Time for Sister Windy
Good mourning, dear studnuts, so nice to spend yet another
long day with you, disgusting the lyrics of our beloved Roma Ryan. Today, we
are going to embark on a voyage through Time, and Only Time. My rudder will be
ruddered by none other than Rhyming Roma ipsa. Together our oars will fill the
Fjords and BMWs we meet along the way.
Now, we must properly prepare
for our journey, yes, even you, Ms. OperaKait, as being born in cyber-space is
certainly not enough. Time Travel is a very precise science, even on the
quantum level, and the first thing you each need is this:
The Only Timex Watch by Enya ™
Now, this watch has been designed only for our
classh -- isn't Nicky nice? You will note it has many many buttons.... and some
of you really do like to push buttons....but I digress. Now pay retention!
Button 1 shows you our Loco Time.
Button 2 shows you Universal Enya Time.
Button 3 shows you Universal
Earth Time (which is not the same as #2).
Button 4 shows you Solar System time.
Button 5 shows you
Intergalactic Time.
Button 6 shows you Backwards Time.
Button 7 shows you Forward
Time.
Button 8 shows you Sideways Time.
Button 9 shows you long ago in kindergarten, with Sister
O’Perky.
Button 10 shows you a glossy picture of me.
Any questions? Yes, Miss Begotten? No, I’m afraid you
cannot take your blackberry or any other fruit. There is too much danger of
changing the Time Lime.
Now, will you all please enter the ONLY TIME CAPSULE and take your seats. We
shall leave very, very soon, as Nicky is now arranging our entry into the Time
Channel with a nice man called Q. Who may be married to M.
[The door closes, sealing everyone
in; strange noises are heard whizzing and clunking, then, suddenly, the sounds
of silence -- yes, the Time of Simon and Garfunkel flies by. Then, the time
capsule door slowly opens, and the lesion begins:]
Now, classh, we must expurgate dear Roma's very first
question:
Who can say where the road goes?
Why, look, Master Card, there is a yellow brick road right
before us; I wonder where it goes.........lettuce ask these two Roma gladiators
standing here with nets and spears (well, she certainly IS worth fighting
over!).
Salvete, sirs, excuse us, but we are Time Travellers and
we are wondering where this road goes. Can you help us?
[Strange Latin sounding words are exchanged, at 1.55 euro
each.]
Classh, this nice man, who has just learned to speak fluid
English, says that this road is made of the finest Roman brick, almost as dense
as my head! It seems, Miss Spent, that we have been timed out in 44 BC; he says
it's March 15th. And that we should turn left right away.
And MARCH we shall, studnuts, right down this Roman brick
road! All together now – No, we are NOT in Kansas anymore, Miss Rhine.
Now, where are we marching, aye, THAT is the
question! For we shall then, and only then, discover the answer to our
questions:
where does the road go?
and who can say so?
(@SW, poet)
Oh look, yonder city lies ahead
of us! Can it be, Master Card, that we are gazing upon ROME?
Of course, ALL ROADS LEAD TO ROME!!
Now, the question becomes WHY does Roma start her poem
this way? Yes, Master Mind, you are absolutionally correct: the city of Rome
was actually called ROMA, which just happens to be the name of our beloved
lyricist!!! Isn’t she a clever one! An
infinite jester indeed.
Now, we must all return to the Time Capsule (slow-release
version) and move on/back/sideways to our NEXT destination.
Now, studnuts, you have had/will have had/should have had
enough TIME to recover from our first stop, as a result of witch we all finally
know where the road goes, thus answering Roma's first question. Accordianlly,
in a Timely manner, we move on to her second question: we must find out
Where the day flows
Ready, everyone, for our next Time shift? No, Miss
Represented, we do/did/will not have any more barf bags, so sorry.
I'll just configure these beautiful ebony buttons from
Persia ---- NO! OperaKait, DO NOT TOUCH (ne touchez-pas!) that lever!!!
ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH........well, we are
OFF, to who knows where, who knows when..............
Now, please remember the Prime Rib Directive: We do NOT
interfere in the TIME LINE -- any student caught doing so shall wink out of
existence in a flash, like a car in an Enya video.
[the
capsule stops spinning……………]
Well! THAT was an interesting trip, wasn't it, classh? I
especially like/liked/will like the hard, bouncing landing -- it reminded me of
my last flight on Royal Heir Lines with Captain Kangaroo; we made such an
impressive, tire-blowing appearance that, oh...I will be digressing if I have
not already done so.
