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Nothing much to tell...I'm crazy and eclectic, weird and wired to do all types of things...I'm free loving as many of my pals can attest......


30 October 2007

ee cummings, What if a Much Of a Which of A Wind

what if a much of a which of a wind

what if a much of a which of a wind
gives the truth to summer's lie;
bloodies with dizzying leaves the sun
and yanks immortal stars awry?
Blow king to beggar and queen to seem
(blow friend to fiend: blow space to time)
-when skies are hanged and oceans drowned,
the single secret will still be man

what if a keen of a lean wind flays
screaming hills with sleet and snow:
strangles valleys by ropes of thing
and stifles forests in white ago?
Blow hope to terror; blow seeing to blind
(blow pity to envy and soul to mind)
-whose hearts are mountains, roots are trees,
it's they shall cry hello to the spring

what if a dawn of a doom of a dream
bites this universe in two,
peels forever out of his grave
and sprinkles nowhere with me and you?
Blow soon to never and never to twice
(blow life to isn't:blow death to was)
-all nothing's only our hugest home;
the most who die, the more we live

ee cummings

Two Heads Are Better Than One; That's The Way To Get The Bloody Job Done

Me la!!!!

Unreal City, 60
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet. 65
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying 'Stetson!
'You who were with me in the ships at Mylae! 70
'That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
'Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
'Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
'Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,
'Or with his nails he'll dig it up again! 75
'You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!'


Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair
Spread out in fiery points
Glowed into words, then would be savagely still. 110

'My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
'Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak.
'What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
'I never know what you are thinking. Think.'

I think we are in rats' alley 115
Where the dead men lost their bones.

'What is that noise?'
The wind under the door.
'What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?'
Nothing again nothing. 120
'You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember
I remember
Those are pearls that were his eyes. 125
'Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?'
O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag—
It's so elegant
So intelligent 130
'What shall I do now? What shall I do?'
'I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street
'With my hair down, so. What shall we do to-morrow?
'What shall we ever do?'
The hot water at ten. 135
And if it rains, a closed car at four.
And we shall play a game of chess,
Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.

When Lil's husband got demobbed, I said—
I didn't mince my words, I said to her myself, 140
Now Albert's coming back, make yourself a bit smart.
He'll want to know what you done with that money he gave you
To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there.
You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set, 145
He said, I swear, I can't bear to look at you.
And no more can't I, I said, and think of poor Albert,
He's been in the army four years, he wants a good time,
And if you don't give it him, there's others will, I said.
Oh is there, she said. Something o' that, I said. 150
Then I'll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look.
If you don't like it you can get on with it, I said.
Others can pick and choose if you can't.
But if Albert makes off, it won't be for lack of telling. 155
You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.
(And her only thirty-one.)
I can't help it, she said, pulling a long face,
It's them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.
(She's had five already, and nearly died of young George.) 160
The chemist said it would be alright, but I've never been the same.
You are a proper fool, I said.
Well, if Albert won't leave you alone, there it is, I said,
What you get married for if you don't want children?
Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,
And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot—
Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight. 170
Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.
Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.


By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept...
Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,
Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.
But at my back in a cold blast I hear 185
The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.


Unreal City
Under the brown fog of a winter noon


AFTER the torchlight red on sweaty faces
After the frosty silence in the gardens
After the agony in stony places
The shouting and the crying 325
Prison and place and reverberation
Of thunder of spring over distant mountains
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying
With a little patience 330

Here is no water but only rock
Rock and no water and the sandy road
The road winding above among the mountains
Which are mountains of rock without water
If there were water we should stop and drink 335
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand
If there were only water amongst the rock
Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit
Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit 340
There is not even silence in the mountains
But dry sterile thunder without rain
There is not even solitude in the mountains
But red sullen faces sneer and snarl
From doors of mudcracked houses
If there were water 345
And no rock
If there were rock
And also water
And water
A spring 350
A pool among the rock
If there were the sound of water only
Not the cicada
And dry grass singing
But sound of water over a rock 355
Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees
Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop
But there is no water

Who is the third who walks always beside you?
When I count, there are only you and I together 360
But when I look ahead up the white road
There is always another one walking beside you
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded
I do not know whether a man or a woman
—But who is that on the other side of you? 365

What is that sound high in the air
Murmur of maternal lamentation
Who are those hooded hordes swarming
Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth
Ringed by the flat horizon only 370
What is the city over the mountains
Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air
Falling towers
Jerusalem Athens Alexandria
Vienna London 375

A woman drew her long black hair out tight
And fiddled whisper music on those strings
And bats with baby faces in the violet light
Whistled, and beat their wings 380
And crawled head downward down a blackened wall
And upside down in air were towers
Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours
And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.

In this decayed hole among the mountains 385
In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing
Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel
There is the empty chapel, only the wind's home.
It has no windows, and the door swings,
Dry bones can harm no one. 390
Only a cock stood on the rooftree
Co co rico co co rico
In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust
Bringing rain

Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves 395
Waited for rain, while the black clouds
Gathered far distant, over Himavant.
The jungle crouched, humped in silence.
Then spoke the thunder
D A 400
Datta: what have we given?
My friend, blood shaking my heart
The awful daring of a moment's surrender
Which an age of prudence can never retract
By this, and this only, we have existed 405
Which is not to be found in our obituaries
Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider
Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor
In our empty rooms
D A 410
Dayadhvam: I have heard the key
Turn in the door once and turn once only
We think of the key, each in his prison
Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison
Only at nightfall, aetherial rumours 415
Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus
Damyata: The boat responded
Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar
The sea was calm, your heart would have responded 420
Gaily, when invited, beating obedient
To controlling hands

I sat upon the shore
Fishing, with the arid plain behind me
Shall I at least set my lands in order? 425

London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down

Poi s'ascose nel foco che gli affina
Quando fiam ceu chelidon—O swallow swallow
Le Prince d'Aquitaine à la tour abolie
These fragments I have shored against my ruins 430
Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo's mad againe.
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.

