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I mean, I tend to do my own thing, and that usually crosses purposes with everyone around me.

quote by Shirley Manson
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White Crosses

Well I packed all of my things into this blanket
To call this year to earn coyotes fill
Kiss my wife and kids goodbye choke back the quiver in my breath
And took my first steps into this corridor of death
If Im lucky I will make it to a drain
With 500 of my brothers, I would share the strain
Of standing in this boxcar praying for rain
Its the only the way we will quench our thirst
[Chorus:]
In these gardens of white crosses
Growing in the California sand
In these gardens of white crosses
We are the children of poverty trying to a make a stand
If we make it past the border, we will scatter
Vanish just like smoke in autumn wind
I will run until my color will not matter
Hopin I can find some work or possibly a friend
There are others who have made it here
They will show me how to find a job and a place to lay my head
And I cannot be concerned with dreams of my children
For there are 5 others in line for my bed
[Chorus:]
In these gardens of white crosses
Growing in the California sand
In these gardens of white crosses
We are the children of poverty trying to a make a stand
I will gladly pick your peaches or clean your hotel rooms
I will do the jobs American wont do
With cell phones to their heads and $700 dollar shoes
I will risk my life cause its all I have to lose
Let the devil in the mountains promise me a ride
Found an 18 wheeler and put all of us inside
And just outside of victory, 19 of us died
None of our bodies hit the floor
And so my wife she still wonders when Im coming home
The riches that I promised her for leaving her alone
I said I would send her all that I could save
But I ended up in California in an unknown grave
[Chorus:]
In these gardens of white crosses growing in the California sand
In these gardens of white crosses we are the children of poverty trying to a make a stand
[repeat]

song performed by Edwin McCain
Added by Lucian Velea
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Clean Up Your Own Backyard

(words & music by b. strange - s. davis)
Back porch preacher preaching at me
Acting like he wrote the golden rules
Shaking his fist and speeching at me
Shouting from his soap box like a fool
Come sunday morning hes lying in bed
With his eye all red, with the wine in his head
Wishing he was dead when he oughta be
Heading for sunday school
Clean up your own backyard
Oh dont you hand me none of your lines
Clean up your own backyard
You tend to your business, Ill tend to mine
Drugstore cowboy criticizing
Acting like hes better than you and me
Standing on the sidewalk supervising
Telling everybody how they ought to be
Come closing time most every night
He locks up tight and out go the lights
And he ducks out of sight and he cheats on his wife
With his employee
Clean up your own backyard
Oh dont you hand me none of your lines
Clean up your own backyard
You tend to your business, Ill tend to mine
Armchair quarterbacks always moanin
Second guessing people all day long
Pushing, fooling and hanging on in
Always messing where they dont belong
When you get right down to the nitty-gritty
Isnt it a pity that in this big city
Not a one alittle bitty manll admit
He could have been a little bit wrong
Clean up your own backyard
Oh dont you hand me, dont you hand me none of your lines
Clean up your own backyard
You tend to your business, Ill tend to mine
Clean up your own backyard
You tend to your business, Ill tend to mine

song performed by Elvis Presley
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Crosses Burning

black-eyed poverty,
angry negativity,
sanity or vanity,
aint nobody free...

still the wheels of life
keep on turning;
in the land of want,
crosses burning.

hate me, hate yourself,
liberty on the shelf,
worthless unless it sells,
drawing water from the well...

still the wheels of life
keep on turning;
in the land of need,
crosses burning.

black and white bleeding red,
cant feed the poor, raise the dead,
drinking water laced with lead,
nooses hung around our heads...

still the wheels of life
keep on turning;
in the land of hurt,
crosses burning.

children sold into slavery,
homeless tents, misery,
wars without victory,
governed by plutocracy...

still the wheels of life
keep on turning;
in the land of sorrow,
crosses burning.

