept peeking at me. I swear we never climbed a mountain last year and lit any kind of fire in a ski chalet I don't even remember how to snowboard. The snow around here is sometimes made by a machine, and the sperm banks are still something I need to ruminate in a bookstore on. She looked healthy and proud and confident of the future. My wife would be pissed if I gave her too many surprise relatives and step kids.
Are me and my wife cursed with separation. I drove the French connection today past all the fine mansions I've seen a thousand times. High maintenance. Who would want to live in one of those large houses all alone. I suppose a dog or cat might help. The AI is getting hungry.. I gained a new pet just now since the climate is so mild. A bug flew in my window. It was trying to avoid the birds. I had meat for lunch today. A BLT. at Subway. My editor paid since I was his chauffeur to the hospital. I eat meat on occasion. I figure some animal must have died for my sins. It's part of me now. We continue on together. The dogs were harassing the cat the other night in the fog. These days the family is vigilant and I am the free spirit.
 |
| Play and Work in the Kingdom. |
I'm The Only Mean Person in MN, Everyone Else is NICE.
Big city criticism in a small pond. Everything can and will be attacked with language it's only a brief matter of time. I saw Basque spelled Bosque today with graffiti. I haven't crossed over into food or a restaurant critic yet because I still enjoy dinner and dining out. It's a diverse eat street. The radio is slightly segregated. I used my personal mid-east scale for some of my heavier songs. And everyone can relate. Do my computer transmissions reach Chicago at least? Iron must be elevated iron in the water supply. It helps as a radio antenna. I feel it in my body and mind. A good filter or jammer is one solution. Telepathy is interesting, but it's incessence is annoying. If everyone is telepathic, we're all cheating. Taconite holes. Are you still working on your YA fiction? I recently got on Tik Tok, just to see if my wife was there. Immigrants like visas. I would prefer to be wed to some possible exception. Someone to collaborate with and exchange our interests. Jacobscribe MD at the hospital. Was it Mad Dog 2020? I haven't had that juice since highest school. I figure with my current level of training I am qualified to be a 19th Century Doc. Quack. How tough is liposuction? Do you just need a straw.
 |
| I Carry a Letter Opener and? |
Don't steal the catalytic converter.
We Only Needed The Death Penalty Once
Remember what happened to Jacob in MN. Watch your kids like a hawk. The lakes are especially dangerous. Crossing busy streets is treacherous. The winter cold, the summer heat. The local art scene that never seems to go anywhere.
 |
| Jealous of my former Neighbor? |
Psychic Mezzanine. The Window is Open.
 |
| Vasectomy and Tooth Decay. Rich Options. |
A Huge Demon could probably use a good editor every once in awhile. I should ask my Media (?) Femme in Euro somewhere what we here in the Wild West are in store for with Spring fashion for broke back who cares? I will be the hottest fashion designer in the twin cities if everyone else is too fearful. Of course it will be lumber jack cow girl grunge hip hope. Slightly Minneapolis militant. I wrote a romantic book. Pardon for the brisk reception. I will write some letter outside of my comfort zone. A Rattle Snake shin kiss as we hike through the grass looking for a place to make up. We are damaged, dying, ruthless, desperate. D.U.M. Next year how many people will get there burden of responsibility and have to raise the next generation because of our little song exchange. It was obviously Belle we can blame it on. I hope you and her cope well together for the long term. Can a song become as sentient as a video? Of course it can. It was written with infatuation and structural innovation. Will she become a staple or radio classic? I don't know. It was a spark. We may find something else to do next year. I will write something too terrible for Musak. But you can aim for the mainstream. Some of my guitar stories might work well for movie soundtracks.
Ok I will date my wife again. As soon as I escape this comfortable Alcatraz where you are pastel and as inoffensive as corporate Memphis designs. The kind of place where when they throw you in the hole it just feels like cold oatmeal. A good play about something tragic is what we should view. The local theater scene is crowned by the Guthrie. It was designed by the French Architect Jean Nouvelle. The old one by Ralph Rapson was demoed. I like the new one for different reasons. It's where the Skyway ends. I might write a play with my street imagination today. Be slightly mean to my tough editor. Roast a few skin flakes so there is less to vacuum.
