Those who do not want to imitate anything, produce nothing.
quote by Salvador Dali
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Be what you are
Cats don’t imitate tigers;
Ducks don’t imitate swans;
Cocks don’t imitate peacocks.
Must you imitate to live up?
28.08.2000, Madras
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Henry And Emma. A Poem.
Upon the Model of The Nut-Brown Maid. To Cloe.
Thou, to whose eyes I bend, at whose command
(Though low my voice, though artless be my hand.
I take the sprightly reed, and sing and play,
Careless of what the censuring world may say;
Bright Cloe! object of my constant vow,
Wilt thou a while unbend thy serious brow?
Wilt thou with pleasure hear thy lover's strains,
And with one heavenly smile o'erpay his pains?
No longer shall the Nut-brown Maid be old,
Though since her youth three hundred years have roll'd:
At thy desire she shall again be raised,
And her reviving charms in lasting verse be praised.
No longer man of woman shall complain,
That he may love and not be loved again;
That we in vain the fickle sex pursue,
Who change the constant lover for the new.
Whatever has been writ, whatever said
Henceforth shall in my verse refuted stand,
Be said to winds, or writ upon the sand:
And while my notes to future times proclaim
Unconquer'd love and ever-during flame,
O, fairest of the sex, be thou my muse;
Deign on my work thy influence to diffuse:
Let me partake the blessings I rehearse,
And grant me love, the just reward of verse.
As beauty's potent queen with every grace
That once was Emma's has adorn'd thy face,
And as her son has to my bosom dealt
That constant flame which faithful Henry felt,
O let the story with thy life agree,
Let men once more the bright example see;
What Emma was to him be thou to me:
Nor send me by thy frown from her I love,
Distant and sad, a banish'd man to rove:
But, oh! with pity long entreated crown
My pains and hopes: and when thou say'st that one
Of all mankind thou lovest, oh! think on me alone.
Where beauteous Isis and her husband Thame
With mingled waves for ever flow the same,
In times of yore an ancient baron lived,
Great gifts bestowed, and great respect received.
When dreadful Edward, with successful care
Led his free Britons to the Gallic war,
[...] Read more
poem by Matthew Prior
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Musical Instruments To Produce Love
Cymbal for Zambia
Zambia for Cymbal
Zambia cymbal music
Harps to produce musical sounds
Tambourines to produce musical dances
Dances for Serbia Ladies
Samba shake body make bottom dazzle our eyes for laughter
I did not have shoes, i complained crying profusely until i saw a man without legs, i have legs and i can dance
Love sparkles beauty
Beauty sparkles dance
Dance for all is fun
Cymbal for Zambia
Zambia for cymbal
Zambia cymbal music
Harps to produce musical sounds
Tambourines to produce musical dances, we are dancing
Babies Bobos want to dance, dance away your sorrows until day - break
We are dancing
Musical instruments produce melodious sound for love flow, caresses and kisses
Dance away your sorrows
We are dancing
poem by Olayemi Ayo
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Conversation
Though nature weigh our talents, and dispense
To every man his modicum of sense,
And Conversation in its better part
May be esteem'd a gift, and not an art,
Yet much depends, as in the tiller’s toil,
On culture, and the sowing of the soil.
Words learn'd by rote a parrot may rehearse,
But talking is not always to converse;
Not more distinct from harmony divine,
The constant creaking of a country sign.
As alphabets in ivory employ,
Hour after hour, the yet unletter’d boy,
Sorting and puzzling with a deal of glee
Those seeds of science call’d his a b c;
So language in the mouths of the adult,
Witness its insignificant result,
Too often proves an implement of play,
A toy to sport with, and pass time away.
Collect at evening what the day brought forth,
Compress the sum into its solid worth,
And if it weigh the importance of a fly,
The scales are false, or algebra a lie.
Sacred interpreter of human thought,
How few respect or use thee as they ought!
But all shall give account of every wrong,
Who dare dishonour or defile the tongue;
Who prostitute it in the cause of vice,
Or sell their glory at a market-price;
Who vote for hire, or point it with lampoon,
The dear-bought placeman, and the cheap buffoon.
There is a prurience in the speech of some,
Wrath stays him, or else God would strike them dumb;
His wise forbearance has their end in view,
They fill their measure and receive their due.
