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I sat alone and realised
The world had lost its shine
I begged the world to show me love,
and all that was divine
I hear a whisper in the wind
That softy calls
In time,
My heart it snaps like strands of twine
and still it calls
In time,
What time? I scream. When and where?
The wind runs fingers through my hair
a gentle sigh, i know its fair
and sweetly says
In time, in timeCurrent Mood:  blah |
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While I hate just dropping random LJ threads (read: I love it) on this community, I felt this idiocy had to be shared.
Apparently, no one has an obligation to pay back their debts.
Oh, how I love this crap. These are the people who are voting. These people are supposedly adults (or at least, I would infer from previous comments.)
These people are the idiocracy that is driving our planet to economic ruin. |
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Nov. 29th, 2009 @ 11:21 pm
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knots
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Nov. 29th, 2009 @ 07:43 pm
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Fun knot-tying workshop at Noisebridge. It was a long drive, but nice to see the space and ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) eelcoh, nasu_dengaku, dannyobrien, and crasch. And knots are very fun. I must have a high manual dexterity, b/c I learned stuff really fast. Unfortunately, I tend to forget fast too.
Knots are a great useful skill, if I ever get to design the curriculum for a school, people will be taught knots, basic first aid, and other useful skills long before they are taught crap like "American History". (And when they do learn history, they'll learn it from primary sources, so they can see the difference in viewpoints at different times).
Anyway, here's a good intro page, so you can tie along at home!
I think I finally "get" the bowline - the shape is finally familiar enough that I was trying to do it from an unfamiliar direction, and I still knew what to do even though it was facing a weird direction. Although, now that I review, I'm not sure that my "did I tie this right" function properly discriminates between the bowline and the left-handed or "Dutch" bowline, which is much inferior.
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Watching Charles Simic
I do not think about the two
hour drive to see him read
in a minivan packed
with classmates, Professor Jackman
at the wheel, nor the fish and chips
we will eat at the pub
with only one beer
before the same ride back,
me sitting shotgun discussing
philosophy of education
and grandeur of writing
dreams. I do not think
of his reading of loopholes
as I fell into an absent iris,
or the genealogy of a poem
birthed at a country fair—
the kind that displays Cinderella
pumpkins, Foghorn Leghorn
chickens—and he still
let the poem tell of the six-
legged dog. I thought
of none of this after my book
was signed by the former
Poet Laureate as I climbed
the stairs, but of the two
well dressed women,
who would have
been ticket takers
had there been tickets
or ushers had they shown
us to our seats,
discussing a department
store advertisement
for toilet paper
one had found on sale.
--Ian Uriel Girdley
Free Ebooks! This poem and more at www.ianurielgirdley.com |
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"This not wanting to have kids thing, it's just like any other plague. It hits the susceptible, and wipes them out of the gene pool. Give it a few generations, and we'll have a population with higher resistance" - eelcoh
Even though I have a strong instinctive response to the phenomenon of awesome people not having kids these days, it doesn't actually seem worth worrying about. The scale on which it would have any effect, even if it did have an effect (which is questionable, given the Flynn effect) is on the order of tens of generations at least, which is so much longer than Singulitarian technologies that it's just not relevant. By the time it would matter, human reproduction may well be completely transformed anyway.
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Nov. 29th, 2009 @ 09:26 pm
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i hates meeses to pieces
for the first time since we moved here we haz a mouse in da house.
however i can guaren-damn-tee ya we wont have one for long. |
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You promised me the world,
A world that is beautiful and free.
I see a world with poverty
Heartbreaks and lies.
A world with crimes and addiction,
That's how we'll all die.
Everyone wants to be different,
Which makes us all the same.
Sex and teen pregancies,
Society is to blame.
Children on the streets
Without family or education.
Even nothing on their bare feet,
Forgotten by this nation.
No one is ever alone.
We're all just victims on their agenda
Waiting for something to happen,
Until this evil is overthrown.
The bureaucracies conspire
They all promise change,
But all I see are wars and gunfires,
We all find it strange.