microwave Jesus, tattered flags,
boys come home in body bags,
buildings crumble, bridges sag,
numbered souls without a tag...

still the wheels of life
keep on turning;
in the land of lies,
crosses burning.

poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Cenci : A Tragedy In Five Acts

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

Count Francesco Cenci.
Giacomo, his Son.
Bernardo, his Son.
Cardinal Camillo.
Orsino, a Prelate.
Savella, the Pope's Legate.
Olimpio, Assassin.
Marzio, Assassin.
Andrea, Servant to Cenci.
Nobles, Judges, Guards, Servants.
Lucretia, Wife of Cenci, and Step-mother of his children.
Beatrice, his Daughter.

The Scene lies principally in Rome, but changes during the Fourth Act to Petrella, a castle among the Apulian Apennines.
Time. During the Pontificate of Clement VIII.

ACT I

Scene I.
-An Apartment in the Cenci Palace.
Enter Count Cenci, and Cardinal Camillo.

Camillo.
That matter of the murder is hushed up
If you consent to yield his Holiness
Your fief that lies beyond the Pincian gate.-
It needed all my interest in the conclave
To bend him to this point: he said that you
Bought perilous impunity with your gold;
That crimes like yours if once or twice compounded
Enriched the Church, and respited from hell
An erring soul which might repent and live:-
But that the glory and the interest
Of the high throne he fills, little consist
With making it a daily mart of guilt
As manifold and hideous as the deeds
Which you scarce hide from men's revolted eyes.

Cenci.
The third of my possessions-let it go!
Ay, I once heard the nephew of the Pope
Had sent his architect to view the ground,
Meaning to build a villa on my vines
The next time I compounded with his uncle:
I little thought he should outwit me so!

[...] Read more

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Killing In The Name

Killing in the name of!
Some of those that were forces are the same that bore crosses
Some of those that were forces are the same that bore crosses
Some of those that were forces are the same that bore crosses
Some of those that were forces are the same that bore crosses
Huh!

Killing in the name of!
Killing in the name of

And now you do what they told ya (11 times)
But now you do what they told ya
Well now you do what they told ya

Those who died are justified

song performed by Rage Against The Machine
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Crosses We Bare

Some days seem longer than others,
depending on how many crosses
we have to bare.
Each of us has a cross to carry,
for guilt, we call our own.
When the crosses get heavy,
days seem to linger with out end.
We feel at times,
no one can help us
with the crosses that we bare,
but there is always someone.
They walk beside us everyday,
a simple prayer of forgiving,
and he will help us on our way.
We can tell him all our sorrows,
our guilt’s and woes to be.
He always listens to us
as he walks with us each day.
We all know his name,
and how to speak to him,
if the crosses that we carry,
ever get to weighty to bare.

poem by David Harris
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Crosses Burning # 2

Native America tragedy,
cant escape the curse of history,
poverty has its remedies,
none of which are good.

crystal meth and crack cocaine,
Devil drives that old train,
cant fix the hole or ease the pain,
and wouldnt if it could...

still the wheel of life
keeps on turning;
in the land of illusions,
crosses burning.

small town heroes falling,
the ghosts of freedom calling,
yet the truth is quite appalling,
pawns in the game.

Wall Street ghouls in trench coats,
tax incentives, life boats,
dont know which way the wind blows,
numbers without a name.

still the wheel of life
keeps on turning;
in the land of manipulation,
crosses burning.

cant tell the truth from a lie,
you live and work and then you die,
cant take it with you if you try,
lost inside a maze.

redemption or salvation,
the train has left the station
for a greedy soulless nation,
who profits and who pays?

still the wheel of life
keeps on turning;
in the land of denial,
crosses burning.

addicted to foreign oil,
incursions on foreign soils,
enough to make your blood boil,
when enough is enough.