The heathen lawgivers of ancient days,
Names almost worthy of a Christian’s praise,
Would drive them forth from the resort of men,
And shut up every satyr in his den.
Oh, come not ye near innocence and truth,
Ye worms that eat into the bud of youth!
Infectious as impure, your blighting power
Taints in its rudiments the promised flower;
Its odour perish’d, and its charming hue,
Thenceforth ‘tis hateful, for it smells of you.
Not e’en the vigorous and headlong rage
Of adolescence, or a firmer age,
Affords a plea allowable or just
For making speech the pamperer of lust;
But when the breath of age commits the fault,
‘Tis nauseous as the vapour of a vault.
[...] Read more
poem by William Cowper
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Impossiblity (Irenga)
Glorious sunset,
the western sky ablaze with shades of red.
Nature’s artistry
beyond a mans ability
to emulate or imitate.
Nature’s artistry
beyond any mans ability
to emulate or imitate.
Although they still try.
Perfection beyond their grasp.
Natures artistry
beyond any mans ability
to emulate or imitate.
But driven by some inner need
they are convinced they can succeed.
First stanza
5 syllables
10 syllables
5 syllables
8syllables.
8syllables
Second stanza
repeat last three lines of first stanza
then
5 syllables
8 syllables.
Third stanza
Repeat
Last three lines of first stanza
Then
8 syllables
syllables
Japanese style poetry
no obligation to rhyme.
(22/07/2007)
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Over Medicating With A Self Importance
We can't imitate the living of life.
We can,
However.
Prevent others from doing so.
To limit eventually,
Our own growth process.
And the evidence of that,
Does not need a tour guide.
We can't imitate the living of life.
Nor can we insist what is not visible exists.
But so much of life lived is not visible...
To expose to anyone to prove it being done.
Most of life lived when given,
Is based on sheer faith and confidence.
Patience and the giving of sacrificial time.
With the knowing in one's mind.
Something divine is keeping track of the mess,
Human beings have made in attempts to perfect nonsense.
We can't imitate the living of life.
Once one has been blessed with it.
There is something genuine and real,
About the feelings one has.
We can,
However.
Prevent others from doing so.
To leave them to live their own lives.
And allow others to learn and grow,
For the sharing of those experiences.
But many don't get this!
Without that interdependence.
We limit eventually,
Our own growth process.
And the evidence of that,
Does not need a tour guide.
We would rather destroy other lives,
With the enforcement of values and standards...
We perceive with beliefs are best for others,
When in fact.
We are hard pressed to show any evidence,
To convince within our own minds.
Of that working for ourselves.
But an over medicating with a self importance?
We can do with the right prescription.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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on IMitation (will that anger you?)
L'imitazione del male supera sempre l'esempio; comme per il contrario, l'imitazione del bene e sempre inferiore.]
Respicere exemplar
vitae morumque jubebo
Doctum imitatorem,
et veras hinc ducere voces.
Pindarum quisquis studet aemulari,
lule ceratis ope Daedalea Nititur pennis,
vitreo daturus Nomina ponto.
Dociles imitandis Turpibus ac pravis omnes sumus
C'est un betail servile et sot a mon avis Que les imitateurs.]
Der Mensch ist ein nachahmendes Geschopf.
Und wer Vorderste ist, fuhrt die Heerde.
Paradoxically though it may seem,
it is none the less true
that life imitates art far more
than art imitates life.
Imitation is suicide.
One who imitates what is bad always goes beyond his model; while one who imitates what is good always comes up short of it.
No man ever yet became great by imitation.
Everything that irritates us about others can lead us
to an understanding of ourselves.
Most people are other people.
Their thoughts are someone else's opinions,
their lives a mimicry,
their passions a quotation.
Those who do not want to imitate anything,
produce nothing.
To be as good as our fathers we must be better,
imitation is not discipleship
Insist on yourself; never imitate.
Posterity weaves no garlands for imitators.
Imitation, if noble and general,
insures the best hope of originality.
[...] Read more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Tale XXI
The Learned Boy
An honest man was Farmer Jones, and true;
He did by all as all by him should do;
Grave, cautious, careful, fond of gain was he,
Yet famed for rustic hospitality:
Left with his children in a widow'd state,
The quiet man submitted to his fate;
Though prudent matrons waited for his call,
With cool forbearance he avoided all;
Though each profess'd a pure maternal joy,
By kind attention to his feeble boy;
And though a friendly Widow knew no rest,
Whilst neighbour Jones was lonely and distress'd;
Nay, though the maidens spoke in tender tone
Their hearts' concern to see him left alone,
Jones still persisted in that cheerless life,
As if 'twere sin to take a second wife.
