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To make us a terrorist target in a region that is full of terrorism is dumb and unforgiveable.

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So So Dumb

Uh
Oh yeah
Alright (alright)
Alright alright
Dumb dumb dumb
So so dumb so dumb
Dumb dumb dumb
So so dumb so dumb
Everytime I see ya
Simple bitch pleads
Come here and talk to me
Wanna tell ya (huh)
Tell ya whats been on my mind
The wifes a friend of mine
Why do you need some
Georgia pine in your life
Do you love everything
About the woman you with
Why you tryin to get with t
I thought that you had
Responsibility
See your wife is beautiful (huh)
The kid is two years old (hey)
She folds all your clothes
Whatcha runnin around for
I cant think that youre so
Dumb dumb dumb
She thinks youre so faithful
So so dumb so dumb
And shes such a pretty girl
Dumb dumb dumb
How could you be so damn
So so dumb so dumb
I cant believe
Youre knockin
Youre knockin at my door
I should get my gun
And gun you to the floor
But instead
I think Ill invite you in
Ima call your wife boy
And let her know where youve been
Cuz she thinks that
Youre so faithful
Boy youre so dumb (dumb)
Aint goin down like that no more
Guess whos knockin at the front door
Aint nobody you wanna see come in
You should appreciate your girl
Stop tryin to push it on me

[...] Read more

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Yips

When focusing too hard on putts
golfers suffer from the yips,
and those who focus hard on butts
and breasts and what’s below the hips
may not obtain a hole in one
because most eagles fly away,
and though a birdie can be fun
you’ll never catch one if you play
too focused. Nonchalance will launch
in sex, as golf, a thousand ships,
and when you’re ready for some raunch,
soft-focus rescues you from yips.

Inspired by an article by Katie Thomas in the NYT on August 1 explaining the phenomenon of yip[s which plagues archersm, golfers and all people who aim to carefully at targets (“The Secret Curse of Expert Archers”) :

There is an affliction so feared by elite archers that many in the sport refuse to even say its name. Archery coaches who specialize in treating the problem are sworn not to reveal the identities of archers in its grip, even though they estimate that 90 percent of high-level competitors will fall victim at least once in their careers. Target panic, as the condition is known, causes crack shots to suddenly lose control of their bows and their composure. Mysteriously, sufferers start releasing the bow the instant they see the target, sabotaging any chance of a gold-medal shot. Others freeze up and cannot release at all. Target panic is akin to the yips in baseball and golf, when accomplished athletes can no longer make a simple throw to first base or stroke an easy putt. The results can be mortifying, and archery is filled with tales of those who have caught the curse, never to shoot again. The problem has spawned a cottage industry of coaches, books and specialized accessories that claim to cure target panic….Lanny Bassham, a former Olympic rifle shooter and mental coach whose clients include the Olympic archer Brady Ellison, said the archery community had a peculiar obsession with target panic, which he noted had a horrifying ring. “The words target panic have induced an unnecessary amount of severity and concern about this condition among archers, ” he said. “I think if they had a better word for it, they’d have a lot less problem trying to cure it.” Many archers and their coaches refuse to say target panic. Those words are forbidden around the Nichols household, which is home to the Olympic archer Jennifer Nichols and her younger sister, Amanda, also a world-class competitor. “We try to stay away from the labels that are put on things by people in the archery industry because once you feel you’ve got that label, it’s hard to stay away from it, ” said their father, Brent Nichols. “We don’t want to hear those things.” Theories vary on how to cure target panic. Some switch their shooting hand, or change their grip slightly — techniques that have also proved successful in golf. Others use visualization techniques and positive reinforcement. Wunderle advises his clients to imagine seeing and feeling what a good shot is, without focusing on aiming the arrow. “Do not focus on results, ” he said. “When you focus on results, it builds anxiety. And anxiety is the kiss of death.” One of the most popular cures is to entirely remove the target. Sufferers instead practice shooting at a blank target, sometimes for weeks at a time, to retrain the mind. “The empty bale restores your confidence in your subconscious, ” said Bernie Pellerite, author of the book “Idiot Proof Archery” and a self-described expert on target panic. “Nobody flinches or punches or chokes on an empty bale.” Hunt spent weeks shooting at blank targets, but he also purchased a special release for his bow, which helped retrain him when to shoot. “It’s trying to engrave in your head when you should shoot, ” he said. “You just pull it back, let the safety off, and pull it until it decides to go. Then you get used to every shot being perfect.” Hunt placed second in his age group at the Junior Olympic Archery Development national championships in Oklahoma City earlier this month. His target panic, he said, had been cured. For now. There is an affliction so feared by elite archers that many in the sport refuse to even say its name. Archery coaches who specialize in treating the problem are sworn not to reveal the identities of archers in its grip, even though they estimate that 90 percent of high-level competitors will fall victim at least once in their careers. Target panic, as the condition is known, causes crack shots to suddenly lose control of their bows and their composure. Mysteriously, sufferers start releasing the bow the instant they see the target, sabotaging any chance of a gold-medal shot. Others freeze up and cannot release at all. Target panic is akin to the yips in baseball and golf, when accomplished athletes can no longer make a simple throw to first base or stroke an easy putt. The results can be mortifying, and archery is filled with tales of those who have caught the curse, never to shoot again. The problem has spawned a cottage industry of coaches, books and specialized accessories that claim to cure target panic.


