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Dressmaking is the architecture of movement.

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Social Netowrking Of Robots

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Exodus (Laswell Mix)

[Bob Marley]
Exodus: Movement of Jah people! Oh-oh-oh, yea-eah!
.......
Men and people will fight ya down (Tell me why!)
When ya see Jah light. (Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!)
Let me tell you if you're not wrong; (Then, why?)
Everything is all right.
So we gonna walk - all right! - through de roads of creation:
We the generation (Tell me why!)
(Trod through great tribulation) trod through great tribulation.
Exodus, all right! Movement of Jah people!
Oh, yeah! O-oo, yeah! All right!
Exodus: Movement of Jah people! Oh, yeah!
Yeah-yeah-yeah, well!
Uh! Open your eyes and look within:
Are you satisfied (with the life you're living)? Uh!
We know where we're going, uh!
We know where we're from.
We're leaving Babylon,
We're going to our Father land.
2, 3, 4: Exodus: movement of Jah people! Oh, yeah!
(Movement of Jah people!) Send us another brother Moses!
(Movement of Jah people!) From across the Red Sea!
(Movement of Jah people!) Send us another brother Moses!
(Movement of Jah people!) From across the Red Sea!
Movement of Jah people!
---
/Instrumental break/
---
Exodus, all right! Oo-oo-ooh! Oo-ooh!
Movement of Jah people! Oh, yeah!
Exodus!
Exodus! All right!
Exodus! Now, now, now, now!
Exodus!
Exodus! Oh, yea-ea-ea-ea-ea-ea-eah!
Exodus!
Exodus! All right!
Exodus! Uh-uh-uh-uh!
Move! Move! Move! Move! Move! Move!
Open your eyes and look within:
Are you satisfied with the life you're living?
We know where we're going;
We know where we're from.
We're leaving Babylon, y'all!
We're going to our Father's land.
Exodus, all right! Movement of Jah people!
Exodus: movement of Jah people!
Movement of Jah people!
Movement of Jah people!

[...] Read more

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Allegany Camp

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Love Is The Movement

A day in L.A.
And millions of faces
Looking for movement
'Cause everything's stuck
And everything's frozen
And everyone's broken
And nobody moves
And everyone's scared
That the motion will never come
This is the incompletion
Stuck in a line
Love is the movement
Love is a revolution
This is redemption
We don't have to slow back down
The stars are alive
They dance to the music
Of the deepest emotion
And all of the world
Is singing in time
As the heavens are caving in
Mysterious ways
Why God gave His life
To put motion inside my soul
It's bigger than cold religion
It's bigger than life
Love is the movement
Love is a revolution
This is redemption
We don't have to slow back down
We're starting now
We're starting now
We're starting now
We don't have to slow back down
This is a revolution
This is a revolution
Love is the movement
Love is a revolution
This is redemption
We don't have to slow back down
Love is the movement
Love is a revolution
This is redemption
We don't have to slow back down
Love is the movement
Love is a revolution
This is redemption
We don't have to slow back down

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It's Kinetic

It's kinetic.
Active and lively.
Relating to a motion noticed.
And...
Shown with a focus that can be,
Denoted.

It's kinetic,
And assists in erotic zones.
It's kinetic,
Never isolated or alone.
It's kinetic,
And everyone can say they own it...
A piece of this movement.

It's kinetic,
And assists in erotic zones.
It's kinetic,
Never isolated or alone.
It's kinetic,
And everyone can say they own it...
A piece of this movement.

It's kinetic.
'I don't care what others condone.'
But it's kinetic.
'I just want to be alone.'
Even if it is kinetic?
'You can do it by yourself alone...
THAT movement.'

But it's kinetic.
'I just want to be alone.'
It's kinetic.
'I don't care what others condone.'
Even if it is kinetic?
'You can do it by yourself alone...
THAT movement.'

It's kinetic,
And assists in erotic zones.
It's kinetic,
Never isolated or alone.
It's kinetic,
And everyone can say they own it...
A piece of this movement.