If you are bored my aesthetically advanced technicians you can start your own innovative Called Edges online. Give, buy, sell, inhibit to a certain extent. Hopefully the world won't get too conservative and women are still allowed to read and write. Finland was the first country in Euro somewhere to let women vote. Asemic Writing is easy to spell traffic signs with. Your own language is also potentially available. Your own code. I will never take away your pen but in some places they have nothing better to do. Keep a book on the history of writing. Love you always even in sickness.
There, Now It's A New Romance Language.
My editor needs his asshole repaired. If a robot does the procedure it's not "gay" or happy. Your spouse may be dissatisfied that they won't inherit the house right away. But sacrifices, such as awkward conversations, are often the price Hel has to pay when she talks to old people. Meals on wheels again?
Airport Conquistador With A Hangover.
A disturbing joke to me would be the discovery of a religious comedian who formed a church on that other moon, the one we want to stick a Roman torture device on, the real pagan sexy one. Astronomical anomaly. The question is who is going to hug enough trees to maintain ecological viability long enough to grow wood for the Roman t device. Then we need to ship the t's across vast distances at a rate of $4 Goog Yen per parsec. Ok let's do virtual t's. We can even get victims to virtually travel to off world colonies and spank the nail salon quality stigmata in with your alien eyes martini. Send the Photoshop images back to the desperate to placate their lust for punishment. You could even write ouch in the bottom corner. But suppose your goal in life is to ruin the lives of the alien life on some other planet. You should probably try to divine a way to crucify bacteria or viruses. That being said let's get down to budget. Little tiny bacteria crucifixes should ideally be less expensive than that one Jesus was sunbaked on. But R & D escalates.
What if we got rid of crucifixes?
Multiplication of the little bacteria bastard overlords. Eureka, I will wash my hands after using the intergalactic outhouse, with? Pumice? How exciting, I'm so glad I left Earth But as A Cap with A List. You can rest assured I know how to arrest rocks in space. I'm not rock enforcement. But I do dabble in moon dust and timeshares on off world battle stations. That one was a zinger. Next time everyone duck. No stoning or bacterial crucifixes on this tidally locked world. Has anyone seen my wife? She's running the Voynich deviation via Bermuda trinity. Etruscan pizza might taste good at Miami Basel. NASA can do a robot complication. Of course I will find some Art Deco bar and write an ultra free love letter. Not to Kerouac or Hemingway of course but to the captain of the yacht and Marilyn of course. My Media (?) Femme occasionally approves of my excursions. She watches the surveillance footage and actually reads the spelling mistakes online. ABC Belle, you rule!
Let's evaporate and save the Manatees with propeller guards?
Then it's off to Haiti for some fresh lobster on a beach. Nothing sneaky. I just like Voodoo.
Has anyone seen any money? For me it has been awhile? I need to get my wife something interesting. A new kitchen? Bathroom? Technology. I could write her a new grocery list theses to tack to anyone's forehead who gives her a bad time. Great mother, Belle is sophisticated and devious. Always starting out with bronze age metallurgy. Asemic Binary Code. Translate the origin with Ai for source material. As long as she's having fun.
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| Beam Me Up Odin! |
Sunday, December 29, 2024
Fashion Nomad Victim Capitalist.
The Golem of chemical slavery has enhanced our message. Offset printing is a great privilege. Print on Demand was the game I played. I was always better at defining my bookish taste than becoming the literary astronaut I imagine as some future book distribution career. I find books to be both motherly and fatherly. Mom had cookbooks dad had car books. The Bible and WW2 books were around. WW2 looked like hell and to me science fiction sometimes looks like hell. Beauty becomes an enhanced valuable commodity, when your DNA is damaged and mutated by cosmic rays. Cancer and extremophiles and bacteria and fungal spores have been cosmic vacationers for how long. Where did life begin? Earth? A cooler Venus? The Martian dust? Virtual replacement Mars? Virus dance.