Religion is the greatest downfall
Grenades, AKs, and corpses sprawled.
Planes and bombs in God's will
But really, just another excuse to kill.
The media tries to make a quick buck
Defamations and gossip,
Damaging more than they can make up
We’re all screwed and fucked.
Humanity is baffled
Inebriated with love and greed
Obliterating this planet into shambles,
Just to satisfy our own needs.
You promised me the world,
Is this what you had in mind?Current Mood:  amused |
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Cathartic cleansing of the soul, The weary mind trap of death. Open your eyes to the blue expansiveness, Revel in the rays of rebirth. Released from the clutches of death, Soar to the depths of the roar. Find yourself within the silence And whisper quietly to it. Feel so much [too much] inside, Let it go. Current Mood:  melancholy |
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Every year
We'd sit in the Buick
And drive to Sandy Point
To see the Christmas lights
They were always the same
But the gingerbread man
Who jumped over the lane?
He was the best
Mom would dress us in coats
Mittens, hats...
Us kids pressed to the windows
To watch glowing colored bulbs
I was always silent
On the way home
Taken by the streetlights
On the Kent Island Bridge
Spaced evenly apart
I watched them zip by
Like fireflies
Or little balls of sun
The water below us
Too dark to see
Too warm to think,
I'd fall asleep
I don't recall much
Of Sandy Point
But I can still see the streetlights
On the Kent Island Bridge
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Nov. 29th, 2009 @ 04:53 pm
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Never to be helped.
Never to see light.
Never to cry.
Never to die.
Never to be born.
Never to live again.
Never to see
the pain I caused you...
Never again.
****
Always left all alone.
Always surrounded by darkness.
Always tear dried.
Always in pain.
Always slowly going under.
Always to be reborn.
Always gone-not to
look at your bruised body.
****
Walking in the shadows,
Always hidden from my sight.
Left broken from abuse,
I was never there to help.
Walking in the glow-
You look, you see.
Left with overwhelming pride-
I was never there to to give you advice.
****
You deserved not to be helped.
You deserved to grow old in the dark.
You deserved to cry-
but you never did.
You deserved to die-
but it never happened.
You deserved to not be born.
You deserved not to live again.
You deserved to watch me leave-
I turned my back,
enjoying your pained screams.
You will see me never again.
You deserved what you got.
You deserved each blow.
You deserved to lie in you own blood.
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Nov. 29th, 2009 @ 04:46 pm
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Pounding on the window,
Rain comes harder and harder.
Flashing in the sky,
Lightning comes faster and faster.
Thunder booming in the clouds,
Your fears become deeper and deeper.
Rain coming down;
the noise distracting everyone
from whats happening
on the inside.
The sound of breaking glass,
and bones.
You're not able to
reach the phone.
Not being able to call for help,
the blows come
harder and harder.
Lightning flashes-
lights up the room-
look within to see
your own doom.
Blood spattered walls
and floor is what greets
you.
Torn clothes and soul
is what you're meant to be.
Fearing your own fate, your heart beats
faster and faster.
Thunder rumbles
the walls-its like an
earthquake.
Come inside and see your fate.
Hitting the floor, you're
reminded of pain.
Never to end-
happening again.
You feel the knife being removed,
only to be shoved back in-
deeper and deeper. |
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I've been reading this community for the past couple of days, and I've really like what I have seen. Not just simply the talent, but the diversity as well. That has me wondering if I may, (and hopefully I am not taking away too much of the mystique) I'd like to pose a few questions to all of you. Not only will it satisfy my curiosity, but it will assist me in my research and study of modern/postmodern poetic styles and inspiration.
I wrote a mini dissertation on confessional poetry, which is a post WWII (1959-69) poetic style in which poets started writing candidly about relationships and their personal lives, which (critics say) was the first time this had been done. And ever since people who have written poetry, from the Beats to the Postmodernists, there has been a thread of truth in everything. That if you can better understand the poet and his/her life, you will therefore understand his/her poetry.
