YOU TREACHEROUS PERSON FROM PORLOCK!!!! Creative diversions must live!

There was a thread in which a poster had asked for a subject of interest for some reprieve from the tedium of boredom. I took pity on the poor thing. I shared the fact that KUBLA KHAN is one of my most favorite poems. And an interesting fact that ' The Person from Porlock' was an unwelcome visitor to Samuel Taylor Coleridge during his composition of the poem Kubla Khan in 1797. Coleridge claimed to have perceived the entire course of the poem in a dream or possibly an opium-induced haze, but was interrupted by this visitor from Porlock a village in the South West of England, near Exmoor while in the process of writing it. Kubla Khan, only 54 lines long, was never completed. Thus "Person from Porlock", "Man from Porlock", or just "Porlock" are literary allusions to unwanted intruders who disrupt inspired creativity.


And THEN ....the thread was locked! The Person from Portlock did LOCK that thread and interrupted our creative diversions.



NOW YOU MUST READ KUBLA KHAN AND NO ONE MUST INTERUPT!!!

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round;
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean;
And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight ’twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.




Coleridge is a casual coital genius. This poem is the excrement. ....of genius....this poem is the **** is what i am saying

Creative Diversions.

By the way read this poem just once ...it's awesome

You should also listen to the Lark Ascending just once, by Vaughan Williams.



And Moazarts Requiem



And you should dance and write and be joyful and let no Person from Porlock disturb you!


Creative diversions please !!