8/20/08

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Whose Country Is This?

Whose country is this?
It is a land full of snakes;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of many waters;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of thieves! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of people;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of oil;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of earthquakes!
Whose country is this?
it is a land full of lovers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of volcanoes!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of beautiful flowers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of hansome men;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of beautiful women;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of roses;
Whose country is this?
it is a land ruled only by men;
Whose country is this?
It is a land without rainfall;
Whose country is this?
It is a land ruled by a woman;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of corruption!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pirates! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land ruled by law;
Whose country is this?
It is a land controlled by rebels!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of ice;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pregnant women;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of the sins of Sodom and Gomorrah!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of singers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of troubles;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of war! !

[...] Read more

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Dumb

Above the feeling
This is revealing
Boy i didnt know you cared
Mustve been up on the weekend
In the club freakin
Boy i could see you stare
You were lookin right at me
Lookin right back
We knew there was something there
And i know you knew that if we did do this
It would be an affair
Cos my mans at home
Lookin at the finger his ring goes on
He got trust in me
How'm i gonna live with myself if i cheat
Dumb diggi-diggi-di dumb di-dumb don't want
And 'though I know it would be fun to get some
Gotta run now, gotta go
Gotta get home
Cos my baby's boy's on his own
Better be Dumb diggi-diggi-di dumb di-dumb don't want
And 'though I know it would be fun to get some
Gotta run now
I gots ta get home,
My baby boy's on his own,
Up on the dancefloor
Then ya go ask for a night in with me
But ya know that aint gon' happen
I wont get trapped in
This, see, it just aint me
And you can try, seduce me
But its no use, see
I'm in love with my baby
And I wont let you in
Mess up and move in
To do that I'd be crazy
Cos my mans at home
Lookin at the finger his ring goes on
He got trust in me
How'm I gonna live with myself if I cheat
Dumb diggi-diggi-di dumb di-dumb don't want
And 'though I know it would be fun to get some
Gotta run now, gotta go
Gotta get home
Cos my baby's boy's on his own
Better be Dumb diggi-diggi-di dumb di-dumb don't want
And 'though I know it would be fun to get some
Gotta run now
I gots ta get home,
My baby boy's on his own,

[...] Read more

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Dumb Stuff

A flop I did do!
I was a rookie when I hooked up,
To the dumb stuff.
I was a rookie when I hooked up,
To the dumb stuff.
I was a rookie when I hooked up,
To the dumb stuff.
With a giving as much of it up!

I let it done to overcome,
All the dumb stuff.
I let it done to overcome,
All the dumb stuff.
I let it done to overcome,
All the dumb stuff.
With a giving as much of it up!