Let us open the door. Look,
classh, we appear to be in Scotland, sometime, and over there is a screaming
man in a kilt. Now, Miss Clare, please remember your manners as we approach him,
and do not look under the kilt!. We do NOT wish to upset him any further, as he
is quite loud and annoying, rather like Sister Full Volume, director of heavy
metal music.
Hello, noble lard, I am Sister Windy, and you are? Ah, you
are called MacRantsalot. Yes, Mac, I would also be upset if I were stuck on the
Ornery Islands in winter. But, noble lard, do you happen to know where the day
flows?
Ah, I see/saw/will see! You are much too busy ranting at sheep to notice where the day flows. And noble lards get too tired at night to do much else besides eat and drink humungously and sleep for long periods of time. Rather like cats. Oh yes, I do indeed understand, but can you give us any direction? It could be one direction, you know, or it could be another - it's either this or that way.....
Very well, MacRantsalot, we will indeed go over the hill,
though Mother Superioriosa has been there for many a year already, but I
digress.
Over hill, over dale, off we go,
studnuts...........................
Oh look, studnuts, do you see the men ahead? Lettuce ask
them!
Good evening, gentle lards. do you happen to know where
the day flows? [whispers are exchanged, as on Boxing Day] My word, you don’t
say!! Thank you so muchly.
Classh, these patient men watch day flow by, by ice floes,
every day and night of their wintry lives The current economic downturn has
left them rather under-employed, it would seem. But they tell me that the day
always flows WEST, towards Ireland, which they believe is inhabited by monks
and lyricists. But, in addition, Miss Shaped, they have also given me the key
to answering the next question: that is, WHO is
Only Time
You see, studnuts, “time” here is not really “time,” at least not now: for they saw Roma here not long ago! She was, they insist, taking notes, both sharps and flats. And the day was flowing, under her cotton baton, right towards the Irish Sea.
Well, it is now oblivious that “Only Time” here is none
other than Roma Ryan’s latest dramatic persona! She is the Dr. WHO of the
poem!! Why, this woman concocts riddles that even Batman could not riddle. Or
imaginary aliens, like Dr. Spock. She has cloaked herself in the Clock of Time,
in the Nick of Time.
Now, onwards to:
And who can say if your love grows as your heart chose?
Only Time.
Into the Only Timed Caplet we
must go again.
[The machine sputters but briefly, and then comes to a
full stop, at a red light district, in Pompeii, 79 AD.]
Well, it is now clear that Roma (aka Only Time) can indeed say this; after all, she writes the words better than Kneel Diamond. But the real question is “does your love grow as your heart chooses” or is it a roll of the dice in an Einsteinian Universe?
Yea verily, LOVE has become our
soup du jour. Now, how do we approach this problem, Miss Spent? Yes, indeed, we
must seek out an EGGSPERT on LOVE! Now, Mother Superioriosa will not/does
not/did not approve of this part of the ridiculum, so we shall keep all of this
hush-hush, right, Mush-Mush? Oh dear,
how did a cat get into my classh? Yes,
OperaKait? I see, you rescued it from
the Petting Zoo and smuggled it into classh in your brunch box. Well, when we
get back, please return Mush Mush to Brother Ah Sissi. Thank you.
Look, studnuts! A small boy with wings and a bow and arrow approaches. Yes, OperaKait, that is indeed Cupid, but no, you cannot preposition him.
Hello, Cupid, we have been sent here to ask you a
question: does love grow as the heart chooses? You see, Only Time
(aka Roma Ryan) has told us this. What’s that? Ah yes, I see it now: ROMA
spelled backwards is AMOR, that is, the Goddess of Love itself, and
thusly Roma herself has dictated that love grows as your heart chooses! This is
called predesperation, and you only shoot your arrows when she tells you to –
my my, what a good little cherub you are.
Might you have only time for another question, Cupid? Oh
thank you – now, can you tell us why the heart sighs as love flies? I see,
therefore I am: the heart sighs for many reasons, including sudden palpitations
brought on by seeing Enya in person. This is known as fanisitis cordiatis and
is usually not fatal – oh, that is good to hear!