Oh! 'tis a precious thing, when wives are dead,
To find such numbers who will serve instead;
And in whatever state a man be thrown,
'Tis that precisely they would wish their own;
Left the departed infants--then their joy
Is to sustain each lovely girl and boy:
Whatever calling his, whatever trade,
To that their chief attention has been paid;
His happy taste in all things they approve,
His friends they honour, and his food they love;
His wish for order, prudence in affairs,
An equal temper (thank their stars!), are theirs;
In fact, it seem'd to be a thing decreed,
And fix'd as fate, that marriage must succeed:
Yet some, like Jones, with stubborn hearts and
hard,
Can hear such claims and show them no regard.
Soon as our Farmer, like a general, found
By what strong foes he was encompass'd round,
Engage he dared not, and he could not fly,
But saw his hope in gentle parley lie;
With looks of kindness then, and trembling heart,
He met the foe, and art opposed to art.
Now spoke that foe insidious--gentle tones,
And gentle looks, assumed for Farmer Jones:
'Three girls,' the Widow cried, 'a lively three
To govern well--indeed it cannot be.'
'Yes,' he replied, 'it calls for pains and care:
But I must bear it.'--'Sir, you cannot bear;
Your son is weak, and asks a mother's eye:'
'That, my kind friend, a father's may supply.'
[...] Read more
poem by George Crabbe
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The Borough. Letter V: The Election
YES, our Election's past, and we've been free,
Somewhat as madmen without keepers be;
And such desire of Freedom has been shown,
That both the parties wish'd her all their own:
All our free smiths and cobblers in the town
Were loth to lay such pleasant freedom down;
To put the bludgeon and cockade aside,
And let us pass unhurt and undefied.
True! you might then your party's sign produce,
And so escape with only half th' abuse:
With half the danger as you walk'd along,
With rage and threat'ning but from half the throng.
This you might do, and not your fortune mend,
For where you lost a foe you gain'd a friend;
And to distress you, vex you, and expose,
Election-friends are worse than any foes;
The party-curse is with the canvass past,
But party-friendship, for jour grief, will last.
Friends of all kinds; the civil and the rude,
Who humbly wish, or boldly dare t'intrude:
These beg or take a liberty to come
(Friends should be free), and make your house their home;
They know that warmly you their cause espouse,
And come to make their boastings and their bows;
You scorn their manners, you their words mistrust,
But you must hear them, and they know you must.
One plainly sees a friendship firm and true,
Between the noble candidate and you;
So humbly begs (and states at large the case),
'You'll think of Bobby and the little place.'
Stifling his shame by drink, a wretch will come,
And prate your wife and daughter from the room:
In pain you hear him, and at heart despise,
Yet with heroic mind your pangs disguise;
And still in patience to the sot attend,
To show what man can bear to serve a friend.
One enters hungry--not to be denied,
And takes his place and jokes--'We're of a side.'
Yet worse, the proser who, upon the strength
Of his one vote, has tales of three hours' length;
This sorry rogue you bear, yet with surprise
Start at his oaths, and sicken at his lies.
Then comes there one, and tells in friendly way
What the opponents in their anger say;
All that through life has vex'd you, all abuse,
Will this kind friend in pure regard produce;
And having through your own offences run,
Adds (as appendage) what your friends have done,
Has any female cousin made a trip
To Gretna Green, or more vexatious slip?
[...] Read more
poem by George Crabbe
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Cyder: Book I
-- -- Honos erit huic quoq; Pomo? Virg.
What Soil the Apple loves, what Care is due
To Orchats, timeliest when to press the Fruits,
Thy Gift, Pomona, in Miltonian Verse
Adventrous I presume to sing; of Verse
Nor skill'd, nor studious: But my Native Soil
Invites me, and the Theme as yet unsung.
Ye Ariconian Knights, and fairest Dames,
To whom propitious Heav'n these Blessings grants,
Attend my Layes; nor hence disdain to learn,
How Nature's Gifts may be improv'd by Art.
And thou, O Mostyn, whose Benevolence,
And Candor, oft experienc'd, Me vouchsaf'd
To knit in Friendship, growing still with Years,
Accept this Pledge of Gratitude and Love.
