My affections are easily swayed and I can be very unfaithful.
quote by Dusty Springfield
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Related quotes
The Interpretation of Nature and
I.
MAN, being the servant and interpreter of Nature, can do and understand so much and so much only as he has observed in fact or in thought of the course of nature: beyond this he neither knows anything nor can do anything.
II.
Neither the naked hand nor the understanding left to itself can effect much. It is by instruments and helps that the work is done, which are as much wanted for the understanding as for the hand. And as the instruments of the hand either give motion or guide it, so the instruments of the mind supply either suggestions for the understanding or cautions.
III.
Human knowledge and human power meet in one; for where the cause is not known the effect cannot be produced. Nature to be commanded must be obeyed; and that which in contemplation is as the cause is in operation as the rule.
IV.
Towards the effecting of works, all that man can do is to put together or put asunder natural bodies. The rest is done by nature working within.
V.
The study of nature with a view to works is engaged in by the mechanic, the mathematician, the physician, the alchemist, and the magician; but by all (as things now are) with slight endeavour and scanty success.
VI.
It would be an unsound fancy and self-contradictory to expect that things which have never yet been done can be done except by means which have never yet been tried.
VII.
The productions of the mind and hand seem very numerous in books and manufactures. But all this variety lies in an exquisite subtlety and derivations from a few things already known; not in the number of axioms.
VIII.
Moreover the works already known are due to chance and experiment rather than to sciences; for the sciences we now possess are merely systems for the nice ordering and setting forth of things already invented; not methods of invention or directions for new works.
IX.
The cause and root of nearly all evils in the sciences is this -- that while we falsely admire and extol the powers of the human mind we neglect to seek for its true helps.
X.
The subtlety of nature is greater many times over than the subtlety of the senses and understanding; so that all those specious meditations, speculations, and glosses in which men indulge are quite from the purpose, only there is no one by to observe it.
XI.
As the sciences which we now have do not help us in finding out new works, so neither does the logic which we now have help us in finding out new sciences.
XII.
The logic now in use serves rather to fix and give stability to the errors which have their foundation in commonly received notions than to help the search after truth. So it does more harm than good.
XIII.
[...] Read more
poem by Sir Francis Bacon
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Obsessions
It happened in the middle of the night
When I thought I had control
Didnt want to be the one to fight
Didnt want to lose my soul
I was up for something more
Never thought Id get it started
Paralyzed, polarized
Hung on every word
Im in love with the child inside
I dont have a right to follow you
Or have a license to get closer
A love that wont be denied
For you are something like Ive never seen
Im a man whose heart is crying
Chorus
Just another one of my obsessions
You dont want to be a special toy
I never be the one to hurt you
Like every other girl and boy
Just another little indicretion
Another game that you want to try
You can never be unfaithful
If you gotta love somebody
Want to make your mountains high
Want to take your valley low
Theres a moral to my story
Let me in a close the door
Until the morning light
What Id give to live inside you
Make me wait, we separate
But only to return
Whisper and Ill be there
I dont want you begging me to stop
I just want to drown in your desire
Love is for those who dare
All the cream is rising to the top
And its the love you save from dying
Chorus
Just another one of my obsessions
Something I could never find
Its the kind of love that makes your heart
Feel obsessed with mine
Any battle for the one possession
Another game that you want to try
You can never be unfaithful
If you gotta love somebody
Just another one of my obsessions
You dont want to be a special toy
I never be the one to hurt you
Like every other girl and boy
[...] Read more
song performed by Bee Gees
Added by Lucian Velea
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Some Will Seek Forgiveness, Others Escape
I heard a voice through the discord
A deluge of passersby
I saw one gaze frozen in time
Watching me passing by
I swear I'll know your face in the crowd
And I'll hear your voice so loud
When you're whispering
Hey unfaithful I will teach you
To be stronger
Hey ungraceful I will teach you
To forgive one another
Here's my kiss to betray
Desperate to brush the lips of grace
Do you feel hollow when you think of how I lied?
