How to misquote Camus and other atrocities.

Well, it seems that beautiful Camus quote of yesterday is somewhat spurious, or, actually, a lot.  While Camus is not the author of the honeyed letter, and here I am plagiarizing, he did write indeed write the first line, i.e., (I loves me a good i.e.) "In the midst of winter I found there was within me an invincible summer" and that is that.  The rest of the quote, while a Bartlett's lovely, is simply not attributable to a soul.  I still think it is a wonderful sentiment.  Doing a little research I came across this article from the Journal of Camus Studies...text:

So  four and twenty blackbirds, apocryphal of lies (a mere redundancy (I also loves me a good redundancy)).

On to the weekend.  My new computer for my new endeavor, i.e., the tech support company, has arrived and I am about to leave to set the darling up.  It seems this will be my last of the extravagant expenses and that will be tax deductible come the retirement phase of my existence.  I have the cats' room prepared for the installation of the device and the preparation of the software for the loading so I can publish my book of sorts of blogging and other such nonsense.

Also this weekend brings a plant sale, not a steel plant but a pansy plant.  I want to plant some this weekend.  The weather is warming up and while this weekend might be too soon to plant tender things pansies should be able to weather the storm, so to speak.  My front yard is lovely right now with the flowering pear tree in full bloom as well as the flowering shrubberies, not to mention the Holy Hand Grenade and the Killer Rabbit or is it Rabbi (Passover begins this evening)?

I seem to be dwelling in land where the Stream of Consciousness runs.  Back to Camus.  I did read the Myth of Sisyphus, and actually read the line "one must imagine Sisyphus happy".  Now maybe that was a bad translation but I have always believed that Camus was about to turn his back on Existentialism and that his death was actually a murder carried out by an Existential Hit Squad.  No, really I do...So much for years of therapy...His neck snapped like Ms. Duncan's...oh, come on, do I have to look everything up for you?

So, here's to yesterday's snafu of the sanctity of Camus.

Here, however, is a poem  of.  e.e. cummings, of whose attribution I am certain. 

in Just-

spring          when the world is mud-

luscious the little

lame balloonman

whistles          far          and wee

and eddieandbill come

running from marbles and

piracies and it's

spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer

old balloonman whistles

far          and             wee

and bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it's

spring

and

         the

                  goat-footed

balloonMan          whistles

far

and

wee