May it a lasting Monument remain
Of dear Respect; that, when this Body frail
Is moulder'd into Dust, and I become
As I had never been, late Times may know
I once was blest in such a matchless Friend.
Who-e'er expects his lab'ring Trees shou'd bend
With Fruitage, and a kindly Harvest yield,
Be this his first Concern; to find a Tract
Impervious to the Winds, begirt with Hills,
That intercept the Hyperborean Blasts
Tempestuous, and cold Eurus nipping Force,
Noxious to feeble Buds: But to the West
Let him free Entrance grant, let Zephyrs bland
Administer their tepid genial Airs;
Naught fear he from the West, whose gentle Warmth
Discloses well the Earth's all-teeming Womb,
Invigorating tender Seeds; whose Breath
Nurtures the Orange, and the Citron Groves,
Hesperian Fruits, and wafts their Odours sweet
Wide thro' the Air, and distant Shores perfumes.
Nor only do the Hills exclude the Winds:
But, when the blackning Clouds in sprinkling Show'rs
Distill, from the high Summits down the Rain
Runs trickling; with the fertile Moisture chear'd,
The Orchats smile; joyous the Farmers see
Their thriving Plants, and bless the heav'nly Dew.
Next, let the Planter, with Discretion meet,
The Force and Genius of each Soil explore;
To what adapted, what it shuns averse:
[...] Read more
poem by John Arthur Phillips
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A Map Of Culture
Culture
Contents
What is Culture?
The Importance of Culture
Culture Varies
Culture is Critical
The Sociobiology Debate
Values, Norms, and Social Control
Signs and Symbols
Language
Terms and Definitions
Approaches to the Study of Culture
Are We Prisoners of Our Culture?
What is Culture?
I prefer the definition used by Ian Robertson: 'all the shared products of society: material and nonmaterial' (Our text defines it in somewhat more ponderous terms- 'The totality of learned, socially transmitted behavior. It includes ideas, values, and customs (as well as the sailboats, comic books, and birth control devices) of groups of people' (p.32) .
Back to Contents
[...] Read more
poem by Nyein Way
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A Tree's Fruit
Good fruit or bad fruit, a tree can only bear one,
This parable was taught by God's one and only Son.
First mentioned by John as a warning for the Pharisees to heed,
But being blind to The Truth, most of them would not believe.
Your life is the tree and your deeds are the fruit,
This is a simple analogy that it hard to dispute.
But the Pharisees who knew the Word and lived in the land,
Were rebuked by John the Baptist, as they didn't understand.
Christians need to produce fruit for the Lord and nothing less,
And all the fruit that we produce should be fruits of righteousness.
Our old nature will produce fruit that comes from the past,
Not only is this fruit bad, but it's the kind that won't last.
Not only is bearing good fruit The Lord's heart desire,
But trees that continue to bear bad fruit may be cast in the fire.
Within your own heart is where the good or bad fruit is stored,
And by your fruits men will know you, is made clear by The Lord.
The fruit of righteousness is a tree of life, was once said,
However, a tree that bears bad fruit may be eternally dead.
What fruit you produce is strictly your choice my dear friend,
And by this choice you will either be blessed or condemned.
( 03/2002)
poem by Bob Gotti
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Eden Still Existent
New Zealand
South Island
West Coast
tropical rain forest
sacred images fuse soul
under canopy of life
Eden still existent
living temple of life
flowers in eye heart
breath embrace atmosphere
sight embrace vision horizons
touch ecosystem life non-life
sunlight wind kiss water soil
light water soil nutrients bless
plants into new sprouting life
lakes rivers landscapes
everything is connected life
water; water temperature
plants animals inhale air
light soil water work together
balance life elements least
plants die algae plants
produce oxygen produce fibre
feed herbivores omnivores
energy soil sunlight water
plants produce filter air
produce diverse vegetation
their plant bodies foods
animals herbivores feast eat
plants omnivores feast eat
plants animals both eaten
carnivores eat herbivores
sometimes other carnivores
webs of life interlock creation
decomposers break down dead
planets animals into elements
organic materials waste recycled
back into life nurturing womb soil
[...] Read more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Athenaid: Volume II: Book the Nineteenth
The morning breaks; Nicanor sudden greets
The gen'ral; welcome tidings in these words
He utters loud: The citadel is won,
The tyrant slaughter'd. With our sacred guide
A rugged, winding track, in brambles hid,
Half up a crag we climb'd; there, stooping low,
A narrow cleft we enter'd; mazy still
We trod through dusky bowels of a rock,
While our conductor gather'd, as he stepp'd,
A clue, which careful in his hand he coil'd.