Oh sweet angel of mercy
With your grace like the morning
Wrap your loving arms around me
Oh sweet angel of mercy
With your grace like the morning
Wrap your loving arms around me
Hey unfaithful I will teach you
To be stronger
Hey ungraceful I will teach you
To forgive one another
Hey unfaithful I will teach you
To be stronger
Hey unloving
I will love you
I will love you
I will love you
Jesus, I'm ready to come home
Jesus, I'm ready to come home
Hey unfaithful
Hey ungraceful
Hey unloving
I will love you
song performed by Underoath
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Unfaithful To Myself (Beware. Beware!)
When I ran away,
I thought that I would stay...
Where it was,
I chose to be.
When I ran away,
It was from myself...
And,
I was not that able...
To remain unfaithful.
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
I saw the anger there.
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
Beware. Beware!
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
I saw the anger there.
And I knew,
It was me who had been untrue.
When I ran away,
It was from myself...
And,
I was not able...
To remain unfaithful.
Oh, when I ran away,
I thought that I would stay...
Where it was,
I chose to be.
But...
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
I saw the anger there.
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
Beware. Beware!
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
I saw the anger there.
And I knew,
It was me who had been untrue.
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
I saw the anger there.
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
Beware. Beware!
Yes,
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
I saw the anger there.
With a feeding of myself wrong beliefs...
That other people made me bleed.
But it wasn't other people it was me.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Could Easily Fall In Love With You
Aum aum aum aum
Aum aum aum aum
If you should tell me that I'll always be,
The one you'll always love so true.
Then I can tell you I could easily,
"I could easily fall in love with you."
It wasn't long ago I saw you there.
But even then I thought I knew,
That given half a chance I'd easily,
"I could easily fall in love with you."
I've been too long on my ownsome now.
I've been too long by myself.
I couldn't feel more lonesome now.
If I was left on the shelf.
Don't ever change that smile you're smiling now.
And please don't let me see you blue.
Then I can tell you oh so easily,
"I could easily fall in love with you."
I've been too long on my ownsome now.
I've been too long by myself.
I couldn't feel more lonesome now.
If I was left on the shelf.
Don't ever change that smile you're smiling now.
And please don't let me see you blue.
Then I can tell you oh so easily,
"I could easily fall in love with you."
Aum aum aum aum
Aum aum aum aum
song performed by Cliff Richard
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Book IV - Part 03 - The Senses And Mental Pictures
Bodies that strike the eyes, awaking sight.
From certain things flow odours evermore,
As cold from rivers, heat from sun, and spray
From waves of ocean, eater-out of walls
Around the coasts. Nor ever cease to flit
The varied voices, sounds athrough the air.
Then too there comes into the mouth at times
The wet of a salt taste, when by the sea
We roam about; and so, whene'er we watch
The wormword being mixed, its bitter stings.
To such degree from all things is each thing
Borne streamingly along, and sent about
To every region round; and Nature grants
Nor rest nor respite of the onward flow,
Since 'tis incessantly we feeling have,
And all the time are suffered to descry
And smell all things at hand, and hear them sound.
Besides, since shape examined by our hands
Within the dark is known to be the same
As that by eyes perceived within the light
And lustrous day, both touch and sight must be
By one like cause aroused. So, if we test
A square and get its stimulus on us
Within the dark, within the light what square
Can fall upon our sight, except a square
That images the things? Wherefore it seems
The source of seeing is in images,
Nor without these can anything be viewed.
Now these same films I name are borne about
And tossed and scattered into regions all.
But since we do perceive alone through eyes,
It follows hence that whitherso we turn
Our sight, all things do strike against it there
With form and hue. And just how far from us
Each thing may be away, the image yields
To us the power to see and chance to tell:
For when 'tis sent, at once it shoves ahead
And drives along the air that's in the space
Betwixt it and our eyes. And thus this air
All glides athrough our eyeballs, and, as 'twere,
Brushes athrough our pupils and thuswise
Passes across. Therefore it comes we see
How far from us each thing may be away,
And the more air there be that's driven before,
And too the longer be the brushing breeze
Against our eyes, the farther off removed
Each thing is seen to be: forsooth, this work
With mightily swift order all goes on,
So that upon one instant we may see
[...] Read more
poem by Lucretius
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Dont Give Up Easily
(hicks)
If a foolish fool like me
Can read you easily
Then something must be wrong
Somethings different when we speak
It seems the past few weeks
Our loves not been so strong
Lovers have always had this problem
Ask anyone, youll see
Weve got to hang on til it passes
Dont give up easily
If we say whats on our minds,
Wed save a lot of time
Dont give up easily
I know youre feeling bad
Sometimes I make you sad
But when youre feeling sad,
Im feeling just as bad
During the good times its so easy
You are in love like me
Sometimes we feel we want to leave it
Dont give up easily
If we say whats on our minds,
Wed save a lot of time
Dont give up easily
Ask anyone, youll see
Theyll say the same as me
Dont give easily
song performed by Hollies
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Pieces Now Connecting
So happy am I now to live,
To have a mind free.