I don't know. I can see the stars again out here in the halo. I have binoculars for a mild extension to my lunar creator hideout locator. It would be fun to watch a Western on the Moon. Attractive people are here. Good luck finding them off world.
Minnehaha Falls
Longfellow - Song of Hiawatha:
By the shore of Gitche Gumee,
By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
At the doorway of his wigwam,
In the pleasant Summer morning,
Hiawatha stood and waited.
All the air was full of freshness,
All the earth was bright and joyous,
And before him, through the sunshine,
Westward toward the neighboring forest
Passed in golden swarms the Ahmo,
Passed the bees, the honey-makers,
Burning, singing in the sunshine.
Bright above him shone the heavens,
Level spread the lake before him;
From its bosom leaped the sturgeon,
Sparkling, flashing in the sunshine;
On its margin the great forest
Stood reflected in the water,
Every tree-top had its shadow,
Motionless beneath the water.
From the brow of Hiawatha
Gone was every trace of sorrow,
As the fog from off the water,
As the mist from off the meadow.
With a smile of joy and triumph,
With a look of exultation,
As of one who in a vision
Sees what is to be, but is not,
Stood and waited Hiawatha.
Toward the sun his hands were lifted,
Both the palms spread out against it,
And between the parted fingers
Fell the sunshine on his features,
Flecked with light his naked shoulders,
As it falls and flecks an oak-tree
Through the rifted leaves and branches.
O'er the water floating, flying,
Something in the hazy distance,
Something in the mists of morning,
Loomed and lifted from the water,
Now seemed floating, now seemed flying,
Coming nearer, nearer, nearer.
Was it Shingebis the diver?
Or the pelican, the Shada?
Or the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah?
Or the white goose, Waw-be-wawa,
With the water dripping, flashing,
From its glossy neck and feathers?
It was neither goose nor diver,
Neither pelican nor heron,
O'er the water floating, flying,
Through the shining mist of morning,
But a birch canoe with paddles,
Rising, sinking on the water,
Dripping, flashing in the sunshine;
And within it came a people
From the distant land of Wabun,
From the farthest realms of morning
Came the Black-Robe chief, the Prophet,
He the Priest of Prayer, the Pale-face,
With his guides and his companions.
And the noble Hiawatha,
With his hands aloft extended,
Held aloft in sign of welcome,
Waited, full of exultation,
Till the birch canoe with paddles
Grated on the shining pebbles,
Stranded on the sandy margin,
Till the Black-Robe chief, the Pale-face,
With the cross upon his bosom,
Landed on the sandy margin.
Then the joyous Hiawatha
Cried aloud and spake in this wise:
"Beautiful is the sun, O strangers,
When you come so far to see us!
All our town in peace awaits you,
All our doors stand open for you;
You shall enter all our wigwams,
For the heart's right hand we give you.
"Never bloomed the earth so gayly,
Never shone the sun so brightly,
As to-day they shine and blossom
When you come so far to see us!
Never was our lake so tranquil,
Nor so free from rocks, and sand-bars;
For your birch canoe in passing
Has removed both rock and sand-bar.
"Never before had our tobacco
Such a sweet and pleasant flavor,
Never the broad leaves of our cornfields
Were so beautiful to look on,
As they seem to us this morning,
When you come so far to see us!'
And the Black-Robe chief made answer,
Stammered in his speech a little,
Speaking words yet unfamiliar:
"Peace be with you, Hiawatha,
Peace be with you and your people,
Peace of prayer, and peace of pardon,
Peace of Christ, and joy of Mary!"
Then the generous Hiawatha
Led the strangers to his wigwam,
Seated them on skins of bison,
Seated them on skins of ermine,
And the careful old Nokomis
Brought them food in bowls of basswood,
Water brought in birchen dippers,
And the calumet, the peace-pipe,
Filled and lighted for their smoking.
All the old men of the village,
All the warriors of the nation,
All the Jossakeeds, the Prophets,
The magicians, the Wabenos,
And the Medicine-men, the Medas,
Came to bid the strangers welcome;
"It is well", they said, "O brothers,
That you come so far to see us!"