Our spears we trail'd; each soldier held the skirt
Of his preceding comrade. We attain'd
An iron wicket, where the ending line
Was fasten'd; thence a long and steep ascent
Was hewn in steps; suspended on the sides,
Bright rows of tapers cheer'd our eyes with light.
We reach'd the top; there lifting o'er his head
A staff, against two horizontal valves
Our leader smote, which open'd at the sound.
Behind me Hyacinthus on the rock
Sunk sudden down, pronouncing in his fall
Cleora; I on Hyacinthus call'd.
Is this Cleora's husband? cried the priest;
Descend, my Pamphila, my wife, descend.
She came, a rev'rend priestess; tender both
With me assisting plac'd my speechless friend
Within a cleft by me unmark'd before,
Which seem'd a passage to some devious cell.
Me by the hand Elephenor remov'd
Precipitate; a grating door of brass
Clos'd on my parting steps. Ascend, he said,
Make no enquiry; but remain assur'd,
His absence now is best. I mount, I rise
Behind a massy basis which upheld
Jove grasping thunder, and Saturnia crown'd,
Who at his side outstretch'd her scepter'd hand.
The troops succeeding fill the spacious dome.
Last, unexpected, thence more welcome, rose,
Detach'd from Medon with five hundred spears,
Brave Haliartus, who repair'd the want
Of my disabled colleague. Now the priest:
Ye chiefs, auxiliar to the gods profan'd,
And men oppress'd, securely you have reach'd
The citadel of Oreus. The dark hour
[...] Read more
poem by Richard Glover
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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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Dig A Pony
I dig a pony
Well you can celebrate anything you want
Well you can celebrate anything you want
Ooh.
I do a road hog
Well you can penetrate any place you go
Yes you can penetrate any place you go
I told you, all i want is you.
Ev'rything has got to bejust like you want it to
Because--
I pick a moon dog
Well you can radiate ev'rything you are
Yes you can radiate ev'rything you are--
Ooh.
I roll a stoney
Well you can imitate ev'ryone you know
Yes you can imitate ev'ryone you know
I told you, all i want is you.
Ev'rything has got to bejust like you want it to
Because--
I feel the wind blow
Well you can indicate ev'rything you see
Yes you can indicate ev'rything you see--
Ooh.
I dug a pony
Well you can syndicate any boat you row
Yes you can syndicate any boat you row
I told you, all i want is you.
Ev'rything has got to bejust like you want it to
Because--
song performed by Beatles
Added by Lucian Velea
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Elvis Imitators
By: steve goodman, michael smith
1981
-- spoken:
Thank you very much ladies and gentlemen. Id like to do this next song especially for you. and for the king.
Well....