A flop I did do.
At times I hated when I found out,
It was dumb stuff.
At times I hated when I found out,
It was dumb stuff.
At times I hated when I found out,
It was dumb stuff.
With a giving as much of it up!

A flop I did do,
To help improve my movements.
Yes a flop I did do.
A flop I did do.

Oh yes a flop I did do.
To help improve my movements.
Yes a flop I did do.
A flop I did do.

I was a rookie when I hooked up,
To the dumb stuff.
I let it done to overcome,
All the dumb stuff.
At times I hated when I found out,
It was dumb stuff.
But that dumb stuff finally helped me wake up!

All the dumb stuff,
That I did I chose to give up!
All the dumb stuff,
That I did I chose to give up!
And it was dumb stuff...
That I did I chose to give up!

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Friday's Child

(K.J.Garside C.Gray)
........my daughter,
take her from the water.......
I laid her down.......
For she drinks from the river,
I pray forgive her,
Dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb.
Girl a string of lovers,
Found dead beneath her,
They pulled her down,
For she drinks from the river,
I pray forgive her,
Don't let her drown,
Dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb.
A prayer for the mind who's thread bare,
For those who dare to tread there,
Now the sun is gone,
Oh I pray for my daughter,
I pray support her,
Don't let her drown,
Dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb.

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Quote the raven

quote the raven terrorist more
killed 3000 people
quote the raven terrorist more
next time kill a million people
quote the raven terrorist more

blow up planes on both shores
quote the raven terrorist more
women and children of usa feel the scorn
quote the raven terrorist more

shopping and laughing in a mall boom
quote the raven terrorist more
ride a bus take a train not going to get there
quote the raven terrorist more

wont stop till the west is like sun
people who are diffrent all done
not our beliefs our way of life
then burn in the fires of hell you live a dammed life
but allah has a surprize for you in your so called after life
that you will be just dead, you dont get to live another life
so go ahead kill all of us if you must
we are all going to heaven that you can trust
quote the raven terrorist more

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The Court Of Love

With timerous hert and trembling hand of drede,
Of cunning naked, bare of eloquence,
Unto the flour of port in womanhede
I write, as he that non intelligence
Of metres hath, ne floures of sentence;
Sauf that me list my writing to convey,
In that I can to please her hygh nobley.


The blosmes fresshe of Tullius garden soote
Present thaim not, my mater for to borne:
Poemes of Virgil taken here no rote,
Ne crafte of Galfrid may not here sojorne:
Why nam I cunning? O well may I morne,
For lak of science that I can-not write
Unto the princes of my life a-right


No termes digne unto her excellence,
So is she sprong of noble stirpe and high:
A world of honour and of reverence
There is in her, this wil I testifie.
Calliope, thou sister wise and sly,
And thou, Minerva, guyde me with thy grace,
That langage rude my mater not deface.


Thy suger-dropes swete of Elicon
Distill in me, thou gentle Muse, I pray;
And thee, Melpomene, I calle anon,
Of ignoraunce the mist to chace away;
And give me grace so for to write and sey,
That she, my lady, of her worthinesse,
Accepte in gree this litel short tretesse,


That is entitled thus, 'The Court of Love.'
And ye that ben metriciens me excuse,
I you besech, for Venus sake above;
For what I mene in this ye need not muse:
And if so be my lady it refuse
For lak of ornat speche, I wold be wo,
That I presume to her to writen so.


