Vanished Prairies

Friday, Apr. 26, 2002 - 10:40 am
Ap�sl�min ida corbalanyrtne 'ls�o rohl'daathi�m v� nen�a iroyss�rd.

Reading the last line of the last entry, I feel I should correct myself, and say I don't really wish for it, but sometimes I feel like I was born thirty years before my time. But that's splitting a hair, isn't it? I should just admit that I am afflicted with a mild case of anachronism. I say mild because I don't suffer like Wiccans, Arthur-lovers, and SCA members. Who yearn to live in a Medieval Dark Age, or a prehistoric Celtic fantasy, or an autocratic society famous for its vile (and often ludicrous) sense of fashion (hardly redeemed by a brief flirtation with the codpiece). All without the benefits of modern medicine and plumbing. I thank God (I am not yet without a few casually superstitious conventionalities) that I am not that sick. But I'm 27 years old and I'm not impressed with my own generation. I know I don't revere my generation's icons the way I should. I am especially indifferent to the music, which I only use when I want to dance mindlessly to something loud, nasty, and cacophonic. But I don't listen to it.

<~>
Ap�sl�min ida corbalan� 'lse nesgla ugar�-cham sa cru ogrulho bat�oltha al�mv�sde.

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