And the pieces now connecting,
Did not come to fit...
To snuggle,
Perfectly for me to see.
Or feel deep.
Oh so happy am I to have a mind,
Peacefully freed.
And it didn't come to happen,
Easily accepted...
As I thought a peace of mind,
For me...
Would come to be.
I thought all troubles came to be expected.
And easily for me to accept.
I even thought my head was only made to ache.
And easily I accepted.
I thought my life was meant to fear,
And easily I accepted.
With a living in pain to gain...
To easily accept,
And...
To keep it near.
Oh so happy am I to have a mind,
Peacefully freed.
And it didn't come to happen,
Easily accepted...
As I thought a peace of mind,
Would come to be.
For me.
Yes so happy am I now to live,
To have a mind free.
And the pieces now connecting,
Did not come to fit...
To snuggle,
Perfectly for me to see.
Or feel deep.
But now...
Perfectly for me to see.
And I feel deep,
Is a peace...
Within me as it's meant,
To be.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Tower Beyond Tragedy
I
You'd never have thought the Queen was Helen's sister- Troy's
burning-flower from Sparta, the beautiful sea-flower
Cut in clear stone, crowned with the fragrant golden mane, she
the ageless, the uncontaminable-
This Clytemnestra was her sister, low-statured, fierce-lipped, not
dark nor blonde, greenish-gray-eyed,
Sinewed with strength, you saw, under the purple folds of the
queen-cloak, but craftier than queenly,
Standing between the gilded wooden porch-pillars, great steps of
stone above the steep street,
Awaiting the King.
Most of his men were quartered on the town;
he, clanking bronze, with fifty
And certain captives, came to the stair. The Queen's men were
a hundred in the street and a hundred
Lining the ramp, eighty on the great flags of the porch; she
raising her white arms the spear-butts
Thundered on the stone, and the shields clashed; eight shining
clarions
Let fly from the wide window over the entrance the wildbirds of
their metal throats, air-cleaving
Over the King come home. He raised his thick burnt-colored
beard and smiled; then Clytemnestra,
Gathering the robe, setting the golden-sandaled feet carefully,
stone by stone, descended
One half the stair. But one of the captives marred the comeliness
of that embrace with a cry
Gull-shrill, blade-sharp, cutting between the purple cloak and
the bronze plates, then Clytemnestra:
Who was it? The King answered: A piece of our goods out of
the snatch of Asia, a daughter of the king,
So treat her kindly and she may come into her wits again. Eh,
you keep state here my queen.
You've not been the poorer for me.- In heart, in the widowed
chamber, dear, she pale replied, though the slaves
Toiled, the spearmen were faithful. What's her name, the slavegirl's?
AGAMEMNON Come up the stair. They tell me my kinsman's
Lodged himself on you.
CLYTEMNESTRA Your cousin Aegisthus? He was out of refuge,
flits between here and Tiryns.
Dear: the girl's name?
AGAMEMNON Cassandra. We've a hundred or so other
captives; besides two hundred
Rotted in the hulls, they tell odd stories about you and your
guest: eh? no matter: the ships
Ooze pitch and the August road smokes dirt, I smell like an
old shepherd's goatskin, you'll have bath-water?
CLYTEMNESTRA
They're making it hot. Come, my lord. My hands will pour it.