But myn entent and all my besy cure
Is for to write this tretesse, as I can,
Unto my lady, stable, true, and sure,
Feithfull and kind, sith first that she began
Me to accept in service as her man:

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Lancelot And Elaine

Elaine the fair, Elaine the loveable,
Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat,
High in her chamber up a tower to the east
Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot;
Which first she placed where the morning's earliest ray
Might strike it, and awake her with the gleam;
Then fearing rust or soilure fashioned for it
A case of silk, and braided thereupon
All the devices blazoned on the shield
In their own tinct, and added, of her wit,
A border fantasy of branch and flower,
And yellow-throated nestling in the nest.
Nor rested thus content, but day by day,
Leaving her household and good father, climbed
That eastern tower, and entering barred her door,
Stript off the case, and read the naked shield,
Now guessed a hidden meaning in his arms,
Now made a pretty history to herself
Of every dint a sword had beaten in it,
And every scratch a lance had made upon it,
Conjecturing when and where: this cut is fresh;
That ten years back; this dealt him at Caerlyle;
That at Caerleon; this at Camelot:
And ah God's mercy, what a stroke was there!
And here a thrust that might have killed, but God
Broke the strong lance, and rolled his enemy down,
And saved him: so she lived in fantasy.

How came the lily maid by that good shield
Of Lancelot, she that knew not even his name?
He left it with her, when he rode to tilt
For the great diamond in the diamond jousts,
Which Arthur had ordained, and by that name
Had named them, since a diamond was the prize.

For Arthur, long before they crowned him King,
Roving the trackless realms of Lyonnesse,
Had found a glen, gray boulder and black tarn.
A horror lived about the tarn, and clave
Like its own mists to all the mountain side:
For here two brothers, one a king, had met
And fought together; but their names were lost;
And each had slain his brother at a blow;
And down they fell and made the glen abhorred:
And there they lay till all their bones were bleached,
And lichened into colour with the crags:
And he, that once was king, had on a crown
Of diamonds, one in front, and four aside.
And Arthur came, and labouring up the pass,
All in a misty moonshine, unawares

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The Cōforte of Louers

The prohemye.

The gentyll poetes/vnder cloudy fygures
Do touche a trouth/and clokeit subtylly
Harde is to cōstrue poetycall scryptures
They are so fayned/& made sētēcyously
For som do wryte of loue by fables pryuely
Some do endyte/vpon good moralyte
Of chyualrous actes/done in antyquyte
Whose fables and storyes ben pastymes pleasaunt
To lordes and ladyes/as is theyr lykynge
Dyuers to moralyte/ben oft attendaunt
And many delyte to rede of louynge
Youth loueth aduenture/pleasure and lykynge
Aege foloweth polycy/sadnesse and prudence
Thus they do dyffre/eche in experyence
I lytell or nought/experte in this scyence
Compyle suche bokes/to deuoyde ydlenes
Besechynge the reders/with all my delygence
Where as I offende/for to correct doubtles
Submyttynge me to theyr grete gentylnes
As none hystoryagraffe/nor poete laureate
But gladly wolde folowe/the makynge of Lydgate
Fyrst noble Gower/moralytees dyde endyte
And after hym Cauncers/grete bokes delectable
Lyke a good phylozophre/meruaylously dyde wryte
After them Lydgate/the monke commendable
Made many wonderfull bokes moche profytable
But syth the are deed/& theyr bodyes layde in chest
I pray to god to gyue theyr soules good rest

Finis prohemii.

Whan fayre was phebus/w&supere; his bemes bryght
Amyddes of gemyny/aloft the fyrmament
Without blacke cloudes/castynge his pured lyght
With sorowe opprest/and grete incombrement
Remembrynge well/my lady excellent
Saynge o fortune helpe me to preuayle
For thou knowest all my paynfull trauayle
I went than musynge/in a medowe grene
Myselfe alone/amonge the floures in dede
With god aboue/the futertens is sene
To god I sayd/thou mayst my mater spede
And me rewarde/accordynge to my mede
Thou knowest the trouthe/I am to the true
Whan that thou lyst/thou mayst them all subdue
Who dyde preserue the yonge edyppus
Whiche sholde haue be slayne by calculacyon
To deuoyde grete thynges/the story sheweth vs