However, many critics INSIST that poetry should have a mystique, and that we can never truly understand what/who inspires their poetry and that poetry is factioned into particular styles.
Ie. "You cannot be post modern unless you write in free verse", etc.
Anyway, enough blather, here are my questions:
1) What inspires you? Alright, I know, I'll help you out a bit. Your environment?, Your past?, A particular person, Or do you write on a whim about anything that comes to mind? or is it all of the above and if so, give examples.
2) Further, if you do not write on a whim, does it take you days, months, even years to complete something...or is writing off the cuff prove more effective?
3) Is your poetry based in truth? If so, is it difficult for you to tell the truth? For example, if you wrote something about your mother would you write something like "Mother, you abandoned me" Or would you use a metaphor to represent your mother, like..."The Sun faded early before I could bask in it's warmth" Do you use real names, or fake ones? Basically is your poetry, personal or impersonal.
4) Do you feel writing the personal is risky?
5) Do you/Can you rhyme, or do you hate rhyming? Do you write in free verse mostly, or do you write in a structured verse. State your answer and then explain why.
6)Are you self-taught or have you had any education in writing? Explain in detail.
Ok I know these are odd questions, but I really would like to have a better understanding of what this generation is writing and why. |
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Nov. 29th, 2009 @ 01:01 pm
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troy fell, the romans, the greek,
the british empire's left with only a piece
and you and me,
turned out to be
totally separate entities.
and how to you fix childhood
turn from the safety that felt so good
the first love you claimed,
the invention of the wheel,
the flame.
how do you walk away?
you cant put a ship back in a bottle
it took too much time,
it's creation was subtle
nothing forced.
it all starts with splinters
but it ends in divorce
and all these arms that hold me still feel wrong
all the right words to the wrong tune of song
like trying to find a deer in the fog
or your way back home when it doesn't exist anymore
youre a scent that got caught in the breeze
a long distance phone call i still fall into with ease
you on my front porch, don't do this, please.
i made my bed but i need you to put me to sleep.
and im head drunk when i'm up at night
all of my words trying to fit in my mind
or the right way to tell you i cant do it this time.
wait i'm just kidding, everything's fine.
you're a phantom limb i still think i exists
gesturing wildly but making no sense
and still shocking, even now to see
the empty space where you used to be.
okay so it's over, i gave it my best
at the end of the day i can say no regrets
but it changes nothing, all these words i spit out
i still love you like always, nothing feels different now.
but i'll try and forget, you're a season that turned
the red leaves of autumn gone brown in the dirt
a memory fading on a page, what's it worth
we won't be the last to fall, and we weren't the first. |
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Not Me
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Nov. 29th, 2009 @ 03:06 pm
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Look for me somewhere I have not been
Listen to what I didn't say
Follow me to a place I would never go
Read what I didn't write
Give me answers to questions I won't ask
Take what I don't have to give
Hear what I didn't say
Buy what I am not selling
Find something I didn't lose
Wake me up when I am not asleep
Finish what I haven't started
Destroy what I haven't built
Catch what I didn't throw
Return what I didn't give
Deny me what I don't ask
Find what I didn't hide
Accept what I didn't offer
Pick me up when I am not down
Return what I haven't sent
Finish what I didn't start
Only then will you get to know who I really am...
Or maybe someone else you'd like even more! |
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Not Me
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Nov. 29th, 2009 @ 03:00 pm
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Look for me somewhere I have not been
Listen to what I didn't say
Follow me to a place I would never go
Read what I didn't write
Give me answers to questions I won't ask
Take what I don't have to give
Hear what I didn't say
Buy what I am not selling
Find something I didn't lose
Wake me up when I am not asleep
Finish what I haven't started
Destroy what I haven't built
Catch what I didn't throw
Return what I didn't give
Deny me what I don't ask
Find what I didn't hide
Accept what I didn't offer
Pick me up when I am not down
Return what I haven't sent
Finish what I didn't start
Only then will you get to know who I really am...