It's kinetic.
Active and lively.
Relating to a motion noticed.

[...] Read more

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G.K. Chesterton

All architecture is great architecture after sunset perhaps architecture is really a nocturnal art, like the art of fireworks.

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All architecture is great architecture after sunset; perhaps architecture is really a nocturnal art, like the art of fireworks.

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What For Them Was Isn't

What for them was isn't.
Like the taste of a lollipop,
That has faded from one's memory.
The activity is remembered.
But the flavor of it is gone.
And many are trying to hold onto it.
With a savor craved...
That brings them to the edge,
Of a tantrum fit!

Since what sits in their minds from yesterday,
Hasn't for them really gone away.
They want it returned!
They want it to stay!
They feel betrayed by an enslavement made!

What for them 'was'
ISN'T anymore.
Or will be again.
For anyone else to be explored!

Those heard droaning in a whining moan...
Are lost and locked in a consciousness,
Soon to be all their own.

What for them was isn't.
It's never coming back!
That's a fact they wished attacked.

But from a clock that has stopped its tick tocking...
The hands on it sit!
And there is no movement witnessed from this.
There is no movement witnessed from this.
And there is no movement witnessed from this.
There is no movement witnessed from this.
No movement,
Is witnessed from this!

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Eroica, Eroica, Eroica

Beethoven Third Symphony
A Beethoven master piece
The First Movement
The music starts softly and sweet
Picks soon with full force
In charm awakening
With the orchestra in full display
Loud with majestic power
We are overwhelmed
No place to go
We are exhausted
He relieves us now
With soft melody that follows
He has master command
The music comes quick in flurry
with persistent repetition
We are whipped with emotions
The music comes back again and again
In fresh successive succession
Like a boy coming hurriedly in the field
The tunes comes back
Haunting us in familiar rhythm
It is over and over again
Filling and nourishing our soul
Some sound comes again
From far away
Like someone we knew
Calling us softly,
Gently and beautifully
Racing and touching our heart
The old familiar tune
Comes back and back again
Teasing us
With power
Hurriedly closing on us
The music casts some sadness
The familiar tune comes back
Full of charm

Second Movement
A faint sad sound
So sad
Like funeral procession
The same tune comes back
dressed in sadness
So sad
Revival the music comes strong

Third Movement

[...] Read more

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Old Town Types No. 23 - Little Miss Mix

In a rather tiny building at the bottom of the street,
With a green door and a window small and very neat,
With its shock of beads and button-cards, cottons, bones and braid,
Miss Mix, the village dressmaker, plied a modest trade.
The front shop, with its counter, was a miniature affair,
And trivial the business that was conducted there.
But the back room - the workroom - 'Hours from Nine to Six' -
Was a vestal shrine whose priestess was little Miss Mix.

Tho' man had never gazed within, the sanctum held, 'twas known,
A wealth of female mysteries, for female eyes alone:
Dress-dummies, skirt-stands, a host of fashion fads,
Hip improvers, buckram shapes, curious bustle-pads.
But Mr Mole, who owned a store, and sold things ready-made,
Was oft-times strangely bitter over Miss Mix and her trade.
'A tittle-tattle factory!' said he. 'A gossip-shop!
With its babbling cotton-biters. Why, the thing had ought to stop.'

And many another male declared that Mr Mole was right -=
Chiefly husbands - for the charges of Miss Mix were never light.
And, tho' they talked in that back room of fashion, style and cost,
Many characters were shattered, many reputations lost
As scraps of spiteful sibilants came drifting thro' that door:
'A hussy dear!' ... 'Such goings on!' ... 'And I heard something more.' ...
And many an unsuspecting wench was hounded to her doom
In mousey little Miss Mix's little back room.