[...] Read more
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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An Alliterative Amorous Answer
Alliterative Love Letter
Adored and angelic Amelia. Accept an ardent and artless amourist’s affections, alleviate an anguished admirer’s alarms, and answer an amorous applicant’s avowed ardour. Ah, Amelia! all appears an awful aspect! Ambition, avarice and arrogance, alas are attractive allurements, and abase an ardent attachement. Appease an aching and affectionate adorer’s alarms, and anon acknowledge affianced Albert’s alliance as agreeable and acceptable.
Anxiously awaiting an affectionate and affirmative answer, accept an ardent admirer’s aching adieu. Always angelic and admirable Amelia’s admiring and affectionate amourist, Albert
Wit and Wisdom 1826
An Alliterative Answer
Artless Amelia Acme’s answer adamantly admonishing artful Albert Acne’s announced amorous ambitions, and assertive advances, actively advocates appropriate alternatives. Also, attesting abhorrent Albert’s attempted abduction, Amelia asks an adequate aureate award. Advance “ amical ” arrangements are altogether abjured.
Adieu Albert!
Abused Amelia, an adorable angel, aghast and askance, acknowledges agile apostate Albert’s apparently avuncular, albeit astonishingly audacious application, and, as alleged affiancement alliances and anticipations are absent, appends an acceptable, accurate answer.
Aggressively accosted, Amelia acts advisedly, asking an acceptably authentic apology affirming all Albert’s avowed affiancement allegations as archetypal authoritarian autocratic attempts at annulling Amelia’s autonomy. Also, Albert’s absolutely alarmingly acquisitive ambitions afford anguish, anxiety, and, afterall, acute anger. All are anathema, as Albert, an adder, assumed angelic approbation after an abject attempt at abrogating and appropriating all Amelia’s assets.
Agamous Albert’s age, adiposity, and abnormally abrasive accents also argued against amorous agglutination. Agamy appeared advisable as Amelia always aspired at attaining an absolute amour, assiduously avoiding ambiguity. Ardent admiration activated Albert’s appetite as Amelia’s allure and accomplishments attracted all-round applause.
Amelia and Albert are at an apogee. Alliance anticipations are antilogical as Amelia’s aplomb and articulateness, and Albert ’s anthropomorphic antics are as antipodes apart as Aphrodite and an anthropoid ape. Acataleptic Albert, Amelia’s antithesis, acting almost as an aggressive animal, abused Amelia’s adolescent acquaintance, Anabelle, an alluring afro actress, - actually auditionning as an aria alto, - adventuring affront abruptly abbreviated.
Albert’s apologists are accomplices aiding and abetting an attack (after anticipating advantages agreed aforehand) .... At Ashcloth Abbey altar agnostic Albert asked Assyriac Abyssinian Archdeacon Ahasuerus and Arabian acolyte Abdul abn Abdulaziz abn Abdullah Abu an aboveboard absolution although Abbott Abraham Allsaints’ anterior abjuration altered all accomodating actions.
Apprehending arrogant acquiline Albert’s arbitrary approach, Amelia appositely acted appropriately, adjusting apparel. Applause and approbation are apropos.
Albert abusively alledges aristocratic alabaster Amelia’s assent - an assumption as absurd as an ass astride an advocate assiduously assembling an ascorbic acid apparatus!
Abstemious Amelia’s abilities attract acclaim - above all admirable administrative aptitudes, artistic aims, analytical assurance, amiability and amenability. Altruistic Amelia amalgamating agreeableness and authority, always assists aliens.
Alcoholic Albert’s abominations abound, as aforementioned as all adults agree, admonishing an aggressive ambiance........Albert apes affability!
Abusive adulation appalls, accelerates aversion and attracts adverse acknowledgements alienating affirmative adhesions. Allegorical accolades, artificially addressed, accumulate absurdities. although amiable acolytes are acceptable additions. Argot argues against acceptance as avid adventurers assume affected accents -, acquiring added artificial accomplishments.
