Roll in thou deep
I am a burrito! With Tellus and McGhee, I walked along Macklin Street, toward the superinfirmary of Saint Labiscus O’Claire. We all walked together, hand in hand. Tellus was the one who made the cry about being a burrito. It was like he just discovered something about himself. It was an ephiphany. So I related to Tellus (and McGhee) the entire story of my relationship origin story with Lord Byron’s poem Child Harold’s Pilgrimage, specifically the concluding stanzas regarding the Ocean, or Sea, what you will. And I first met those stanzas in their Norwegian Form: Rull hen du dype hav rull hen din prakt Forgjeves kløver tusen skib ditt bryst På jorden herjer mannen men hans makt Er endt ved stranden utenfor hans kyst Er alle vrak ditt verk hans herjelyst Blir av en større kraft tilintetgjort Idet han som et regndrypp synker tyst I dine dyp hvor han forstummer fort Og ukjent uten grav og kiste svinner bort Hans fot kan ikke trå din sti - og du Vil aldri bli ha