Or maybe someone else you'd like even more! |
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Точнее, целых два правильных вопроса по поводу заметок Пикулева:
http://accrue100.livejournal.com/49516.html
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Someone once told me it's all in my head.
Every negative feeling
Every broken idea or emotion
The mind is a dangerous thing
It makes you feel things you shouldn't feel
confusing lies that once ate (and still eat) at the fragile heart
We're supposed to be survivalists
We're supposed to be intelligent human beings
So why do 'feelings' rob us of all our common sense?
Love.
What does it mean to love someone?
Do you even know what that means?
Love isn't just saying it for the sake of feeling good.
I know what it means to love unconditionally, selflessly, passionately.
I know what it means to wanna take every pain from their heart and their eyes
I know what it's like to live it, breathe it and lose it.
Your heart can't hurt if you tell your mind not to let it.
Everything seems easier when you tell yourself it should be
I tell myself what I want to hear..I never needed anyone else for that
Death.
The soul no longer illuminates the body and the cavernous shell ceases to exist
If you believe that this portion of your being will live forever---
And that time and space have no bearing..then you too will be comforted
I see their faces and the overwhelming love their presence brings me
I see what my earthly self could never feel or understand
I see like I never did before and I love that much more
My visions shake even the greatest seer to the core
what I feel is not to be shared or told
at least not to the faint of heart or unbelieving...
Forgiveness.
I'm not so much disappointed any more when I can gauge the outcome. Predictable.
I no longer cry for days wishing for death..begging for it.
Now it seems like I'm just waiting for it, after all you killed me long ago.
What does it mean when someone tells you they are sorry?
It's a momentary feeling of regret on their part
The mouth just audibly catches up to the thought
The original vile is the one that sits deeply in your self-conscious
The disgusting beast of anger and resentment you cannot forget
There's no room in the heart for love when you're brewing with disdain and bitterness
Self-Love.
I could never love you as much as you love yourself.
Actually, I could...I did. And I do.
You have me beat most days though.
I can't make myself understand enough what would compel someone to hurt me in such ways
I can't understand why it's so easy...so simple..so intrusively built into my nature
And yet such a confounded concept to most..it's just always easier said than done
I always thought you had enough respect for yourself to not be knocked down
To not let anyone grasp you like that and shake your world around
I always thought you were stronger than that but once again, you let us down by not being around.Current Mood:  sleepy Current Music: The Last Goodnight-Pictures of You.mp3 |
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Nov. 28th, 2009 @ 11:12 pm
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Are you sure?
He looks at her
Her smile shines brightly
His heart beats faster
He turns away; she’s not the one
He holds her hand
She grasps his tightly
His mind starts racing
He lets go; she’s not the one
He talks to her
She says ‘I love you”
He wants to say it too
He stops himself; she’s not the one
He finds her crying
She wraps herself in his arms
He melts instantly
He breaks the embrace; she’s not the one
He leaves her
Her tears stream down her face
His heart starts breaking
He walks away;
She’s not the one… right?
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Before you begin to read this I want you to understand that I know some of you will never see this, that all you’re gonna get to do is breathe this and just hope that I’m right about some of the things I’ve seen.
I promise you, friends I am probably lying or maybe it’s just that I see things different than some of the other folks who can open there eyes and
See
The difference between me and them is
One day I’ll be blind, the doctors just don’t know when yet.
If you can
see
under these big honking brown eyes are big honking contacts that used to be big honking thick lens’d glasses.
One day, they say that the glasses and contacts won’t even help anymore
And so far every year of my life it’s just been gettin’ a little bit worse.
So you can understand my concern.
And if you can
See
Then stop shutting your eyes from the horrible things
Just open those suckers right up and even if it’s painful
See
Because out of all the dirty, the sad, and the heartbreaking things we try to push away I know that we tend to forget that some people don’t even get the chance to associate those things with objects or feelings.
All they got is touch and sound.
So I don’t want to take for granted a single second of this and I gotta learn all I can about this beautiful fucked up place because I know some day I’m gonna miss it. It’s only sad if you think it’s a tragedy.