In a circle round the doorway,
With their pipes they sat in silence,
Waiting to behold the strangers,
Waiting to receive their message;
Till the Black-Robe chief, the Pale-face,
From the wigwam came to greet them,
Stammering in his speech a little,
Speaking words yet unfamiliar;
"It is well," they said, "O brother,
That you come so far to see us!"
Then the Black-Robe chief, the Prophet,
Told his message to the people,
Told the purport of his mission,
Told them of the Virgin Mary,
And her blessed Son, the Saviour,
How in distant lands and ages
He had lived on earth as we do;
How he fasted, prayed, and labored;
How the Jews, the tribe accursed,
Mocked him, scourged him, crucified him;
How he rose from where they laid him,
Walked again with his disciples,
And ascended into heaven.
And the chiefs made answer, saying:
"We have listened to your message,
We have heard your words of wisdom,
We will think on what you tell us.
It is well for us, O brothers,
That you come so far to see us!"
Then they rose up and departed
Each one homeward to his wigwam,
To the young men and the women
Told the story of the strangers
Whom the Master of Life had sent them
From the shining land of Wabun.
Heavy with the heat and silence
Grew the afternoon of Summer;
With a drowsy sound the forest
Whispered round the sultry wigwam,
With a sound of sleep the water
Rippled on the beach below it;
From the cornfields shrill and ceaseless
Sang the grasshopper, Pah-puk-keena;
And the guests of Hiawatha,
Weary with the heat of Summer,
Slumbered in the sultry wigwam.
Slowly o'er the simmering landscape
Fell the evening's dusk and coolness,
And the long and level sunbeams
Shot their spears into the forest,
Breaking through its shields of shadow,
Rushed into each secret ambush,
Searched each thicket, dingle, hollow;
Still the guests of Hiawatha
Slumbered in the silent wigwam.
From his place rose Hiawatha,
Bade farewell to old Nokomis,
Spake in whispers, spake in this wise,
Did not wake the guests, that slumbered.
"I am going, O Nokomis,
On a long and distant journey,
To the portals of the Sunset.
To the regions of the home-wind,
Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin.
But these guests I leave behind me,
In your watch and ward I leave them;
See that never harm comes near them,
See that never fear molests them,
Never danger nor suspicion,
Never want of food or shelter,
In the lodge of Hiawatha!"
Forth into the village went he,
Bade farewell to all the warriors,
Bade farewell to all the young men,
Spake persuading, spake in this wise:
"I am going, O my people,
On a long and distant journey;
Many moons and many winters
Will have come, and will have vanished,
Ere I come again to see you.
But my guests I leave behind me;
Listen to their words of wisdom,
Listen to the truth they tell you,
For the Master of Life has sent them
From the land of light and morning!"
On the shore stood Hiawatha,
Turned and waved his hand at parting;
On the clear and luminous water
Launched his birch canoe for sailing,
From the pebbles of the margin
Shoved it forth into the water;
Whispered to it, "Westward! westward!"
And with speed it darted forward.
And the evening sun descending
Set the clouds on fire with redness,
Burned the broad sky, like a prairie,
Left upon the level water
One long track and trail of splendor,
Down whose stream, as down a river,
Westward, westward Hiawatha
Sailed into the fiery sunset,
Sailed into the purple vapors,
Sailed into the dusk of evening:
And the people from the margin
Watched him floating, rising, sinking,
Till the birch canoe seemed lifted
High into that sea of splendor,
Till it sank into the vapors
Like the new moon slowly, slowly
Sinking in the purple distance.
And they said, "Farewell forever!"
Said, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!"
And the forests, dark and lonely,
Moved through all their depths of darkness,
Sighed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!"
And the waves upon the margin
Rising, rippling on the pebbles,
Sobbed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!"
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,
From her haunts among the fen-lands,
Screamed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!"
Thus departed Hiawatha,
Hiawatha the Beloved,
In the glory of the sunset,.
