Pseudepigrapha

Putting away several books of saints, I found a stash of works not included in either the Canon or the Apocrypha. They make interesting reading. The outliers. An entire book of pseudepigrapha reads suspiciously like an alternative bible. When Ptolemy (I don't know which one, there were 15 of them) prohibited the export of papyrus there was something of a writing-material crisis. Parchment was dear, vellum more so, and palimpsest became more common. We only have Cicero's De Republic because it could be read under a Commentary of St. Augustine on the Psalms. The 'patter' of feet or rain is the frequentative of pat, to strike gently. One little foray out today, between showers, looking for mushrooms, and I picked up several ticks. Took a tepid sponge-bath and found three on me and one on the towel. When they're on me, if I can't pick them off, I light a wooden match, blow it out, and touch them with the hot tip, they die and release. This is only tricky when you're using two mirrors to find the damn things in the first place. I've gotten very good with mirrors, but I still occasionally burn myself. Tomfool or Tom o' Bedlam. I can't speak toward the sanctity of anything, I don't believe in the sanctity of anything. Peeping Tom. The 15th Brewer's I'm reading now was virgin white when I got it, had never been referenced; and I tend to dirty the pages, going outside with a sling-blade, or digging something out of the muck, so that when I use a book, the edges of the pages get dirty. I don't always wash up first. And I can tell exactly where I started, Disjecta Membra, a dismembered poet. Where the blood spatters the walls it's easy enough to explain, when the blood actually spatters; but much harder to explain as a 'concept'. Later, I turn on the radio, and it's Jesse Norman, singing the aria "Dipped In Blood". She certainly has a big voice. Tree-rain and fireflies. A patter song. The stage is dark. The house is dark. The fireflies blink on and off. The light gradually fills. Our soprano is arguing with our first percussionist about the down-beat. He sees everything as B-flat, she sees it as a natural G. There's a guitar in the background, making sense of things.