When last I saw the old town, nigh twenty years ago,
Its street was little altered, its tempo still was slow;
But where the wee dressmaker's shop in old days used to stand
A 'modern' shop-front glittered, very 'arty,' very grand.
Now Miss Mix was known as Sarah in the days when I was young,
And her trade was 'Plain Dressmaking'; but now a shingle swung
All done in fancy wrought-iron, with twirls and scrolls and tricks:
'Costumiere. Parisian Modes. Direction: Sara Miques.'

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Love Is Like The Wind

love is like the wind
in constant movement

constant movement
love is like the wind
centuries after centuries
love repeats itself
in the vagueness of this universe

constant movement
in this incomprehensible universe
love is like the wind
invisible intouchable in
this fascinating world

fascinating invincible
attraction destruction
happyness sadness
its love that carries
this constant movement
like the wind

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Points of contact

We travel and keep moving
Each time you move ahead
You should have stepped at a point
Ensuring the grip of the point
You might have pushed ahead
And you make your next step
After reaching the next point of contact
You push ahead
Exerting the force of the push
On the point of contact

The more frequently you
Meet the points of contact
The faster is your movement and going ahead

The point of contact acts as fulcrum
That ensures your push becomes a movement
Thus, you will agree,
Points of contact
Help you move
Regardless of the direction
And regardless of the destination

Quality of your movement
Depends a lot on the
Quality of the points of contact
A slippery, less firm point of contact
Makes you slip
And end up with failure
Your journey terminating not
Helping you reach the destination
Despite all your skills
And efforts towards pushing ahead

You understand that
Points of contact need your attention
They need nourishment
Maintenance and care

The Point of contact need not be
Just a material or stone
Or a step in a ladder or staircase
It can also be a person
Who helped you in your movement
Some time, some where and some how

It is also a requirement
That you be in touch with them
Demonstrating your care and love for them

[...] Read more

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Fishing For Carp (Hybridanelle)

Fishing for carp, with a six-pack cooling in the river
and the ringhals till now with eyes brown and unaware
something makes a sound, a movement making you shiver

when on your right a banded spitting cobra appears
with the woman leaving to prepare sausage
when it immediately rears

and girly is ready with the food, ready to deliver
and it gives her a great scare.
Fishing for carp, with a six-pack cooling in the river

and in your mind you are crunching gears
and you wish for her to be anywhere, but right there,
with the woman leaving to prepare sausage

and you are angry at the old deceiver
while she brings a tray full of goodies with loving care,
something makes a sound, a movement making you shiver

luckily she freezes behind you somewhere
and the snake only half alert senses something testing the air
and you wish for her to be anywhere, but right there,

and a nearby tree looks like a quiver
and you are looking for a kind of snare.
Fishing for carp, with a six-pack cooling in the river

and this is now a dangerous affair
and using the rod in your hands you slam with all your might,
and the snake only half alert senses something testing the air

slamming down on the snake like with golf driver
and this is it, you have had your share of luck, but still you dare,
something makes a sound, a movement making you shiver

she screams in fright, while you slam to your right
with your rod whistling
and using the rod in your hands you slam with all your might,

and the water shines like silver
and you cuddle her and there's a smile that you share.
Fishing for carp, with a six-pack cooling in the river
something makes a sound, a movement making you shiver

and you think: not again that spitting thing with its deadly sting,
when on your right a banded spitting cobra appears,
with your rod whistling
when it immediately rears.

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John Adams

I must study politics and war that my sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy. My sons ought to study mathematics and philosophy, geography, natural history, naval architecture, navigation, commerce, and agriculture, in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, music, architecture, statuary, tapestry, and porcelain.

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In short, the building becomes a theatrical demonstration of its functional ideal. In this romanticism, High-Tech architecture is, of course, no different in spirit-if totally different in form-from all the romantic architecture of the past.

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James Stewart

I was going to be an architect. I graduated with a degree in architecture and I had a scholarship to go back to Princeton and get my Masters in architecture. I'd done theatricals in college, but I'd done them because it was fun.

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After World War II great strides were made in modern Japanese architecture, not only in advanced technology, allowing earthquake resistant tall buildings, but expressing and infusing characteristics of traditional Japanese architecture in modern buildings.