But see
The real tragedy is that there’s some one in this world who’s got no comprehension of what the word RED even means, and meanwhile people like you and me,
who can still fucking see -
we just sit behind a desk and stare at a computer screen and complain about the things we’ve seen.
We protest and glorify the most trivial things.
But at least we can form our own opinion of what that word means without having to trust the die-stamped rocks that are pushed out of this paper, and the smell of the room that reminds us of the first time we heard it.
At least we can try our best to describe what the color RED means by talking about what it feels like to touch the surface of the painting, or the ceiling, or the clouds.
I know if you asked me with my eyes shut all I could tell you is that
The room might feel heavy
Your skin might feel just a little bit like it’s been touched by other hands
And jealousy is just wanting to see the look in some one else’s eyes or just wanting to know what you look like.
And to think
Us selfish pricks who can see have the nerve to hate our selves, or invest too much stock in our selves, or waste our youth covering our true selves up with things that don’t even matter like the colors
Of
shirts
Of
skins
Of our cheeks around people who might make us nervous.
Maybe we should just learn to close our eyes a little bit more
And feel this life for what it is
Beautiful
And in the end, just the air in the room we are sitting in. |
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Nov. 29th, 2009 @ 02:01 am
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The Ladies Who Bake
The ladies who bake
Knead and fist into your skin
Molding it to fit their standards,
of satisfaction.
But even with all the powder,
poking and prodding,
It just ends up being scarification
you cannot conceal.
No time for preheating,
so they can warm up to you,
They’ve already placed you on the counter
to cool.
They’ve forgotten you.
Little Douglass,
You were just a dark prickly voice
That wallowed in the mud.
I fell in love with it,
But I pitied you so.
I hope you finally perked your head up,
Above your tangled roots,
I hope you are looking up and,
Seeing much.
I hope you used the pores in your,
Supple skin and sucked the life out of the
Air’s ready bosom.
I hope you took it all, as if it were meant for you
And was always your own.
I hope you grew.
I hope you flexed,
And expanded out,
Past the muddy world,
That knew you.
I hope you found that,
the sky was the limit.
That you are no longer just
a little fir,
a small prickly thing,
that checked it's ego,
and couldn't forget
the tangled mess that was your history,
and the roots that held you there. |
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I’m just smoke and mirrors in your clandestine operation.
Hiding my agenda by the way of blind temptation.
Emoting lacerations from your passive state of play.
Peeling back the crust revealing lesions of betray.
Ordinary sins perceived as bounty by abundance.
Predatory patterns leaving me as the encumbrance.
Persistent pulsing pain - my faithful confidant.
Violent eruptions surge till they resolve or palpitate.
Andante strides to my bedside, vaudeville act of continence.
His breath undulates in the sullen fog that brands his pale absence. |
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Nov. 28th, 2009 @ 10:25 pm
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I have a boyfriend made of glass
a fragile thing with crystal class
who sleeps too much
does nothing rash
and years i've spent dancing around
his see through limbs
his ghostly frown
trying to find a way around
or inside or...something
and he moves slow
in shadows
is sometimes there, sometimes alone
sometimes nursing cracked wounds
and there is no way
for me and him to lay
together without him shattering
and splintering all over me
and so how do we fix this?
a basic flaw in genial makeup
two people thrown so at odds
or rather one, with the world
and something more beautiful couldn't exist
the way the sunlight catches his wrists
his hips, his lips.
any little part of him
and when he smiles
everything melts
and i think that I probably could
make this fucked up thing work.
and then it turns
suspends above
and I remember that glass
doesn't know how to love. |
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Nov. 28th, 2009 @ 11:45 pm
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i called 1-800-god-sear
listened to bad music
left 100s of urgent messages
but no one ever called me back
i guess i need to bail myself out |
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This is a dying season, the season of dying things,
Dying everything.
You flare up into something vast and luminous;
I think maybe you are saying fuck you to
All the rot and decay that looks so pretty
And lies about it and has everyone fooled.