Addressing amoral Albert, and apprehending amorphous arrangements, Amelia advises acrimonious Albert’s accepting any alternative Abigail, Alice and Anabella, as affianced amourette. Auburns are also admired as are armed assegaie’d ashanti, andalousian, algonquin, anabaptist and amerindian amours:
Abigail, Ada, Adrienne, Adriana, Adelaide, Agatha, Aglaë, Alice, Aliette, await Albert,
Aline, Alison, Amy Amanda, Amandine Andrea, Angela, Angelica, Ann, anticipate Albert
Anna, Annabelle, Anne, Annette, Angelina, Annick, Annie, Andrée, Anthea, alleviate Albert
April, Ariane, Ariane, Arlette, Armande, Armelle, Ashley, Astarte, Ava, appreciate Albert
.....And Albert annoys Amelia! - aggravating!
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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A Lover's Complaint
FROM off a hill whose concave womb reworded
A plaintful story from a sistering vale,
My spirits to attend this double voice accorded,
And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale;
Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale,
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,
Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain.
Upon her head a platted hive of straw,
Which fortified her visage from the sun,
Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw
The carcass of beauty spent and done:
Time had not scythed all that youth begun,
Nor youth all quit; but, spite of heaven's fell rage,
Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd age.
Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne,
Which on it had conceited characters,
Laundering the silken figures in the brine
That season'd woe had pelleted in tears,
And often reading what contents it bears;
As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe,
In clamours of all size, both high and low.
Sometimes her levell'd eyes their carriage ride,
As they did battery to the spheres intend;
Sometime diverted their poor balls are tied
To the orbed earth; sometimes they do extend
Their view right on; anon their gazes lend
To every place at once, and, nowhere fix'd,
The mind and sight distractedly commix'd.
Her hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat,
Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of pride
For some, untuck'd, descended her sheaved hat,
Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside;
Some in her threaden fillet still did bide,
And true to bondage would not break from thence,
Though slackly braided in loose negligence.
A thousand favours from a maund she drew
Of amber, crystal, and of beaded jet,
Which one by one she in a river threw,
Upon whose weeping margent she was set;
Like usury, applying wet to wet,
Or monarch's hands that let not bounty fall
Where want cries some, but where excess begs all.
Of folded schedules had she many a one,
Which she perused, sigh'd, tore, and gave the flood;
[...] Read more
poem by William Shakespeare
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The Recluse - Book First
HOME AT GRASMERE
ONCE to the verge of yon steep barrier came
A roving school-boy; what the adventurer's age
Hath now escaped his memory--but the hour,
One of a golden summer holiday,
He well remembers, though the year be gone--
Alone and devious from afar he came;
And, with a sudden influx overpowered
At sight of this seclusion, he forgot
His haste, for hasty had his footsteps been
As boyish his pursuits; and sighing said,
'What happy fortune were it here to live!
And, if a thought of dying, if a thought
Of mortal separation, could intrude
With paradise before him, here to die!'
No Prophet was he, had not even a hope,
Scarcely a wish, but one bright pleasing thought,
A fancy in the heart of what might be
The lot of others, never could be his.
The station whence he looked was soft and green,
Not giddy yet aerial, with a depth
Of vale below, a height of hills above.
For rest of body perfect was the spot,
All that luxurious nature could desire;
But stirring to the spirit; who could gaze
And not feel motions there? He thought of clouds
That sail on winds: of breezes that delight
To play on water, or in endless chase
Pursue each other through the yielding plain
Of grass or corn, over and through and through,
In billow after billow, evermore
Disporting--nor unmindful was the boy
Of sunbeams, shadows, butterflies and birds;
Of fluttering sylphs and softly-gliding Fays,
Genii, and winged angels that are Lords
Without restraint of all which they behold.
The illusion strengthening as he gazed, he felt
That such unfettered liberty was his,
Such power and joy; but only for this end,
To flit from field to rock, from rock to field,
From shore to island, and from isle to shore,
From open ground to covert, from a bed
Of meadow-flowers into a tuft of wood;
From high to low, from low to high, yet still
Within the bound of this huge concave; here
Must be his home, this valley be his world.
Since that day forth the Place to him--'to me'
(For I who live to register the truth
Was that same young and happy Being) became
[...] Read more
poem by William Wordsworth
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These Days 'Everything' Seems To Be Shaky
We all seem to be needing,
Some sort of life support these days.
To say nothing is what it use to be,
Is an understatement...
Made by many of us,
Walking around in a daze.
