Green Ink.

Dude came to BYU last week and told us Pablo Neruda used to always write in green ink.  Why?  I don't know.  I buy these 4-color pens all the time and the one color that never runs out before I get tired of them is green.  It's hard to confront the reality that in at least one respect, I'll never be like Pablo Neruda.  I'll recover.

I'm trying to learn Portuguese.  I guess it's impossible to prove that it's the most beautiful possible assembly of mortal syllables.  But I have faith that such is the case.  It's beautiful even if you don't know what it means, or whether it means anything.  Like whalesong.  But like whalesong, if you want to be able to produce it, so you gotta know the rules behind it.  So I'm learning Portuguese in the hopes that I can someday hear Portuguese coming out of my own astonished and delighted mouth.