You rise up out of yourself,
Going elsewhere, elsewhen, maybe, bright and shiny.
And I remember spring when you fell into me
And became something
Much more than green trees and wet earth.
You don’t understand why I cover my face with my hands
And kneel in the dead grass to keep the sight of you flying
Out of my memory.
You laugh and come gently back to the ground.
“Why are you crying?”
I don’t want to tell you it is because I saw
Blood where you had been standing,
And it was full of life while you were gray
Up against the sky. |
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I won't name names, but
I was wrong to let you in
A regret I can't forget
In my eyes, you aint a man
I should let you go now
Didn't really want you anyways
Please take all the memories
There aint no reason for them to stay
How can you sleep at night
When you used me like you did
You know how much it hurt me
All the pain I hid
So keep on drivin fast
Don't even stop to say goodbye
Leave my broken heart in the past
And leave enough room for me to fly |
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this article will likely piss off the polyfolk, as it assumes deception in the affair. But, within the context given, it seems like a lot of excellent advice.
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I am very dissatisfied w/ GTD, because it seems to involve tracking lots of things in the expectation that you will actually do them. Having lists where you can go down the list and check everything off eventually. I do not find my life works like this.
Instead, I swim in an endless sea of potential tasks and projects, and my job is to prioritize (and not feel like I'm drowning). What will I work on now? What will I work on today?
I like GTD's idea of getting things out of my head and into a system. Writing tasks & ideas down on a piece of paper is relaxing, I like doing it. But it turns out that those tasks and ideas just pile up forever. It's not like I brainstorm, capture, and then execute. Instead, brainstorming & capturing generates far more than I can ever execute on. And it doesn't seem like GTD really works with that. Entering tasks, classifying their context and due date and project, ends up being a waste of time when many tasks never end up getting done.
One option is that I could be ruthless in the culling stage between "write it down" and "enter into system". ie only enter it into the system if I am really committing to do it. But then if I get the rate of tasks wrong, I risk either being overwhelmed or not having enough to do. And I don't always know in advance what will turn out to be most important.
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New book - What Intelligence Tests Miss: The Psychology of Rational ThoughtCritics of intelligence tests—writers such as Robert Sternberg, Howard Gardner, and Daniel Goleman—have argued in recent years that these tests neglect important qualities such as emotion, empathy, and interpersonal skills. However, such critiques imply that though intelligence tests may miss certain key noncognitive areas, they encompass most of what is important in the cognitive domain. In this book, Keith E. Stanovich challenges this widely held assumption.
Stanovich shows that IQ tests (or their proxies, such as the SAT) are radically incomplete as measures of cognitive functioning. They fail to assess traits that most people associate with “good thinking,” skills such as judgment and decision making. Such cognitive skills are crucial to real-world behavior, affecting the way we plan, evaluate critical evidence, judge risks and probabilities, and make effective decisions. IQ tests fail to assess these skills of rational thought, even though they are measurable cognitive processes. Rational thought is just as important as intelligence, Stanovich argues, and it should be valued as highly as the abilities currently measured on intelligence tests. The important thing here from my perspective is that Stanovich wrote "The Robot's Rebellion", a book I am very fond of, and so I think highly of him and his perspective on rationality. It means a lot more to me that he believes this, than if it was someone like Daniel Goleman who is a sloppy popularizer ("while Goleman drew on the prestige of academia, he failed to adhere to its scrupulousness" as the fabulous exposé Promotional Intelligence says).
Someone w/ more free time than me should buy this book, read it, and review and/or summarize it for Less Wrong.
