Mar 26, 2024
Reginald Omez, O.P. - Psychical Phenomena - Hawthorne - 1964 (jacket design by Joseph Salter; sculpture: Jeanne d'Arc à Domrémy by Henri Chapu)
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Reginald Omez, O.P. - Psychical Phenomena - Hawthorne - 1964 (jacket design by Joseph Salter; sculpture: Jeanne d'Arc à Domrémy by Henri Chapu)
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When you’re having a difficult week, strangely, there’s some comfort in listening to Oscar Peterson play I Got It Bad And That Ain’t Good. It’s almost soothing. His lithe fingers, lightly touching the keys, playing beautifully, certainly are.
St Peter Martyr in the style of della Robbia - I took the photograph in a church in Arezzo, Italy, but I failed to record the church's name. It's up on the hill, though. I have no idea if it's really by the della Robbia workshop, or just "style of." I love the triple crown over the martyr's head in the predella. More than that I love the horrible martyrdom in such a sleek and pretty medium.
Bronze statue of St. Dominic at St. Dominic’s cemetery in Benicia, California. The dog is carrying a torch and has the world at his foot because he is all ready to set the world on fire with love of Jesus Christ. The open book in the saint’s hand says (in Latin) “Jesus said to his disciples: You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored?” (Matthew 5:13)
Dominic and his family of canonized Saints and Blesseds.
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I glare at him, controller still clenched in my hand.
This little spat had been going on for 20? 30 minutes?
I was annoyed, but something else tugged at my mind as well, something undefined, as I glared at him I felt myself smiling, too.
Because he's just so.. gorgeous
Ugh. Why is he so gorgeous?
Why does this feel kinda... funny?
Why is he making me laugh through my argument?
I glare some more, as he leans over me, continuing to argue vohemently.
I'd died so many times in this stupid game, and it had gotten him riled up, so, sighing deeply, he launched into this stupid argument.
He continues talking, leaning closer to me, making sure I hear him.
Then he stops, staring.
"What?" I ask irritably, watching his face
"You're enjoying this," he says, searching my eyes. "You're enjoying arguing with me."
I roll my eyes, "no, I'm not. Its stupid, and irritating."
He studies my eyes for a moment before laughing, "yes, you are. Your pupils are huge."
He laughs, and now that I'm looking, his own pupils seem to take over his irises, covering the stormy grey that usually pierces through me.
"Well, yours are too." I scoff, crossing my arms.
But I can feel the annoyance dissipate quickly, I stubbornly try to hold on to it, to prove he isn't right.
"You are loving this," he laughs, his eyes searching mine. "Why are you enjoying this?" He plops back onto his side of the couch, giggling.
I straighten up, and adjust myself so I'm more comfortable.
I ponder his declaration, and shrug.
"I just love you, I guess. Even when you're being irritating." I glance over, he's still grinning, eyes twinkling mischievously.
"Uh huh." He nods as he settles back in, gesturing to the paused game.
"Sooo... you gonna die again?"
I huff and sit up straighter, stubbornness sparking back up in my head.
"No, of course not." I scoff, ignoring his gaze locked on me.
"..are you sure?" He asks, tilting his head to the side.
I try to fight the smile, the laughter bubbling in my chest. I probably will die, but he doesn't need to know that til it happens.
I wave my hand towards the tv, gesturing for him to hit play.
"I'll be fine," I shrug, "just play it."
todays antivaxxer of the day is O.P. from transformers prime arms micron theater
Santo Domingo de Guzmán. Anonymous. XVIIIth Century.