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Gotham - Book I

Far off (no matter whether east or west,
A real country, or one made in jest,
Nor yet by modern Mandevilles disgraced,
Nor by map-jobbers wretchedly misplaced)
There lies an island, neither great nor small,
Which, for distinction sake, I Gotham call.
The man who finds an unknown country out,
By giving it a name, acquires, no doubt,
A Gospel title, though the people there
The pious Christian thinks not worth his care
Bar this pretence, and into air is hurl'd
The claim of Europe to the Western world.
Cast by a tempest on the savage coast,
Some roving buccaneer set up a post;
A beam, in proper form transversely laid,
Of his Redeemer's cross the figure made--
Of that Redeemer, with whose laws his life,
From first to last, had been one scene of strife;
His royal master's name thereon engraved,
Without more process the whole race enslaved,
Cut off that charter they from Nature drew,
And made them slaves to men they never knew.
Search ancient histories, consult records,
Under this title the most Christian lords
Hold (thanks to conscience) more than half the ball;
O'erthrow this title, they have none at all;
For never yet might any monarch dare,
Who lived to Truth, and breathed a Christian air,
Pretend that Christ, (who came, we all agree,
To bless his people, and to set them free)
To make a convert, ever one law gave
By which converters made him first a slave.
Spite of the glosses of a canting priest,
Who talks of charity, but means a feast;
Who recommends it (whilst he seems to feel
The holy glowings of a real zeal)
To all his hearers as a deed of worth,
To give them heaven whom they have robb'd of earth;
Never shall one, one truly honest man,
Who, bless'd with Liberty, reveres her plan,
Allow one moment that a savage sire
Could from his wretched race, for childish hire,
By a wild grant, their all, their freedom pass,
And sell his country for a bit of glass.
Or grant this barbarous right, let Spain and France,
In slavery bred, as purchasers advance;
Let them, whilst Conscience is at distance hurl'd,
With some gay bauble buy a golden world:
An Englishman, in charter'd freedom born,
Shall spurn the slavish merchandise, shall scorn

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Terrorism

Terrorism
Youre writing your diary in innocents blood
Youre vain and youre ugly, youre no robin hood
You dont steal from the rich to help the poor
You just take life from both and what is more
You break your bread and drink
But post-confession youll still stink of
Terrorism
Terrorism
But youre sikh, jew, muslim and christian, you say
Now which religion will you wear today?
And in whose Bible do you find your cause
That says bomb children in department stores?
I hope your God is pleased
To see all creation on their knees for
Terrorism
Terrorism
Angel of death with black woolen mask
Freedom they bring you is a long wooden cask
They never doubt that right is on their side
When right is rifle-shaped where can you hide?
Dont want daughter sweet
To be target practice in the high street
Terrorism

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Terrorism (home Demo)

Terrorism
You're writing your diary in innocents' blood
You're vain and you're ugly, you're no Robin Hood
You don't steal from the rich to help the poor
You just take life from both and what is more
You break your bread and drink
But post-confession you'll still stink of
Terrorism
Terrorism
But you're Sikh, Jew, Muslim and Christian, you say
Now which religion will you wear today?
And in whose Bible do you find your cause
That says bomb children in department stores?
I hope your god is pleased
To see all creation on their knees for
Terrorism
Terrorism
Angel of death with black woolen mask
Freedom they bring you is a long wooden cask
They never doubt that right is on their side
When right is rifle-shaped where can you hide?
Don't want daughter sweet
To be target practice in the high street
Terrorism

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Here Comes Dumb George

Here come dumb george.
Here come dumb george.
Here come dumb george.
Here come dumb george.
Here come dumb george.
Here come dumb george.
Here come dumb george.
Everybody together on the chorus.
Here come dumb george.
Here come dumb george, boogaloo!
Boogaloo baby.
Here come dumb george.
Here come dumb george.
Here come dumb george.