[...] Read more

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Gotham - Book III

Can the fond mother from herself depart?
Can she forget the darling of her heart,
The little darling whom she bore and bred,
Nursed on her knees, and at her bosom fed;
To whom she seem'd her every thought to give,
And in whose life alone she seem'd to live?
Yes, from herself the mother may depart,
She may forget the darling of her heart,
The little darling whom she bore and bred,
Nursed on her knees, and at her bosom fed,
To whom she seem'd her every thought to give,
And in whose life alone she seem'd to live;
But I cannot forget, whilst life remains,
And pours her current through these swelling veins,
Whilst Memory offers up at Reason's shrine;
But I cannot forget that Gotham's mine.
Can the stern mother, than the brutes more wild,
From her disnatured breast tear her young child,
Flesh of her flesh, and of her bone the bone,
And dash the smiling babe against a stone?
Yes, the stern mother, than the brutes more wild,
From her disnatured breast may tear her child,
Flesh of her flesh, and of her bone the bone,
And dash the smiling babe against a stone;
But I, (forbid it, Heaven!) but I can ne'er
The love of Gotham from this bosom tear;
Can ne'er so far true royalty pervert
From its fair course, to do my people hurt.
With how much ease, with how much confidence--
As if, superior to each grosser sense,
Reason had only, in full power array'd,
To manifest her will, and be obey'd--
Men make resolves, and pass into decrees
The motions of the mind! with how much ease,
In such resolves, doth passion make a flaw,
And bring to nothing what was raised to law!
In empire young, scarce warm on Gotham's throne,
The dangers and the sweets of power unknown,
Pleased, though I scarce know why, like some young child,
Whose little senses each new toy turns wild,
How do I hold sweet dalliance with my crown,
And wanton with dominion, how lay down,
Without the sanction of a precedent,
Rules of most large and absolute extent;
Rules, which from sense of public virtue spring,
And all at once commence a Patriot King!
But, for the day of trial is at hand,
And the whole fortunes of a mighty land
Are staked on me, and all their weal or woe
Must from my good or evil conduct flow,

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Churchill
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Paradise Lost: Book 09

No more of talk where God or Angel guest
With Man, as with his friend, familiar us'd,
To sit indulgent, and with him partake
Rural repast; permitting him the while
Venial discourse unblam'd. I now must change
Those notes to tragick; foul distrust, and breach
Disloyal on the part of Man, revolt,
And disobedience: on the part of Heaven
Now alienated, distance and distaste,
Anger and just rebuke, and judgement given,
That brought into this world a world of woe,
Sin and her shadow Death, and Misery
Death's harbinger: Sad talk!yet argument
Not less but more heroick than the wrath
Of stern Achilles on his foe pursued
Thrice fugitive about Troy wall; or rage
Of Turnus for Lavinia disespous'd;
Or Neptune's ire, or Juno's, that so long
Perplexed the Greek, and Cytherea's son:

If answerable style I can obtain
Of my celestial patroness, who deigns
Her nightly visitation unimplor'd,
And dictates to me slumbering; or inspires
Easy my unpremeditated verse:
Since first this subject for heroick song
Pleas'd me long choosing, and beginning late;
Not sedulous by nature to indite
Wars, hitherto the only argument
Heroick deem'd chief mastery to dissect
With long and tedious havock fabled knights
In battles feign'd; the better fortitude
Of patience and heroick martyrdom
Unsung; or to describe races and games,
Or tilting furniture, imblazon'd shields,
Impresses quaint, caparisons and steeds,
Bases and tinsel trappings, gorgeous knights
At joust and tournament; then marshall'd feast
Serv'd up in hall with sewers and seneshals;
The skill of artifice or office mean,
Not that which justly gives heroick name
To person, or to poem. Me, of these
Nor skill'd nor studious, higher argument
Remains; sufficient of itself to raise
That name, unless an age too late, or cold
Climate, or years, damp my intended wing
Depress'd; and much they may, if all be mine,
Not hers, who brings it nightly to my ear.
The sun was sunk, and after him the star
Of Hesperus, whose office is to bring

