|Poor little cupcake, sweet little cupcake...|
Poor little Buttercup, sweet little Buttercup!! or do I perhaps mean, Butterfly, silly little butterfly? And a little aside here - no more flutterbyes, but still much fluttering of the by the byes...
Oh, I can tell, there's going to be good nonsense tonight. It's a potent mix of butter ingested, codeine taken, sugar drunk by the caseload, and a double dose of sleep deprivation.
|Little butterfly, little butterfly sip the ambrosia not the lagrima|
So there I was, torturing myself with the last act of Butterfly where she sings and sings about the portents of American Robins what only come every four years which means that America only has Spring every four years much like people who're born on the 29th of February. Then with a little kiss to the dagger, (unlike Tosca who stabs Scarpia with her dagger, then sings about this being kiss of Tosca (Take that Scarpia!)) whispers something about "Death with honour is better than life with dishonour" before well, to put it bluntly, and I'll leave it to your imagination except to guide it a little bit - just a little - with the words "sharp blade and John Hurt in the Alien".
|Of the onion family if not exactly onions...|
It was very traumatic and sad-making. Poor, silly little butterfly, but then again I suppose that she was doing only what she knew. Anyway, I had to brush away the tears - oh damn those onions - and put on the Barber of Seville and indulge in some sublime silliness when a bunch of adults who should know better sneak around trying things on, and getting into high jinks. Oh goodness, the misunderstandings that abound, and the fake drunken lurching and wordplay, set to such beautifully effervescent music. The quartets and quintets are gorgeous. Been a while since I've listened to this and it brings back the words of Dr. PP, who used to likened the overture to getting up on a sunny morning with nothing to do, and a hot, good cup of coffee on the stove. I wonder what's happened to Dr. PP these days.
|Cobalt is as cobalt is, and blue is not always blue|
|Imagine the heart where the back is, |
and you get the idea.
But one must remember the good that happens mustn't one? Yes, one must.
|The freshness of Nature's lagrima|