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Nov. 28th, 2009 @ 02:55 pm
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I am I am I am... I am the air that you breathe I am the feel of your lungs, expanding with ease I'm the sleep stuck to your eyes in the morning No matter where you are now, I'm the end of your story I am the distance, closing the gap The sweet hum of dreams calling you back the place just between asleeep and awake I am mid morning, twilight, and daybreak. I'm the ghost of an itch on the back of your neck the sweestest thought that you've kept in your head the marrow of bones the prayer for the dead. I am the wind when it moves through the trees I am the sweetest hit of your weed and the feel of your brain when it turns fuzzy I am all of the ways you wouldn't love me I am the walls of you room The floor beneath your feet I am the rumble of thunder and the hottest summer heat I am the waves as they fall onto the beach the rocks that are sand and will be dust that is what I am I am the prolouge, the middle the end I am the words on the page and the ink in the pen I am the very fabric of your rhyming you can't feel me? you're not trying. I am the words as they fall from your lips I'm the shape of your fingers in their pre-dreaming grip, i'm the space you occupy when you disappear the road that you drive the sky in the rear view mirror I am escape a way out of town I am the girl who is still hanging around but I am I am I am and I'm aware. |
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Nov. 28th, 2009 @ 11:32 pm
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We collide
as the world collapses
No more life and no more death
No more joy and no more sorrow
Just...
breath on my cheeck
fingers grasping my waist
As the frame crashes down around us |
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X-posted from my own journal simply for the purpose of jump-starting conversations and postings again in this community.
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Today and yesterday's Financial Times evidence part of why I am a subscriber. One must further monitor world news sources to acquire an accurate picture of what is really happening in the world and certainly, here at home in the United States of America. It is laughably, hypocritically sad that our US President should lecture China on "Freedom of the Press." Our major news sources are cardinal violators of this 'free press' principal by grave sins of omission. It struck me most this morning catching up from but one printed source. Here are but a few of the headlines w/ a few source article links - the rest can be easily found w/ basic keyword searches on the FT.com site.
* American Eagle gold bullion coin sales suspended
http://www.ft.com/cms/s/0/19507efc-daf6-11de-933d-00144feabdc0.html?nclick_check=1
* Asian heads of Goldman Sachs selling record amounts of company stock
* India signals 'serious concern' over Chinese military ties with Pakistan
* Abu Dhabi will not see its smaller brother fail (referencing the Dubai deleveraging/sales of the last few days)
(previous articles from the week not appearing anywhere in the US press
* World banks in danger of failure (BofA, Citibank in the top 10)
* The legacy of long-term unemployment effects in the USA
And of course the Brits have their own state propaganda release practically scripted by George Orwell -
"UK turns corner" = The UK Treasury believes the economy has turned the corner, the recession has ended and the UK will grow in 2010.
Draw your own inferences and conclusions from the above. If one isn't already visiting an outside paper, add the FT.com and the South China Morning News (out of Hong Kong) to your daily scan list beyond Lew Rockwell, Drudge and the usual Libertarian blogs.
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I can only see your opaque eyes
Haven't seen the sunlight -
In three whole weeks.
Been falling asleep at the break of dawn,
after all the snow has brought upon
The numbing of our mouths and minds,
While the breezes whisper sweet malign.
Bare the burden in omniscient sweat,
The details lie in the regret.
Because if it was winter forever
I'd go skiing in September.
But those sheets are stained red,
and our memories burn the bed -
I guess we'll always have Vermont.
I'd lay around in my fur coat,
Speaking only sixteenth notes.
Breathing in the shrouded haze
Over mirrors we've both grazed.
Find you always at my side
but something in us both has died,
and I can't help but miss the sunrise.
Blinded by the moons disguise
and building a life on paltry lies.
So I ended what I could not possess,
stopped being the damsel in distress.
Left behind an illusory life,
I'd all but butchered with a knife -
I guess we'll always have Vermont.
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Hello,
Can anybody tell me why a single column of words comes out as a regular paragraph when I post them – or why a centered poem comes out crooked. What am I missing in the formatting of poems here? Any help is appreciated!
Than you!Current Music: Disappear-Mazzy Star-Among My Swan |
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I imagine she'd taste sweet
Like strawberries
Or cinnamon
And chocolate..
And her touch..
Soft hands
Intense gaze
Tantalizingly slow kisses..