Up use to be UP.
And being 'down' was easily detected,
By those with frowns.
But it is hard to say who is swayed,
Or who is standing on solid ground.
If any validity of that can be found.
We all seem to be needing,
Some sort of life support these days.
To say nothing is what it use to be,
Is an understatement...
Made by many of us,
Walking around in a daze.
And delayed common sense,
To prevent protected thoughts from leaking.
Is perhaps the best defense,
For a peace kept to keep that one is seeking.
Even speaking these days seems to be a waste.
Will eventually be labelled crazed is some way.
Up use to be UP.
And being 'down' was easily detected,
By those with frowns.
But it is hard to say who is swayed,
Or who is standing on solid ground.
If any validity of that can be found around.
These days 'everything' seems to be shaky!
In a waiting for 'something'...
To either be settled.
Or disturbingly break.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The White Ship Henry I. Of England.—25th November 1120
By none but me can the tale be told,
The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold.
(Lands are swayed by a King on a throne.)
'Twas a royal train put forth to sea,
Yet the tale can be told by none but me.
(The sea hath no King but God alone.)
King Henry held it as life's whole gain
That after his death his son should reign.
`Twas so in my youth I heard men say,
And my old age calls it back to-day.
King Henry of England's realm was he,
And Henry Duke of Normandy.
The times had changed when on either coast
“Clerkly Harry” was all his boast.
Of ruthless strokes full many an one
He had struck to crown himself and his son;
And his elder brother's eyes were gone.
And when to the chase his court would crowd,
The poor flung ploughshares on his road,
And shrieked: “Our cry is from King to God!”
But all the chiefs of the English land
Had knelt and kissed the Prince's hand.
And next with his son he sailed to France
To claim the Norman allegiance:
And every baron in Normandy
Had taken the oath of fealty.
'Twas sworn and sealed, and the day had come
When the King and the Prince might journey home:
For Christmas cheer is to home hearts dear,
And Christmas now was drawing near.
Stout Fitz-Stephen came to the King,—
A pilot famous in seafaring;
And he held to the King, in all men's sight,
A mark of gold for his tribute's right.
“Liege Lord! my father guided the ship
From whose boat your father's foot did slip
When he caught the English soil in his grip,
“And cried: ‘By this clasp I claim command
O'er every rood of English land!’
“He was borne to the realm you rule o'er now
In that ship with the archer carved at her prow:
“And thither I'll bear, an it be my due,
Your father's son and his grandson too.
“The famed White Ship is mine in the bay;
From Harfleur's harbour she sails to-day,
“With masts fair-pennoned as Norman spears
And with fifty well-tried mariners.”
Quoth the King: “My ships are chosen each one,
But I'll not say nay to Stephen's son.
“My son and daughter and fellowship
[...] Read more
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Narrative And Dramatic The Wanderings Of Oisin
BOOK I
S. Patrick. You who are bent, and bald, and blind,
With a heavy heart and a wandering mind,
Have known three centuries, poets sing,
Of dalliance with a demon thing.
Oisin. Sad to remember, sick with years,
The swift innumerable spears,
The horsemen with their floating hair,
And bowls of barley, honey, and wine,
Those merry couples dancing in tune,
And the white body that lay by mine;
But the tale, though words be lighter than air.
Must live to be old like the wandering moon.
Caoilte, and Conan, and Finn were there,
When we followed a deer with our baying hounds.
With Bran, Sceolan, and Lomair,
And passing the Firbolgs' burial-motmds,
Came to the cairn-heaped grassy hill
Where passionate Maeve is stony-still;
And found On the dove-grey edge of the sea
A pearl-pale, high-born lady, who rode
On a horse with bridle of findrinny;
And like a sunset were her lips,
A stormy sunset on doomed ships;
A citron colour gloomed in her hair,
But down to her feet white vesture flowed,
And with the glimmering crimson glowed
Of many a figured embroidery;
And it was bound with a pearl-pale shell
That wavered like the summer streams,
As her soft bosom rose and fell.
S. Patrick. You are still wrecked among heathen dreams.
Oisin. 'Why do you wind no horn?' she said
'And every hero droop his head?