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If you examine this, I think that you will find that it's the mechanics of Japanese architecture that have been thought of as the direct influence upon our architecture.

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Robert Burns

The Brigs of Ayr (Shorter version)

Inscribed to John Ballantine, Esq., Ayr.

The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough,
Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough;
The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush,
Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn bush;
The soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill,
Or deep-ton'd plovers grey, wild-whistling o'er the hill;
Shall he-nurst in the peasant's lowly shed,
To hardy independence bravely bred,
By early poverty to hardship steel'd.
And train'd to arms in stern Misfortune's field —
Shall he be guilty of their hireling crimes,
The servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes?
Or labour hard the panegyric close,
With all the venal soul of dedicating prose?
No! though his artless strains he rudely sings,
And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the strings,
He glows with all the spirit of the Bard,
Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear reward.
Still, if some patron's gen'rous care he trace,
Skill'd in the secret, to bestow with grace;
When Ballantine befriends his humble name,
And hands the rustic stranger up to fame,
With heartfelt throes his grateful bosom swells,
The godlike bliss, to give, alone excels.

'Twas when the stacks get on their winter hap,
And thack and rape secure the toil-won crap;
Potatoe-bings are snugged up frae skaith
O' coming Winter's biting, frosty breath;
The bees, rejoicing o'er their summer toils,
Unnumber'd buds an' flow'rs' delicious spoils,
Seal'd up with frugal care in massive waxen piles,
Are doom'd by Man, that tyrant o'er the weak,
The death o' devils, smoor'd wi' brimstone reek:
The thundering guns are heard on ev'ry side,
The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide;
The feather'd field-mates, bound by Nature's tie,
Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie:
(What warm, poetic heart but inly bleeds,
And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds!)
Nae mair the flow'r in field or meadow springs,
Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings,
Except perhaps the Robin's whistling glee,
Proud o' the height o' some bit half-lang tree:
The hoary morns precede the sunny days,
Mild, calm, serene, wide spreads the noontide blaze,
While thick the gosamour waves wanton in the rays.

[...] Read more

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Robert Burns

The Brigs of Ayr (Full version)

Inscribed to John Ballantine, Esq., Ayr.

Sir, think not with a mercenary view
Some servile Sycophant approaches you.
To you my Muse would sing these simple lays,
To you my heart its grateful homage pays,
I feel the weight of all your kindness past,
But thank you not as wishing it to last;
Scorn'd be the wretch whose earth-born grov'lling soul
Would in his ledger-hopes his Friends enroll.
Tho' I, a lowly, nameless, rustic Bard,
Who ne'er must hope your goodness to reward,
Yet man to man, Sir, let us fairly meet,
And like masonic Level, equal greet.
How poor the balance! ev'n what Monarch's plan,
Between two noble creatures such as Man.
That to your Friendship I am strongly tied
I still shall own it, Sir, with grateful pride,
When haply roaring seas between us tumble wide.

Or if among so many cent'ries waste,
Thro' the long vista of dark ages past,
Some much-lov'd honor'd name a radiance cast,
Perhaps some Patriot of distinguish'd worth,
I'll match him if My Lord will please step forth.
Or Gentleman and Citizen combine,
And I shall shew his peer in Ballantine:
Tho' honest men were parcell'd out for sale,
He might be shown a sample for the hale.

* * *

The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough,
Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough;
The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush,
Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn bush;
The soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill,
Or deep-ton'd plovers grey, wild-whistling o'er the hill;
Shall he-nurst in the peasant's lowly shed,
To hardy independence bravely bred,
By early poverty to hardship steel'd.
And train'd to arms in stern Misfortune's field —
Shall he be guilty of their hireling crimes,
The servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes?
Or labour hard the panegyric close,
With all the venal soul of dedicating prose?
No! though his artless strains he rudely sings,
And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the strings,
He glows with all the spirit of the Bard,
Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear reward.

[...] Read more

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