[...] Read more

poem by John Milton
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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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Two Tribes

(gill/johnson/o'toole)
Ladies and gentlemen, let me present
Frankie goes to hollywood
Possibly the most important thing
This side of the world.
Oh yeah, well ard!
You may pronounce us guilty a thousand times over, but the goddess of the
Eternal court of history will smile and tear to tatters the brief of the
State prosecutor and the sentence of this court, for she acquits us
Condemn me
Condemn me
Condemn me
History will absolve
Singing "this will be the day that i die".
Yeahhhhhaaaa
(if your grandmother or any other member of your family should die whilst in the shelter,
Put them outside, but remember to tag them first for identification purposes.)
Go to war
Go to war
Go to war
Heh
Just think, war breaks out and nobody turns up.
(if any member the family should die whilst in the shelter, put them outside,
But remember to tag them first for identification purposes.)
(if your grandmother or any other member of the family should die whil... ...dentification purposes.)
Heh heh
It's enough to make you wonder sometimes if you're on the right planet.
Let's go
*when two tribes go to war
A point is all you can score
When two tribes go to war
A point is all you can score
Cowboy no. 1
A born-again poor man's son
On the air america
I modelled shirts by van heusen-yeah
You know
*(repeat)
Working on the black gas
Switch off your shield
Switch off and feel
I'm working on loving-yeah
Giving you back the good times
Ship it out-out
I'm working for the black gas
*(repeat)
We got two tribes
We got the bomb
We got the bomb-yeah
Sock it to me biscuits-now

[...] Read more

song performed by Frankie Goes To Hollywood
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The Ghost - Book IV

Coxcombs, who vainly make pretence
To something of exalted sense
'Bove other men, and, gravely wise,
Affect those pleasures to despise,
Which, merely to the eye confined,
Bring no improvement to the mind,
Rail at all pomp; they would not go
For millions to a puppet-show,
Nor can forgive the mighty crime
Of countenancing pantomime;
No, not at Covent Garden, where,
Without a head for play or player,
Or, could a head be found most fit,
Without one player to second it,
They must, obeying Folly's call,
Thrive by mere show, or not at all
With these grave fops, who, (bless their brains!)
Most cruel to themselves, take pains
For wretchedness, and would be thought
Much wiser than a wise man ought,
For his own happiness, to be;
Who what they hear, and what they see,
And what they smell, and taste, and feel,
Distrust, till Reason sets her seal,
And, by long trains of consequences
Insured, gives sanction to the senses;
Who would not (Heaven forbid it!) waste
One hour in what the world calls Taste,
Nor fondly deign to laugh or cry,
Unless they know some reason why;
With these grave fops, whose system seems
To give up certainty for dreams,
The eye of man is understood
As for no other purpose good
Than as a door, through which, of course,
Their passage crowding, objects force,
A downright usher, to admit
New-comers to the court of Wit:
(Good Gravity! forbear thy spleen;
When I say Wit, I Wisdom mean)
Where (such the practice of the court,
Which legal precedents support)
Not one idea is allow'd
To pass unquestion'd in the crowd,
But ere it can obtain the grace
Of holding in the brain a place,
Before the chief in congregation
Must stand a strict examination.
Not such as those, who physic twirl,
Full fraught with death, from every curl;

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Churchill
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There Is

