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Archive for the ‘Silly Series’ Category“Pussycat pussycat, where have you been?” It’s time to turn the magnifying glass of wonder on Elizabeth “Undies” “Smalls” Eckels. Tell the folks at home all about Elizabeth “Smalls” Eckels Hrm, I don’t much like talking about myself, [...] ‘O stand, stand at the window As the tears scald and start; Dear old Auden. His name rhymed with… not much really. And now it is [...] “As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. “And out of all the windows, No matter where we went, The merriest eyes would follow me And make me compliment. “The free bird thinks of another breeze And the trade winds soft through The sighing trees And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright Lawn and he names the sky his own. But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream His wings are clipped and his feet are tied So he opens his [...] It is a year to the day since I began the Silly Series, in which I profile the great and the good of the digital analytics industry. I had planned to run the thing for a couple of weeks, but it became bigger than me and I have adored learning more about colleagues I admire [...] “This passion of our kind For the process of finding out Is a fact one can hardly doubt, But I would rejoice in it more If I knew more clearly what We wanted the knowledge for, Felt certain still that the mind Is free to know or not.” Now we [...] “Man hath stil either toyes, or Care, He hath no root, nor to one place is ty’d, But ever restless and Irregular About this Earth doth run and ride, He knows he hath a home, but scarce knows where, He sayes it is so far That he hath quite forgot how to go there.” “I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions. Whatever I see I swallow immediately Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike. I am not cruel, only truthful-The eye of the little god, four cornered. Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall. It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long I [...] “Maybe a twelvemonth since Suddenly I began, In scorn of this audience, Imagining a man, And his sun-freckled face, And grey Connemara cloth, Climbing up to a place Where stone is dark under froth, And the down-turn of his wrist When the flies drop in the stream; A man who does not exist; A man [...] |
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