The hornless deer is not more sad
That many a peaceful moment had,
More sleek than any granary mouse,
In his own leafy forest house
Among the waving fields of fern:
The hunting of heroes should be glad.'
'O pleasant woman,' answered Finn,
'We think on Oscar's pencilled urn,
And on the heroes lying slain
[...] Read more
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Easily
Easily let's get carried away
Easily let's get married today
Shao Lin shouted a rose
From his throat
Everything must go
A lickin' stick is thicker
When you break it to show
Everything must go
The story of a woman on the morning of a war
Remind me if you will exactly what we're
fighting for
Calling calling for something in the air
Calling calling I know you must be there
Easily let's get caught in a wave
Easily we won't get caught in a cage
Shao Lin shakin' for the sake
Of his soul - Everything must go
Lookin' mighty tired of
All the things that you own
Everything must go
I can't tell you who to idolize
You think it's almost over
But it's only on the rise
Calling calling
For something in the air
Calling calling I know you must be there
The story of a woman on the morning of a war
Remind me if you will exactly what we're
fighting for
Throw me to the wolves because
Because there's order in the pack
Throw me to the sky
Because I know I'm coming back
Shao Lin shakin' for the sake
Of his soul - Everything must go
Lookin' mighty tired of
All the things that you own
Everything must go
The story of a woman on the morning of a war
Remind me if you will exactly what we're
fighting for
[...] Read more
song performed by Red Hot Chili Peppers from Californication
Added by Lucian Velea
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Joan
Power generation
You live up your life and it feels like fire
Suspended in animation
A trick of the light and it drives you higher
Blind vision blind faith
You really can be sold
If you dare to disagree
Its just not within the scheme of things
To give up your life so easily
Thats not the way youre meant to be
What a waste of time and energy
Its just not within the scheme of things(live your life)
To give up your life so easily, easily(Ill be there)
Psychic celebration
Look up in the stars and see venus rising
Rapture, fascination
You live for the night and your own desire
Blind vision blind faith
You really cant rely
On what they tell you for effect
Its not just within the scheme of things(live your life)
To give up your life so easily
Thats not the way youre meant to be(I do care)
What a waste of time and energy
Its just not within the scheme of things(live your life)
To give up your life so easily
Thats not the way youre meant to be(Ill be there)
What a waste of time and energy, energy
song performed by Erasure
Added by Lucian Velea
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Bought And Sold
Bought and sold.
Bought,
And sold.
Bought and sold...
As if no feelings I keep.
But deep inside I'm touched.
Nothing here is cheaply rushed.
Bought and sold...
On what to me has been told.
Not me I'm not of mush.
Nor easily crushed to dust.
Excesses on the cheapness of life,
Has made a weakness increase...
And,
Bought and sold.
Bought,
And sold.
Bought and sold.
Too many given anything.
Just to say they've gotten a piece,
To be...
Bought and sold.
Bought and sold...
On what to me has been told.
Not me I'm not of mush.
Nor easily crushed to dust.
Bought and sold...
As if no feelings I keep.
But deep inside I'm touched.
Nothing here is cheaply rushed.
Too many people take for granted and accept too easily.
To be sold,
On what they're told.
Too many people take for granted and accept too easily.
Bought and sold,
On what they're told.
Too many people take for granted and accept too easily.
To be sold,
On what they're told.
Bought and sold,
On what they're told.
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Nothing nothing just thinking thoughts
Sometimes I'm thinking about the roles and an intuition that there's something in them that I always feel a need to complain about. It's what we do for others that may so easily define us and if what we do is good make us better people - parental role eg. is the best cure for egoism provided that one is a normal parent. Still, I wonder how come we've become so many things at the same time- parents, friends, colleagues, business partners, lovers, leaders, fighters…reminds me of an onion that's very hard to peel when it comes to all the layers the eyes wet cannot see a core layer, a central one. And it also makes me wonder why we need all of them, we cannot blame it only on the complexity of living as well as which one will swallow the rest of the personality as it seems inevitable to sacrifice other roles for the main one at least in certain periods of life.