Shantih shantih shantih

--FROM TS Eliot's The Wasteland

22 October 2007

Halo 3??? Huh?

You know, Rammstein feels good tojust listen in your soul...Just feel it deep inside where all the ugly is and just bring it out into the light of day. I've been downloading like crazy all kinds of music and all kinds of sounds becuase yeah, I really like music and I feel like I haven't been connecting with it as much as I used to, but more importantly, and maybe a little selfish, music is the fire of the soul and the life of the heart, and whatever you listen to is what expresses who you are the most to the outside world. It tells other people what you're about, or at the very most, what your feelings are when you listen to it. Where it can take you when you want to escape the world for a while. I've been downloading bands that I know my boyfriend likes, but not just because I want other tracks to listen to, but to also reconnect and to understand what makes him...well...him. I have to take myself outside of my realms and put myself in his, see where his head is at and understand him, BE with him as his girlfriend, you know? I know what I like, I know what I like to listen to, but what about him?

That's not to say that Rammstein is someone he likes to listen to. I browsed his tracks on his computer (close to four thousand, and I only have a measley one thousand, how out of the loop am I?) and he only has one Rammstein song. Yep, you guessed it : ' Du Hast '. It makes the little German in me cry, but whatever. Rammstein ain't the only German, but the group is damn good and I don't care what any of you say. But, in finding his music, I have to find my own sound and figure out how not to make myself feel depressed because he and I don't have the same type of music that we listen to all the time. We listen to the same genres, just not the same bands. Well, not all of them. I like Rammstein and Shinedown and Stone Sour and other such peoples. He likes Marylin Manson and Korn and Killswitch Engage. I like Avenged Sevenfold. He likes Lacuna Coil. So, I shouldn't feel bad if we don't listen to the same things. But I want to know why he likes them, and the best way to learn is to listen to these people myself. And I'll admit, Marylin Manson freaked me out in the beginning with all the media hype of what a terribly bad person he is and how is music is satanic. Honestly, after listening to the man: not so bad. I can't see what all the fuss is about and his song 'If I was your Vampire' is awesome to my ears.

So, I'm taking myself out of my realms of comfort: books and literary works, research and the pen and quill and trying to put myself in his universe of games and first person shooters like Halo 3 and Grand Theft Auto. I play, but not often. I'm putting myself in his worlds of new OS's and Ipods and other such odds and ends that make me frown and go 'Huh. What's the point of that?'

Wish me luck.

20 October 2007

Not Everyone's A Zombie Slayer

Zombies On The Move

Not everyone's a zombie slayer. Else where would be the fun in that? The whole world'd be wiped clean and then people would have to find whole new occupations because there are no more walking dead with rotting tongues and disgorged bowels walking about scaring the crap out of little old ladies and making children drop their lollipops.

Not everyone's a zombie slayer.

Kind of for the same reason why you can't use a silver dipped wooden stake to kill a zombie. Zombies are not werewolves and certainly are not vampires. Although, zombies are more like and werewolves do not exist. Can't say the same for vampires. Thos nasty buggers just pop up everywhere. So, one could be a vampire-slayer, but Buffy made that overdone so most of the vampire slayers are out of business because Hollywood's ruined them; zombies are a safer bet.

Not everyone's a zombie slayer for the same reason that not everyone can see Big Foot. Afterall, Sasquatch knows his woods and he knows his way about and how to avoid cameras; he's seen what happened to Nessie. He just wants peace. And zombies aren't so careful, they can't help but make noise because they're always hungry: much easier to catch, I say. So, it wouldn't make sense to be a Sasquatch-slayer because there's only one and that's just being selfish to all the other Sasquatch-slayers out there too.

Not everyone can be a zombie slayer for the same reason that we can't all be ghost hunters. Sometimes, we scare the ghosts more than they scare us. You ever wonder why a ghost just keeps repeating the same old tune : 'GET OUUUUUUUUUUT!!!!' So being a ghost hunter is more annoying to the ghosts than being a zombie slayer is to the zombies. At least zombies can't talk.

So, for the same reason that everyone cannot be a zombie slayer--after all, it's a dangerous and lonely existence and you'd be too worried about a class-4 outbreak that could sweep the globe and whether or not you should have gotten those cans of beans or maybe the other shinier looking ones at Lowe's, whether or not Cananda's your best bet or a lonely island out in the middle of Pacific Nowhere, whether or not the zombies'll be walking for ten years or twenty or is humanity extinct altogether and you're the last one alive to talk about what it was like to be human on a lonely rock of an island with Fido as your only comapnion and he's looking at you like your a t-bone steak--not everyone can be perfect in relationships. You have your highs and your lows, but you gotta roll with the punches and sometimes, just let shit flow.