There is this ship which has taken my beloved back again
There are six Zeppelin sausages in the sky and with night
coming on it makes a man think of the maggots from which the
stars might some day be reborn
There is this enemy submarine slipping up beneath my love
There are one thousand young pinetrees splintered by the
bursting of the same shells falling around me now
There is this infantryman walking by completely blinded by
poison gas
There is the obvious fact that all that is happening here was
hatched a long time ago in the intestinal trenches of Nietzche
Goethe and the metaphysicians of the town of Cologne
There is the obvious fact that I'm dying over a letter which
has thus far been delayed
There are in my wallet various photos of my beloved
There are prisoners marching past with anxious faces
There is this artillery battery with its faithful servants
hurrying among the guns
There is the postmaster arriving at a trot on the road beneath
the single tree in silhouette
There is according to rumor a spy who infiltrates somewhere
near here invisible as the horizon as the horizon-blue French
uniform he has assumed for offensive purposes and in which he
is now most effectively camouflaged
There is erect as any lily the bosom of my beloved
There is this captain anxiously awaiting the latest radio
dispatch to reach us via transatlantic cable
There are at midnight these details of soldiers sawing planks
for coffins
There are women somewhere in Mexico pleading with wild cries
for more indian corn and maize
There is this Gulf Stream which is so warm and beneficial
There is this cemetery covered with crosses only five
kilometers away
There are all these crosses everywhere this way that way
There are paradisial persimmons growing on cactus-trees in
Algeria
There are the long hands of my love
There is this inkwell which I've made from a 150 mm shell I
saved from shooting
There is my calvary saddle left out in the rain
There are all these rivers blasted off their courses which will
never go back to their banks
There is the god of Love who leads me on so sweetly
There is this German prisoner carrying his machine-gun across
his shoulders
There are men on earth who've never fought in the war
There are Hindus here who look with astonishment on the
occidental style of campaign
They meditate gravely upon those who've left this place

[...] Read more

poem by Guillaume Apollinaire
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The Bird that dances by tail

Swallow.the bird that goes into cattle byre
And no bird that goes into cattle byre
Wow white black bull
The bird that goes into cattle byre

Swallow, the bird that crosses ocean
And no bird crosses ocean
Wow whhite black bull
The bird that crosses ocean

Swallow, the bird that dances by tail
And no bird that dances by tail
Wow white black bull
The bird that dances by tail

poem by David Aoloch Bion
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Southern Man

Southern man better keep your head
Dont forget what your good book said
Southern change gonna come as last
Now your crosses are burning fast
Southern man
I saw cotton
I saw black
Tall white fences
Little shacks
And southern man
When will you pay them back
I heard screaming
Bull whips cracking
How long how long
How
Southern man better keep your head
Dont forget what your good book said
Southern change gonna come at last
Now your crosses are burning fast
Southern man
Southern man
Lilly belle your hair is golden brown
Ive seen your black man coming round
I swear by God Im gonna cut him down
I heard screaming
Bull whips cracking
How long how long
How
Southern man better keep your head
Dont forget what your good book said
Southern change gonna come at last
Now your crosses are burning fast
Southern man

song performed by Indigo Girls
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Livin It Up

Livin it up
By: jimmy buffett, josh leo, j.d. souther
1983
He took one last look
Tossed that address book
His odyssey has begun
No time to see sights
Ran all the red lights
Burned all his bridges
Now its love on the run
Chorus:
Livin it up
Is takin all of his time
But he aint givin it up
It suits his temperament fine
Up on the bandstand
Plays for a few fans
Workin for minimum wage
He spots her lookin
His brain is cookin
She takes her seat
At the foot of the stage
Chorus:
Livin it up
Is takin all of his time
But he aint givin it up
It suits his temperament fine
Yeah he loves livin it up
And takin all of his time
But he aint givin it up
It never crosses his mind
Didnt say much, had a soft touch
Knew what felt good in her man
He was the same way and they split the next day
Sang all the way through the yucatan
Chorus:
Livin it up
Is takin all of our time
But we aint givin it up
It never crosses our mind
No no no hes just livin it up
And takin all of his time
But he aint givin her up
She suits his temperament fine
Yeah shes just livin it up
And takin all of his time
But she aint givin him up
It never crosses her mind
- notes:
Background vocals: josh leo, vince melamed, danny burns