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Young, Dumb & Ugly

We're dangerous dudes, we got bad attitudes
Most of our brain cells are gone
We were born to be bad, you better not make us mad
Or we just might toilet paper your lawn
We got a reputation 'round these parts
We only leave a ten percent tip
Sometimes we don't return our shoping carts
Stay out of our way and don't you give us no lip
'cause we're young... dumb and ugly
That's what we are
We're so young... young, dumb and ugly
We wear black leather in the hottest weather
You can't imagine the smell
We got three-day stubble, our names spell trouble
T-r-u-b-e-l
Reaisin' hell, bendin' the rules just a little
We're livin' only for thrills
We squeeze our tooothpaste tubes from the middle
And wait until the last minute to pay our telephone bills
'cause we're young... dumb and ugly
You better believe it
We're young... young, dumb and ugly
I'll tell you again
We're so young... young, dumb and ugly
We're comin' to your town
Yeah, we're young... young, dumb and ugly
We're wild, reckless men, we're on a rampage again
We drive with just one hand on the wheel
Danger's in our soul, we're goin' out of control
Swimmin' right after a big heavy meal
We're there wherever trouble's starting
We're rebels without a clue
We drink milk right from the carton
And keep our library books 'till they're way overdue
'cause we're young... dumb and ugly
That's what we are
We're so young... young, dumb and ugly
You can't stop us
We're young... we're so young, dumb and ugly
Young, dumb & ugly
We're young... we're young, dumb and ugly
So ugly
Young... dumb... & ugly

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Young, Dumb Ugly

Were dangerous dudes, we got bad attitudes
Most of our brain cells are gone
We were born to be bad, you better not make us mad
Or we just might toilet paper your lawn
We got a reputation round these parts
We only leave a ten percent tip
Sometimes we dont return our shoping carts
Stay out of our way and dont you give us no lip
cause were young... dumb and ugly
Thats what we are
Were so young... young, dumb and ugly
We wear black leather in the hottest weather
You cant imagine the smell
We got three-day stubble, our names spell trouble
T-r-u-b-e-l
Reaisin hell, bendin the rules just a little
Were livin only for thrills
We squeeze our tooothpaste tubes from the middle
And wait until the last minute to pay our telephone bills
cause were young... dumb and ugly
You better believe it
Were young... young, dumb and ugly
Ill tell you again
Were so young... young, dumb and ugly
Were comin to your town
Yeah, were young... young, dumb and ugly
Were wild, reckless men, were on a rampage again
We drive with just one hand on the wheel
Dangers in our soul, were goin out of control
Swimmin right after a big heavy meal
Were there wherever troubles starting
Were rebels without a clue
We drink milk right from the carton
And keep our library books till theyre way overdue
cause were young... dumb and ugly
Thats what we are
Were so young... young, dumb and ugly
You cant stop us
Were young... were so young, dumb and ugly
Young, dumb & ugly
Were young... were young, dumb and ugly
So ugly
Young... dumb... & ugly

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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

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poem by from The Ring and the BookReport problemRelated quotes
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The Idols

An Ode
Luce intellettual, piena d' amore


Prelude
Lo, the spirit of a pulsing star within a stone
Born of earth, sprung from night!
Prisoned with the profound fires of the light
That lives like all the tongues of eloquence
Locked in a speech unknown!
The crystal, cold and hard as innocence,
Immures the flame; and yet as if it knew
Raptures or pangs it could not but betray,
As if the light could feel changes of blood and breath
And all--but--human quiverings of the sense,
Throbs of a sudden rose, a frosty blue,
Shoot thrilling in its ray,
Like the far longings of the intellect
Restless in clouding clay.

Who has confined the Light? Who has held it a slave,
Sold and bought, bought and sold?
Who has made of it a mystery to be doled,
Or trophy, to awe with legendary fire,
Where regal banners wave?
And still into the dark it sends Desire.
In the heart's darkness it sows cruelties.
The bright jewel becomes a beacon to the vile,
A lodestar to corruption, envy's own:
Soiled with blood, fought for, clutched at; this world's prize,
Captive Authority. Oh, the star is stone
To all that outward sight,
Yet still, like truth that none has ever used,
Lives lost in its own light.