In the purple mists of evening,
To the regions of the home-wind,
Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin,
To the Islands of the Blessed,
To the Kingdom of Ponemah,
To the Land of the Hereafter!
By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
At the doorway of his wigwam,
In the pleasant Summer morning,
Hiawatha stood and waited.
All the air was full of freshness,
All the earth was bright and joyous,
And before him, through the sunshine,
Westward toward the neighboring forest
Passed in golden swarms the Ahmo,
Passed the bees, the honey-makers,
Burning, singing in the sunshine.
Bright above him shone the heavens,
Level spread the lake before him;
From its bosom leaped the sturgeon,
Sparkling, flashing in the sunshine;
On its margin the great forest
Stood reflected in the water,
Every tree-top had its shadow,
Motionless beneath the water.
From the brow of Hiawatha
Gone was every trace of sorrow,
As the fog from off the water,
As the mist from off the meadow.
With a smile of joy and triumph,
With a look of exultation,
As of one who in a vision
Sees what is to be, but is not,
Stood and waited Hiawatha.
Toward the sun his hands were lifted,
Both the palms spread out against it,
And between the parted fingers
Fell the sunshine on his features,
Flecked with light his naked shoulders,
As it falls and flecks an oak-tree
Through the rifted leaves and branches.
O'er the water floating, flying,
Something in the hazy distance,
Something in the mists of morning,
Loomed and lifted from the water,
Now seemed floating, now seemed flying,
Coming nearer, nearer, nearer.
Was it Shingebis the diver?
Or the pelican, the Shada?
Or the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah?
Or the white goose, Waw-be-wawa,
With the water dripping, flashing,
From its glossy neck and feathers?
It was neither goose nor diver,
Neither pelican nor heron,
O'er the water floating, flying,
Through the shining mist of morning,
But a birch canoe with paddles,
Rising, sinking on the water,
Dripping, flashing in the sunshine;
And within it came a people
From the distant land of Wabun,
From the farthest realms of morning
Came the Black-Robe chief, the Prophet,
He the Priest of Prayer, the Pale-face,
With his guides and his companions.
And the noble Hiawatha,
With his hands aloft extended,
Held aloft in sign of welcome,
Waited, full of exultation,
Till the birch canoe with paddles
Grated on the shining pebbles,
Stranded on the sandy margin,
Till the Black-Robe chief, the Pale-face,
With the cross upon his bosom,
Landed on the sandy margin.
Then the joyous Hiawatha
Cried aloud and spake in this wise:
"Beautiful is the sun, O strangers,
When you come so far to see us!
All our town in peace awaits you,
All our doors stand open for you;
You shall enter all our wigwams,
For the heart's right hand we give you.
"Never bloomed the earth so gayly,
Never shone the sun so brightly,
As to-day they shine and blossom
When you come so far to see us!
Never was our lake so tranquil,
Nor so free from rocks, and sand-bars;
For your birch canoe in passing
Has removed both rock and sand-bar.
"Never before had our tobacco
Such a sweet and pleasant flavor,
Never the broad leaves of our cornfields
Were so beautiful to look on,
As they seem to us this morning,
When you come so far to see us!'
And the Black-Robe chief made answer,
Stammered in his speech a little,
Speaking words yet unfamiliar:
"Peace be with you, Hiawatha,
Peace be with you and your people,
Peace of prayer, and peace of pardon,
Peace of Christ, and joy of Mary!"
Then the generous Hiawatha
Led the strangers to his wigwam,
Seated them on skins of bison,
Seated them on skins of ermine,
And the careful old Nokomis
Brought them food in bowls of basswood,
Water brought in birchen dippers,
And the calumet, the peace-pipe,
Filled and lighted for their smoking.
All the old men of the village,
All the warriors of the nation,
All the Jossakeeds, the Prophets,
The magicians, the Wabenos,
And the Medicine-men, the Medas,
Came to bid the strangers welcome;
"It is well", they said, "O brothers,
That you come so far to see us!"