It's very hard to play them at the same time, multitasking is a synonym of civilizational disease which is why sometimes the seams of personality tear and persona ends up lying in psychiatric arms. There's nothing cynical in this just an underlying though that there are no abnormal people but merely an abnormal ‘circumstances' that bring about a ‘normal' reactions.
I've noticed (please, correct me if I am wrong) that those who are terrified of solitude easily become somebody's friends, usually actually friends to many people. They cannot spend a single minute on their own, always busy sms-ing facebooking sipping cofee in a local bar…and always complaining about being betrayed by their friends.
Things may change of course once they've become parents, they may easily redirect their energy into children upbringing and just as well may easily choke their development. And eventually be shocked by their children's betrayal and ungratefulness (we've done everything for them, never thought of ourselves-does this ring a bell?)
Things may change of course they've become leaders and fighters, they may easily redirect their energy into making the world a better place, a benevolent and a harmless role unless they sacrifice those who dearly love them in the name of, ironically love of all the humanity.
(I'm just thinking how easy it is to love humanity in an abstract way, especially if one can click it off and on in their virtual world, send messages of love and peace and understanding to humanity when it best suits one's time or mood in a relationship when one is totally in control of communication and one can dose it in compliance with (what a term!) the situation (wow another one!)
Things may change once they've become business partners…dedicated lovers…and stretch the implications of I'm not doing anything for myself endlessly.
In a way roles are o.k. provided one picks up those that are basically harmless. Still, there is one thing that remains unclear to me, that is- how much of the personality will survive them and where exactly I fit in the whole story for I don't think I'm an exception to the rule of playing no matter how hard I try to preserve the innermost intact. And the rule is sometimes ironically spelled in a credo ‘be yourself' or ‘be true to yourself' declaimed by so many.
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Hermann And Dorothea - IX. Urania
CONCLUSION.
O YE Muses, who gladly favour a love that is heartfelt,
Who on his way the excellent youth have hitherto guided,
Who have press'd the maid to his bosom before their betrothal,
Help still further to perfect the bonds of a couple so loving,
Drive away the clouds which over their happiness hover!
But begin by saying what now in the house has been passing.
For the third time the mother impatiently enter'd the chamber
Where the men were sitting, which she had anxiously quitted,
Speaking of the approaching storm, and the loss of the moon's light,
Then of her son's long absence, and all the perils that night brings.
Strongly she censured their friends for having so soon left the youngster,
For not even addressing the maiden, or seeking to woo her.
'Make not the worst of the mischief,' the father peevishly answer'd;
'For you see we are waiting ourselves, expecting the issue.'
But the neighbour sat still, and calmly address'd them as follows:--
'In uneasy moments like these, I always feel grateful
To my late father, who when I was young all seeds of impatience
In my mind uprooted, and left no fragment remaining,
And I learnt how to wait, as well as the best of the wise men.
'Tell us what legerdemain he employ'd,' the pastor made answer.
'I will gladly inform you, and each one may gain by the lesson,'
Answer'd the neighbour. 'When I was a boy, I was standing one Sunday
In a state of impatience, eagerly waiting the carriage
Which was to carry us out to the fountain under the lime-trees;
But it came not; I ran like a weasel now hither, now thither,
Up and down the stairs, and from the door to the window;
Both my hands were prickling, I scratch'd away at the tables,
Stamping and trotting about, and scarcely refrain'd I from crying.
All this the calm man composedly saw; but finally when I
Carried my folly too far, by the arm he quietly took me,
Led me up to the window, and used this significant language
'See you up yonder the joiner's workshop, now closed for the Sunday?
'Twill be re-open'd to-morrow, and plane and saw will be working.
Thus will the busy hours be pass'd from morning till evening.
But remember this: the rimming will soon be arriving,
When the master, together with all his men, will be busy
In preparing and finishing quickly and deftly your coffin,
And they will carefully bring over here that house made of boards, which
Will at length receive the patient as well as impatient,
And which is destined to carry a roof that's unpleasantly heavy.
All that he mention'd I forthwith saw taking place in my mind's eye,
Saw the boards join'd together, and saw the black cover made ready,
Patiently then I sat, and meekly awaited the carriage.
And I always think of the coffin whenever I see men
Running about in a state of doubtful and wild expectation.'
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poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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