Possible new assignment

Not fully fleshed out, but here goes...

Post 1 line at a time.

The line must be a combination/mash-up of an overheard line and a line of poetry.

Or, more specific

The line must be a combination/mash-up of an overheard line and a line of very old (17th Century?) poetry.

Play with this a little and see what you come up with. I'm certainly not tied to it, but I like the idea of smashing together a found line (which will help with listening skills) and a bound line (like we might find in the 17th century).

Title possibilities

1. The Bound Opera
2. The Found Opera
3. Sloppy Hope
4. A Weed in the Weather
5. The Daily Bleed
6. Opera Weather
7. Humdrum Swishing

Forget it, I'm listening.

The remedy for an unahppy occurrence is a decision. It interrupts the flow of thoughts that come from the past event and prolong its vibration by a reverse flow of contrary thoughts coming from the outside, from the future.

There are several methods of making fake body parts. The method you choose is determined by the end result you want, your budget and the amount of effort you want to invest. Among many choices, your most basic options are;

One feels, yes, but what one feels is like a negative which shows only blackness until one has placed it near a special lamp and which must also be looked at in reverse. So with one's feelings: until one has brought them within range of the intellect one does not know what they represent. Then only, when the intellect has shed light upon them, has intellectualized them, does one distinguish, and with what difficulty, the lineaments of what one felt.

I assume that the music now backing the opening sequence of the picture is temporary.

Dead for ever? Who can say? Certainly, experiments in spiritualism offer us no more proof than the dogmas of religion that the soul survives death. All that we can say is that everything is arranged in this life as though we entered it carrying a burden of obligations contracted in a former life; there is no reason inherent in the conditions of life on this earth that can make us consider ourselves obliged to do good, to be kind and thoughtful... nor for an atheist artist to consider himself obliged to begin over and over again a score of times a piece of work the admiration aroused by which will matter little to his worm-eaten body, like the patch of yellow wall painted with so much skill and refinement by an artist destined to be for ever unknown and barely identified under the name Vermeer. All these obligations, which have no sanction in our present life, seem to belong to a different world, a world based on kindness...self-sacrifice, a world entirely different from this one and which we leave in order to be born on this earth, before perhaps returning there to live once again beneath the sway of those unknown laws which we obeyed because we bore their precepts in our hearts, not knowing whose hand had traced them there--those laws to which every profound work of the intellect brings us nearer and which are invisible only...to fools. So that the idea that Bergotte was not dead for ever is by no means improbable.