Troubled I fly. O let me wander again at will
(Far from cries, far from these
Hard blindnesses and frozen certainties!)
Where life proceeds in vastness unaware
And stirs profound and still:
Where leafing thoughts at shy touch of the air
Tremble, and gleams come seeking to be mine,
Or dart, like suddenly remembered youth,
Like the ache of love, a light, lost, found, and lost again.
Surely in the dusk some messenger was there!
But, haunted in the heart, I thirst, I pine.--
Oh, how can truth be truth
Except I taste it close and sweet and sharp
As an apple to the tooth?

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Big Dumb Guy

So many tech-heads
Recent invasion
I stretch out my long legs
And I kick away the mouse pad, baby
Amazon, eBay, Oracle, he say
He promise a freebee
But he's such a pokey little guy
Wait, I hear big footsteps
Thud, thumping out of the past
That big dumb guy is here at last
That big dumb guy is here at last
Cyberman lights up
But mostly he floppy
Computer man crashes
He's so humpty dumpty, baby
Now he tries this experiment
Though he knows it's so low-tech
He tries patting his forehead
While he's rub, rub, rubbing my stomach, baby
But he can't do it, can he?
No, no he can't do that at all
But wait, I hear big footsteps
Thud, thumbing out of the past
Sure enough, that big dumb guy
Is here at last
That big dumb guy is here at last
Big papa bear
Maybe you can remember
It wasn't that long ago
When you dialed a number
You got a living, breathing human being
On the telephone
Don't want nothing to do
But just study the skin on your face
I want to look up at the sky
And watch the sunset
With someone like you
Wait, I hear big footsteps
Thud, thumbing out of the past
That big dumb guy is here at last
That big dumb guy is here at last
That big dumb guy is here, he's here
In fact he's brought his
big raccoon coat with him
And he doesn't even know it's
politically incorrect
That big dumb guy is here at last
I see him now walking torward me
Let's get it on with your big bad self
Get it on babe, Get it on babe

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The Four Seasons : Autumn

Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf,
While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain,
Comes jovial on; the Doric reed once more,
Well pleased, I tune. Whate'er the wintry frost
Nitrous prepared; the various blossom'd Spring
Put in white promise forth; and Summer-suns
Concocted strong, rush boundless now to view,
Full, perfect all, and swell my glorious theme.
Onslow! the Muse, ambitious of thy name,
To grace, inspire, and dignify her song,
Would from the public voice thy gentle ear
A while engage. Thy noble cares she knows,
The patriot virtues that distend thy thought,
Spread on thy front, and in thy bosom glow;
While listening senates hang upon thy tongue,
Devolving through the maze of eloquence
A roll of periods, sweeter than her song.
But she too pants for public virtue, she,
Though weak of power, yet strong in ardent will,
Whene'er her country rushes on her heart,
Assumes a bolder note, and fondly tries
To mix the patriot's with the poet's flame.
When the bright Virgin gives the beauteous days,
And Libra weighs in equal scales the year;
From Heaven's high cope the fierce effulgence shook
Of parting Summer, a serener blue,
With golden light enliven'd, wide invests
The happy world. Attemper'd suns arise,
Sweet-beam'd, and shedding oft through lucid clouds
A pleasing calm; while broad, and brown, below
Extensive harvests hang the heavy head.
Rich, silent, deep, they stand; for not a gale
Rolls its light billows o'er the bending plain:
A calm of plenty! till the ruffled air
Falls from its poise, and gives the breeze to blow.
Rent is the fleecy mantle of the sky;
The clouds fly different; and the sudden sun
By fits effulgent gilds the illumined field,
And black by fits the shadows sweep along.
A gaily chequer'd heart-expanding view,
Far as the circling eye can shoot around,
Unbounded tossing in a flood of corn.
These are thy blessings, Industry! rough power!
Whom labour still attends, and sweat, and pain;
Yet the kind source of every gentle art,
And all the soft civility of life:
Raiser of human kind! by Nature cast,
Naked, and helpless, out amid the woods
And wilds, to rude inclement elements;
With various seeds of art deep in the mind

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