Other causes of heart sighs include: eating too many
beans, overdosing on caffeine and/or chocolate, hearing
Brother Brosnan sing in the shower, or too much rain in Vancouver. So, love
flies are not alone in causing cardiac events, but you suggest we consult an
entomologist about flies. Gus Grissom? Oh yes, if we can find him crawling
around somewhere or when. Thank you, young person holding lethal weapon of mass
destruction. But what about this:
And who can say why your heart cries when your
love lies- Only Time
Yes, while ROMA/AMOR can indeed say this, inquiring minds
wish to know more about heart cries as well as heart sighs. Yes, Cupid?
“Love Hurts”? Alas, I regret that a country and western explanation will simply
not do, young god with a dangerous weapon in
hand. You must do better than that, even if it is not February — or is it? Oh
dear, I seem to have lost track of only time.
Yes, Miss Begotten? Yes, indeed, Roma in the preceding
verse did say the heart sighs, as your love flies, and now she
mentions cries and lies. Ergo, Roma exists in Rhyming Time.
Excellent observation indeed!
Fascinating, isn’t it, classh? Roma, you see, changes a
minimal amount of words to create a tiny tiny nuance! No, I am not referring to you, OperaKait. YOU are a tiny
nuisance – there is a BIG difference.
Please continuum, Q-pid. You want us to meet your friend,
Mr. Heart? He works at an Oracle and thumps all day and all night, and thus
would know all about hearty things? Well, bring him on, little man!
[a large thumping heart suddenly appears; Miss
Apprehension decides to faint, perhaps being faint of heart.]
Hello, Mr Heart, can you elucidate us? We need a password
before you’ll begin? Is that so, Mr. Heart? Well, we certainly aorta know THAT!
Especially when speaking in that vein.
OperaKait, what is the password? “Try again.” Very well,
you are indeed trying.
Classh, Mr. Heart, whose first
name is Hank, tells me that a CRYING heart needs different treatment than a
SIGHING heart – namely, a bottle of beer and some Country and Western music! Or
was that the recommended treatment for a CHEATING heart? Oh dear, I forget so
quickly, it is good to have Miss Clare here to remember all this.
So, a heart crying is not the same as a heart sighing at
all – crying expells TEARS, Mister Blister, while sighing expells BREATH. Here,
have a mint.
Now, Hank (if I may presume to call you that), what about love
flies vs. love lies? I see, it’s the same differential, just a different 4x4.
You see, studnuts, love FLYING is, well, airy, but love LYING is, well,
cheating. Thus, with just a flick of her bic, Roma exchanges the meaning of her
ode by placing our minds in much more dire straits – crying and lying, oh my,
how brilliant a bulb she burns!
Thank
you, both, and now we must return to our capsule to trip again, like we did in
the 60s. Now, studnuts, put your thinking caps on,
and fasten your seat belts - we are OFF to another point in Time and Space, in
the search to expunge these words of Roma:
Who can say when the roads meet that
love might be in your heart?
[The usual low-budget clunking
noises begin, a flash of light is seen as a car is blasted into oblivious, and
the capsule lands, somewhere, somewhen. The door opens, and a little girl’s
voice at the back whispers “What a turkey, she landed us in grease, and very
old grease at that.” Then another voice is heard, that of Sister Windy ipsa,
saying “Well, Miss Ery, an engineer might be able to tell us about roads,
assuming he is, of course, a Rhodes scholar. But, I do think (and yes, I do
think, but I digress) that we need another type of insight.]
Well, studnuts, we seem to be in Ancient Greece – see, there’s an Ironic column on that small building -- and there is a man standing at yonder crossroads wearing a very stylish (and very short) tunic, and looking
rather worried, I might/will/did add. Lettuce approach him in a friendly
manner.
Hello, good sir, may I ask who/when/where you are?
Oh, you are Eddy Pus and you
are consulting the Sphinx about your future! Does she charge a lot? Or even
lance a lot? Oh, I see, the Sphinx speaks in RIDDLES? And right now she wants
to know what creature has 4 legs in the morning, 2 in the afternoon, and 3 in
the evening? Well, that’s a piece of cake: it’s clearly Sister Morphian.
Yes, please do answer her riddle so that we may consult
you about roads that meet/will meet/have met.
[Pssst, studnuts, isn’t he cute, standing there,
pretending to talk to an animal of unknown species? This must be the Greek
Twilight Zone, or, perhaps, the ancient Bermuda Shorts Triangle.]
Yes, Mr. Pus? May I call you
Eddy? Thank you! Now, be a deer and
tell us if, when the roads meet, love might be in your heart?
