'Betrayed, yes. Now put on your shoes, I'll walk you to the subway.'
Early on in my Tokyo stay the gas company had a contest, for people to write haiku with the last line 'But still, there's the bath.' They published a two-page spread of winners somewhere- given what a lazy sod I was at the time, I probably read it in the Japan Times, in translation.
Today for the first time
I got called 'obasan'--
Still, there's the bath.
My son gets home from juku
After his father does from work-
Still, there's the bath.
Haiku (or even senryuu, which is what those are) don't work well in English. Envoi do:
Prince, all the fans are fretting mightily;
Lj is run by purblind geeks, by heck;
The humidex today was one-oh-three:
Still, there's the bath, and water to my neck.
Long weekend, and the low tonight is supposed to be 17. For this relief etc
Today for the first time
I got called 'obasan'--
Still, there's the bath.
My son gets home from juku
After his father does from work-
Still, there's the bath.
Haiku (or even senryuu, which is what those are) don't work well in English. Envoi do:
Prince, all the fans are fretting mightily;
Lj is run by purblind geeks, by heck;
The humidex today was one-oh-three:
Still, there's the bath, and water to my neck.
Long weekend, and the low tonight is supposed to be 17. For this relief etc
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One has to slide a little to get the water to the neck but it's doable. Not a *real* Japanese tub, of course: but those were either square and allowed no sliding at all, or four feet long. Some people want to stretch out more than that.
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The Terms of Service are a bloody laugh,
Alas for Harry Potter and his porn!
But still, as Marat says, remains the bath.
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With seas of spooge and idiocy and wrath;
The wise fan stands apart and feels-- quite ill:
I think I'll go join Seneca in the bath.
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Or so I'll have it on my epitaph,
With non-artistic, "What will be, wil be,"
I'll float a boat with Noah in the bath.
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'No fury like a porn-starved fan Hell hath';
But it's been going on all bloody day.
Move over, Jimmie Morrisson, in the bath.
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And dump the dross, through Archimedean math,
I wouldn't trawl the comms whose names I'm told . . .
I'd do a quiet "Eureka" in the bath.
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And dumbly goes the way of Sylvie Plath:
Kindly to spare me from that grim deluge
And need to slit a wrist vein in the bath.