10/05/2009
Résumé
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.
Dorothy Parker
9/09/2009
Everything new requires something else to end...
Don't grieve for me, for now I'm free!
I follow the plan God laid for me.
I saw His face, I heard His call,
I took His hand and left it all...
I could not stay another day,
To love, to laugh, to work or play;
Tasks left undone must stay that way
.And if my parting has left a void,
Then fill it with remembered joy.
A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss...
Ah yes, these things I, too, shall miss.
My life's been full, I've savoured much:
Good times, good friends, a loved-one's touch.
Perhaps my time seemed all too brief—
Don't shorten yours with undue grief.
Be not burdened with tears of sorrow,
Enjoy the sunshine of the morrow.
6/22/2009
Quote of the moment
There are some people who think that they should be always mourning, that they should put a continual constraint upon themselves, and feel a disgust for those amusements to which they are obliged to submit. For my own part, I confess that I know not how to conform myself to these rigid notions. I prefer something more simple, which I also think would be more pleasing to God.
François Fénelon
Ophelia...destiny of woman
what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!
The courtier's, scholar's, soldier's, eye, tongue, sword,
Th' expectancy and rose of the fair state,
The glass of fashion and the mould of form,
Th' observ'd of all observers- quite, quite down!
And I, of ladies most deject and wretched,
That suck'd the honey of his music vows,
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason,
Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh;
That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth
Blasted with ecstasy. O, woe is me
T' have seen what I have seen, see what I see!
The courtier's, scholar's, soldier's, eye, tongue, sword,
Th' expectancy and rose of the fair state,
The glass of fashion and the mould of form,
Th' observ'd of all observers- quite, quite down!
And I, of ladies most deject and wretched,
That suck'd the honey of his music vows,
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason,
Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh;
That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth
Blasted with ecstasy. O, woe is me
T' have seen what I have seen, see what I see!
6/17/2009
Erlkoenig
Who rides so late through the windy night?
The father holding his young son so tight.
The boy is cradled safe in his arm,
He holds him sure and he holds him warm.
Why is your face so frightened my son?
The King of elves, father, see him yon?
The Elfin King with his tail and crown?
It is the fog, my son, streaming down.
Yes, you my dear child, come go with me!
The games I play, you'll like them, come see.
The shore is coloured with flow'rs in bloom,
My mother's gold gowns, you will see soon.
Oh father, father, can you not hear
What the elfking promises? I fear!
Be calm, stay quiet my dearest son,
The wind blows the dry leaves of autumn.
My darling boy, won't you come with me?
I have daughters in whose care you'll be.
My daughters dance round the fairy ring.
Each night they'll cradle you, dance and sing.
Father, dear father, can you not see
The elf king's daughter staring at me?
My son, my son, I see it so well:
Gray meadows on which the moonlight fell.
I love you for your beauty of course,
If free you'll not come, I will use force.
Father, dear father, he's touching me.
Of elf king's hurt, father please, free me.
Dread grips the father, he spurs the roan,
In loving arms he feels the boy moan.
At last, the courtyard, with fear and dread,
He looks at the child; the boy is dead.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
The father holding his young son so tight.
The boy is cradled safe in his arm,
He holds him sure and he holds him warm.
Why is your face so frightened my son?
The King of elves, father, see him yon?
The Elfin King with his tail and crown?
It is the fog, my son, streaming down.
Yes, you my dear child, come go with me!
The games I play, you'll like them, come see.
The shore is coloured with flow'rs in bloom,
My mother's gold gowns, you will see soon.
Oh father, father, can you not hear
What the elfking promises? I fear!
Be calm, stay quiet my dearest son,
The wind blows the dry leaves of autumn.
My darling boy, won't you come with me?
I have daughters in whose care you'll be.
My daughters dance round the fairy ring.
Each night they'll cradle you, dance and sing.
Father, dear father, can you not see
The elf king's daughter staring at me?
My son, my son, I see it so well:
Gray meadows on which the moonlight fell.
I love you for your beauty of course,
If free you'll not come, I will use force.
Father, dear father, he's touching me.
Of elf king's hurt, father please, free me.
Dread grips the father, he spurs the roan,
In loving arms he feels the boy moan.