I walk up to the mike and and then I shake my hips
I take a deep breath and put a snare on my lips
See me on the street you wouldnt know my name
But imitating elvis is my claim to fame
So when you put my imitation name in lights
Therell be imitation good rockin tonight
Cuz Im an an elvis imitator and I just cant stop
Imitating elvis from the bottom to the top
Imitate the way he talked, the way he smiled
I throw away my scarf and make the crowd go wild
This imitation elvis may not be the king
But baby Im the next best thing
Singing viva las vegas and the g.i. blues
Wont you love me tender in my blue suede shoes
Well let me be your teddy bear, if you must
Oh baby please surrender, cause I need your touch
Well if you feelin lonely, need a place to dwell
Come on down to imitation heartbreak hotel
Chorus:
Were gonna rock (rock rock rock)
Ooooh were gonna rock (rock rock rock)
Ooooh were gonna rock (rock rock rock)
Ooooh were gonna rock (rock rock rock)
Yeah my gold lamee cape and my sequined suit
Pompadou haircut and my high-heeled boots
Imitating elvis is the only way
I can make it through my imitation day
I know this rocking music cant be denied
cause I was imitating him before he died
Well Im an an elvis imitator and I just cant stop
Imitating elvis from the bottom to the top
I imitate the way he walked, the way he smiled
I throw away my scarf and make the crowd go wild
This imitation elvis may not be the king
But baby Im the next best thing
Chorus:
Yeah rock (rock rock rock)
Ooooh were gonna rock (rock rock rock)
Ooooh were gonna rock (rock rock rock)
Ooooh were gonna rock (rock rock rock)
Well baby ... its the next ... best thing
-- spoken:
Thank you very much ladies and gentlemen
Viva las vegas
Viva las vegas
song performed by Jimmy Buffett
Added by Lucian Velea
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Where It All Started
Dialogue: picture this where it all started was back in boston, mass. some time ago (believe that) and by reopening the doors to all youth a little salt was thrown on me and my boys (you know what Im sayin) but now were back picking up where we left off (aw yeah) and through this song, process of elimination will be done (you better believe that)
Ronnie, bobby, ricky and mike
Ronnie, bobby, ricky and mike
The beginning of a dream
Where our ideas were born
(tell em ricky) to understand what this really means
Lets set the record straight
Once and for all and Ill tell you
cause other people imitate
And try their best to recreate
This is where it all started from
So they only perpetrate
But they can never duplicate
This is where it all started from
(yo, its on you ron) its nice to be the original
That all the counterfeits like to bite off
We only take it as a compliment
When they copy some of our material
To stay the best among the rest
We work to keep our movements fresh
This is where it all started from
You listen up dap instead of being clones
Why dont you think of something on your own
This is where it all started from
(now theres one more thing we think you should know)
Dont be a victim to the wanna be
This is where it all started from
(a fake, a fake)
cause no others ever gonna be (like us)
This is where it all started from
(take that)
Ronnie, bobby, ricky, and mike
Ronnie, bobby, ricky, and mike
(were cool) cool it coooool it now
Lets sweeten it up
Candy girl
Count it off... 1... 2... 1... 2
But you better not, better not
Count me out
cause other people imitate
And try their best to recreate
This is where it all started from
So they only perpetrate
But they can never duplicate
This is where it all started from
To stay the best among the rest
We work to keep our movements fresh
This is where it all started from
You listen up dap instead of being clones
Why dont you think of something on your own
[...] Read more
song performed by New Edition
Added by Lucian Velea
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Ill Put You On The Guestlist
I orginate
You must appreciate, all the others imitate
Yeah!
Youre my crowd and I want you tonite
I am sure this tune makes you feel right
No discussion, disturbing your mind
Feel the vibes leave those troubles behind
Five years now its along time to go
Check our records that you still dont know
Get prepared for the next decade
Join the crew cause its never too late
Yeah!
Yes!
Yeeeahh,yeeeahh
Come on
Here we go!
Aaarrrrgggghhhh!
Ill put you on the guestlist
Ill put you on the guestlist
Ill put you on the guestlist
Yeah!
All right.
Right now: I orginate, you must appreciate, all the others imitate
Yeah!
There is one thing that you have to learn
Our mission is we love the jam
Up on the stage or down on the floor
We cant stop we always need more
Five years now its along time to go
Check our records that you still dont know
Get prepared for the next decade
Join the crew cause its never too late
Come on
Yeah
Ill put you on the guestlist
Ill put you on the guestlist
Yes!
Ill put you on the guestlist
Ill put you on the guestlist
...thank you!
song performed by Scooter
Added by Lucian Velea
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On Reading, 'A Few Reflections On Imitatio-Dei
reply to Hune....
i lean probably more towards the buddhist interpretation... we are all buddha, waiting to evolve.... in the same sense we are all god, taking form, evolving.... we are the hands and feet of eternal creation, continually dying and being born.... god is no more distant than the self... and we choose that... the bridge does not lead outward, but inward....
the problem lies in the 'need' to imitate... how do we imitate what we already are?
do we live? or are we imitating life? the social consciousness, the compassion, and the actions we ascribe to the divine are there within us, hidden beneath layers of ego...
we long for a distant sea when the waves are already lapping at the feet of our heart!
our heart speaks to us of this, yet all we hear are distant echoes, garbled by concepts. the fire of dialogue is lit.... we sit across from ourselves!
as always, your writings inspire both deep thought and introspection... i read them in paragraphs, gulping for air....
and i'm quite sure tonight when i'm trying to sleep, these thoughts will return.
thank you for lighting the fire!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Added by Poetry Lover
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