Ah, you say that love is NOT likely to exist where
roads meet? You say you came to a place where 3 roads met and you did NOT see
Love in anyone’s heart........rather, you saw ROAD RAGE: yes, Eddy, do tell!
You came to this crossroads feeling very cross, and at
this crossroad you collided with a man in a chariot who pushed you off the
road, even though YOU had the green lantern? Oh dear, how rude!
So, Eddy, you fought this Road
Runner, like a wiley coyote – and then you killed him! Gracious me. I guess
traffic fatalities are not a new phenomenon, right, Master Failedtosignal?
So, you say that love was nowhere to be seen, not even in
your heart? Then we have lost the path of all time this time, and ONLY this
time, sigh.............What’s that, OperaKait? Oh, you say that Eddy will indeed find love in
the nearby city of Dweebs. Thank you so very much, dear.
Well, classh, there were have it, from a eggspert:
we need to tell Roma that love might not exist when the roads meet. I do
hope she will not be dreadfully disappointed.
Now, classh, we cannot set off on our voyage of recovery until Miss Clare returns from the loo. If she remembers to, of course.
So, while we wait for her, please cognitate on the next
question we must answer:
And who can say when the day sleeps if the
night keeps all your heart?
Now, classh, we tread upon the concussion of our poem. You
see, after these two lines, everything is repeated! Yes, Roma imprints the key
limes of the poem into our pie heads by repetitio againiensis. One of her many remarkable poetic devices.
When the day sleeps: yes,
my deers, much like Miss Spent, the day does indeed sleep. It is very tiring
being a Day, you know, much more so than being a Knight. Remember lovely Doris
Day? What did she do at night but fade away, away, away? All that acting,
dancing and singing just plain wore her out. So the Day must get some rest, and
then Apollo will drive his chariot of the sun across the sky again to light up
our lives. What a Boone that will be.
Now, Roma knows when the Day sleeps, that is not the
question: to be or not to be, that is the question! I am sure a ham
would let us know -- oh my my, I am so witty today/yesterday/tomorrow………………
So the real question we must
ponderous is:
If the night keeps all your heart
To respond to such a dark and deep question, we must again
turn to an eggspert. So off we go, in our brave little timed caplet, a hybrid just like
that Sphinx thing
[Bump,
clump and dump……]
Here we are, classh, somewhere, and here is our eggspert,
omnisciently awaiting our arrival!
Hello, I’m Sister Windy and your name is? Nix? But you
cannot be nothing – perhaps you meant, um, Nixon? Well, you do not have to slug
me like that, I was only asking!! Oh I see, you are NYX, and NYX is NOX in
Latin, and NIGHT in English! Charmed to meet you, Miss Night. Oh indeed?
Classh, Miss Night is in fact THE Goddess of the Night, and not Madonna.
Your Goddess-ship, how may I address thee? Miss Nyx/Nox?
Ahem, yes, OperaKait, that does indeed sound like Miss
Knick-Knack, but let us try at least to get it right. We do not wish to offend
her lest darkness descend and we cannot find our way home, thus remembering
only bad days.
Now, Your Goddess Highness, does the night keep all your
hearts?
What? You say that you keep hearts only if you need them
for Trump? For Donald Trump? Sorry, your Goddessness, but I am a bit
capsule-lagged from all this flitting about. I shall attempt to be alert, for
the world certainly needs more lerts!
So, then, you DO collect hearts! Fascinating hobby, I must
say. But where do you store them? In the sky? You hang the sky with HEARTS?
But do you keep ALL our hearts:
atrium, ventricle, aorta, etc? You do? You want complete sets in case you play
Hearts with Aphrodite? Why, off course!
But, your Goddess-hood, isn’t keeping all our hearts
dangerous to our health? Ah, I see, you keep them on ice, up on Mount Olympus.
Where Zeus also uses them for hockey pucks. Thank you so much for illuminating
us – in return I present you with a full deck. Yes we Time Travellers are
generous to a fault, or any other geological feature of mass destruction.
Well, classh, that’s the way it is/was/will be! We have
extirpated all of Roma's pungent questions at last, and can now go home! Come,
studnuts, prepare for our return journey to Roma Ryan’s High and Petting Zoo.
Where all things are possible if one suspenders their disbeliefs!
What’s that, OperaKait? You want to do a REMIX? Please
take that up with Brother Cadmium in Chemistry once we get home. One virgin of
this song is good enough for me.