In a circle round the doorway,
With their pipes they sat in silence,
Waiting to behold the strangers,
Waiting to receive their message;
Till the Black-Robe chief, the Pale-face,
From the wigwam came to greet them,
Stammering in his speech a little,
Speaking words yet unfamiliar;
"It is well," they said, "O brother,
That you come so far to see us!"
Then the Black-Robe chief, the Prophet,
Told his message to the people,
Told the purport of his mission,
Told them of the Virgin Mary,
And her blessed Son, the Saviour,
How in distant lands and ages
He had lived on earth as we do;
How he fasted, prayed, and labored;
How the Jews, the tribe accursed,
Mocked him, scourged him, crucified him;
How he rose from where they laid him,
Walked again with his disciples,
And ascended into heaven.
And the chiefs made answer, saying:
"We have listened to your message,
We have heard your words of wisdom,
We will think on what you tell us.
It is well for us, O brothers,
That you come so far to see us!"
Then they rose up and departed
Each one homeward to his wigwam,
To the young men and the women
Told the story of the strangers
Whom the Master of Life had sent them
From the shining land of Wabun.
Heavy with the heat and silence
Grew the afternoon of Summer;
With a drowsy sound the forest
Whispered round the sultry wigwam,
With a sound of sleep the water
Rippled on the beach below it;
From the cornfields shrill and ceaseless
Sang the grasshopper, Pah-puk-keena;
And the guests of Hiawatha,
Weary with the heat of Summer,
Slumbered in the sultry wigwam.
Slowly o'er the simmering landscape
Fell the evening's dusk and coolness,
And the long and level sunbeams
Shot their spears into the forest,
Breaking through its shields of shadow,
Rushed into each secret ambush,
Searched each thicket, dingle, hollow;
Still the guests of Hiawatha
Slumbered in the silent wigwam.
From his place rose Hiawatha,
Bade farewell to old Nokomis,
Spake in whispers, spake in this wise,
Did not wake the guests, that slumbered.
"I am going, O Nokomis,
On a long and distant journey,
To the portals of the Sunset.
To the regions of the home-wind,
Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin.
But these guests I leave behind me,
In your watch and ward I leave them;
See that never harm comes near them,
See that never fear molests them,
Never danger nor suspicion,
Never want of food or shelter,
In the lodge of Hiawatha!"
Forth into the village went he,
Bade farewell to all the warriors,
Bade farewell to all the young men,
Spake persuading, spake in this wise:
"I am going, O my people,
On a long and distant journey;
Many moons and many winters
Will have come, and will have vanished,
Ere I come again to see you.
But my guests I leave behind me;
Listen to their words of wisdom,
Listen to the truth they tell you,
For the Master of Life has sent them
From the land of light and morning!"
On the shore stood Hiawatha,
Turned and waved his hand at parting;
On the clear and luminous water
Launched his birch canoe for sailing,
From the pebbles of the margin
Shoved it forth into the water;
Whispered to it, "Westward! westward!"
And with speed it darted forward.
And the evening sun descending
Set the clouds on fire with redness,
Burned the broad sky, like a prairie,
Left upon the level water
One long track and trail of splendor,
Down whose stream, as down a river,
Westward, westward Hiawatha
Sailed into the fiery sunset,
Sailed into the purple vapors,
Sailed into the dusk of evening:
And the people from the margin
Watched him floating, rising, sinking,
Till the birch canoe seemed lifted
High into that sea of splendor,
Till it sank into the vapors
Like the new moon slowly, slowly
Sinking in the purple distance.
And they said, "Farewell forever!"
Said, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!"
And the forests, dark and lonely,
Moved through all their depths of darkness,
Sighed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!"
And the waves upon the margin
Rising, rippling on the pebbles,
Sobbed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!"
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,
From her haunts among the fen-lands,
Screamed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!"
Thus departed Hiawatha,
Hiawatha the Beloved,
In the glory of the sunset,.
In the purple mists of evening,
To the regions of the home-wind,
Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin,
To the Islands of the Blessed,
To the Kingdom of Ponemah,
To the Land of the Hereafter!
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