[...] Read more

song performed by Jimmy Buffett
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Three Wooden Crosses

a farmer and a preacher a hooker and a teacher
Ridin on a midnight bus
bound for Mexico
one was headed for vacation
one for higher education
and two of them were searchin for lost souls
and that driver never ever saw the stop sign
and eighteen wheelers can't stop on a dime
Chorus:
there are three wooden crosses on the right side of the highway
why there's not four of them heaven only knows
I guess it's not what you take when you leave this world behind you
It's what you leave behind you when you go
That farmer left his harvest
A hime and eighty acres
the faith and love for growing things in his young son's heart
and that teacher left her wisdom in the minds of lots of children
did her best to give em all a better start
and that preacher whispered, "can't you see the promise land"
as he laid his blood stained bible in that hooker's hand
Chorus
That's the story that our preacher told last Sunday
As he held that blood stained bible up for all of us to see
he said bless the farmer and the teacher and the preacher
who gave this bible to my momma who read it to me
there are three wooden crosses on the right side of the highway
why there's not four of them
now I guess we know
it's not what it takes when you leave this world behind you
it's what you leave behind you when you go
there are three wooden crosses
on the right side of the highway...

song performed by Randy Travis
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(Addiction Poem) Bad Habit

Burning crosses
Blowing up bridges
Taking out the stitches
Confinement
Locked up abroad
Slaughtering the filthy hog
Choking on the cities smog
Leaning on the rock

I'm jittery
I'm not so pretty
Things are getting ugly
Another fight
Break out tonight
Take flight

Burning crosses
Blowing up bridges
Taking out the stitches
Confinement
Locked up abroad
Slaughtering the filthy hog
Choking on the cities smog
Leaning on the rock

I'm fiending
I'm getting mean
Drunk and obliterated
No consultation
With such actions
No chance to make retractions
These are my statements
No way to prevent it
It will happen again
Flashbacks
Flash
Flash
One two three
Somebody stop me please

Burning crosses
Blowing up bridges
Taking out the stitches
Confinement
Locked up abroad
Slaughtering the filthy hog
Choking on the cities smog
Leaning on the rock

So broke

[...] Read more

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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In Long Rows

Millions and millions of crosses
standing in long rows.
Standing as a testament
of man’s inhumanity to man.
Their ages range low to high,
all casualties of a war
in which they answered
their counties call.
Their kin are long dead now,
but the crosses all bare a name
of someone who had they lived
might have gained fame
in another game.
However, here they lie
where the pretty flowers grow
after giving up their life
for their country.
Some are remembered
even to this day
for their acts of courage
others knew so well.
The others are just names
carved in memorials somewhere
as falling in a battle on a foreign soil.
All of them had a life
men, women and child alike.
A life they should have lived
and lived it to the full.
Now all they remain
is names on crosses
standing in long rows.

22 January 2008

This is for all those whose lives have been stolen in wars throughout the centuries.

poem by David Harris
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From ‘The Cross’

Who can blot out the Cross, which th’instrument
Of God, dew’d on me in the Sacrament?
Who can deny me power, and liberty
To stretch mine arms, and mine own Cross to be?
Swim, and at every stroke, thou art thy Cross;
The Mast and yard make one, where seas do toss;
Look down, thou spiest out Crosses in small things;
Look up, thou seest birds rais’d on crossed wings;
All the Globes frame, and spheres, is nothing else
But the Meridians crossing Parallels.
Material Crosses then, good physic bee,
But yet spiritual have chief dignity.
These for extracted chemic medicine serve,
And cure much better, and as well preserve;
Then are you your own physic, or need none,
When Still’d, or purg’d by tribulation.
For when that Cross ungrudg’d, unto you sticks,
Then are you to your self, a Crucifix.
As perchance, Carvers do not faces make,
But that away, which hid them there, do take;
Let Crosses, so, take what hid Christ in thee,
And be his image, or not his, but he.

poem by John Donne
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