At last, the courtyard, with fear and dread,
He looks at the child; the boy is dead.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
6/04/2009
Quote of the moment
"Common sense always speaks too late.
Common sense is the guy who tells you you ought to have had your brakes relined last week before you smashed a front end this week.
Common sense is the Monday morning quarterback who could have won the ball game if he had been on the team. But he never is. He's high up in the stands with a flask on his hip.
Common sense is the little man in a grey suit who never makes a mistake in addition. But it's always somebody else's money he's adding up. "
Philip Marlowe in Playback (1958), by Raymond Chandler
Common sense is the guy who tells you you ought to have had your brakes relined last week before you smashed a front end this week.
Common sense is the Monday morning quarterback who could have won the ball game if he had been on the team. But he never is. He's high up in the stands with a flask on his hip.
Common sense is the little man in a grey suit who never makes a mistake in addition. But it's always somebody else's money he's adding up. "
Philip Marlowe in Playback (1958), by Raymond Chandler
5/13/2009
Time is a strange thing...
Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
T. S. Eliot, in the Four Quartets
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
T. S. Eliot, in the Four Quartets
4/03/2009
Quote of the moment
"Love is a strange emotion. When one thinks of it, a conflicting multitude of thoughts arise. Love is pitiful and marvelous, empowering and parasitic. It is hideous; it is beautiful. It is weak and strong at the same time. Love has started wars, ended wars, caused the depression and death of millions, as well as caused uncountable others to be thrown to the heights of ecstasy. So is love truly such a pure, lovely thing? I think it is a mixture of both. Just as nothing is purely good or evil, so is love. "
3/19/2009
Quote of the moment
"People ask me to predict the future, when all I want to do is prevent it. Better yet, build it. Predicting the future is much too easy, anyway. You look at the people around you, the street you stand on, the visible air you breathe, and predict more of the same. To hell with more. I want better."
Ray Bradbury
3/12/2009
I'm tired
I’m tired of being misunderstood,
nerves are shot,
weak – like old wood.
I’m tired of being ill,
no energy, can’t think,
losing my skills.
I’m tired of so-called friends,
stabbing me in the back,
again and again.
I’m tired of trying to make things right,
i give up – I surrender,
no will to fight.
I’m tired of seeing others in pain,
raises frustration,
drives me insane.
I’m tired of not being able to cry,
i’d melt away,
nothing left inside.
I’m tired because I can’t feel,
walking in a daze – numb
this can’t be real.
I’m tired of being “strong,”
i’m weak, i’m fragile,
its gone on way to long.
I don’t know what else to say,
i’m hoping, i’m dreaming,
i’m begging, i’m pleading,
please, take this feeling away.
Right now… I’m just tired…
Dave Harm
nerves are shot,
weak – like old wood.
I’m tired of being ill,
no energy, can’t think,
losing my skills.
I’m tired of so-called friends,
stabbing me in the back,
again and again.
I’m tired of trying to make things right,
i give up – I surrender,
no will to fight.
I’m tired of seeing others in pain,
raises frustration,
drives me insane.
I’m tired of not being able to cry,
i’d melt away,
nothing left inside.
I’m tired because I can’t feel,
walking in a daze – numb
this can’t be real.
I’m tired of being “strong,”
i’m weak, i’m fragile,
its gone on way to long.
I don’t know what else to say,
i’m hoping, i’m dreaming,
i’m begging, i’m pleading,
please, take this feeling away.
Right now… I’m just tired…
Dave Harm
2/25/2009
Death is a Dialogue
Death is a Dialogue between
The Spirit and the Dust.
"Dissolve" says Death—The Spirit "Sir
I have another Trust"—
Death doubts it—Argues from the Ground—
The Spirit turns away
Just laying off for evidence
An Overcoat of Clay.
Emily Dickinson
The Spirit and the Dust.
"Dissolve" says Death—The Spirit "Sir
I have another Trust"—
Death doubts it—Argues from the Ground—
The Spirit turns away
Just laying off for evidence
An Overcoat of Clay.
Emily Dickinson
2/19/2009
Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there... I do not sleep.
I am the thousand winds that blow...
I am the diamond glints on snow...
I am the sunlight on ripened grain...
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you waken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of gentle birds in circling flight...
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry—
I am not there... I did not die...
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