I know she doesn't realise
Just how in love
With her
I am..
But If You Wait Around A While I'll Make You Fall For Me.
(Title/Subject and Last Line by Anberlin ^_^) |
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Please, never try to convince me our legal system is rational.
I stumbled across this case all by myself, with no help of any referral, and just started reading the PDF. The Department of Housing and Urban Development sued* a condominium association on behalf of the charging party who had "significant hearing loss" in both airs. It was a charge of discrimination under the Fair Housing Act.
So long as the 'charging party' allegedly discriminated against is legitimately disabled, this is a slam dunk. The condo association had a "no pets" clause, and the deaf renter needed pets to help compensate for a lack of hearing, right? So, slam dunk. Then I find:
Complainant's stepbrother, (redacted), wrote a letter to the board requesting a waiver to the "no pet" policy as a condition of purchasing the unit. The letter stated (redacted) has a severe hearing impediment, and she had two cats that would alert her to the telephone and doorbell, therefore, complainant needed a waiver to the "no pets" policy.
Telephone? Why does God need a spaceship? someone capable of using a telephone qualify as deaf enough to be disabled under the Fair Housing Act? If your hearing is such that you can't hear a ring, I'm not sure what utility you'd have in a phone, beyond dialing an emergency hotline. I guess it's possible this had merit. The document was very sloppily written. For example, "no pets" policy was written inconsistently. One would imagine it written in a uniform fashion, but I saw "no pet", "no pets", and even "no-pets" with a hyphen. Perhaps, in a document so poorly written, the detail about the telephone was just carelessly inserted through one of those brain hiccups most people experience sometimes ( Here's your sign).
*Actually, if my interpretation of this document is correct, there was no due process in this case. There was no legal case. There was no judge or courtroom. In the Conclusion of the document, the Department of Housing and Urban Development charged the condo association with violating the act. As far as I can tell, they represented the judge and the prosecutor. Maybe my brain had just fallen asleep, forgetting that reams of agencies exist to administer federal laws. Maybe this is just the first time I've groked what the consequences of bureaucrats "administering federal laws" actually meant to American jurisprudence.
I reckon it's kinda strange that if KSM had been renting space in those office complexes, rather than demolishing them, he'd have to face that sort of tribunal, I tell you what.
/Hank Hill
By the way, the same agency that determined the deaf can use telephones is the same agency that was and is in charge of overseeing Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac. |
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Nov. 28th, 2009 @ 12:24 am
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Cinderella, She Seems So Easy
We danced as if no one existed and,
for a moment, no one did;
just you and me
and my two left feet
that tred on your toes all night long.
You laughed
and whispered "I'm fine" and I could not help
but wonder how many other feet had
stepped where I did, but your fingers pressed tighter
against the back of my neck and the thought passed
as we spun like tops with no real rhythm.
I tell you "it's close to midnight" and your steps start to falter
until you are letting go, moving towards the door
away from me.
I'm still dancing;
still left, right, left, left and you are walking
backwards to the base of the stairs,
turning at the first chime of the clock,
rushing for the door.
You left your glass slipper and took my beating heart.
I was just wondering if I could see you again. |
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One more sip
One more dip
One more trip
Just a little bit of lip
And I'm gone again
Once more Once more
And I'm gone again
One more flip
A taste of those nips
and a little lick of the whip
I can't take it
And I'm gone again
Once more Once more
I'm gone again
One more mix
One more fix
Ain't none of your trix
or I'm gone again
ya, I'm gone againCurrent Mood:  anxious Current Music: Afro Samurai soundtrack ;p |
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I wonder if I am worth it.
Could I be just for looks.
Am I just a mannequin?
Just for looks and no touch.
Just a lovely mannequin put out for all the boys to see.
I'm not real, just a fake pretty doll.
How nice.
Glad that I am just plastic and metal.
Cold metal with pretty clothes and a pretty face. Current Mood:  aggravated Current Music: Diva Lady * * * * The Divine Comedy |
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I waited in the parking lot
Shivered in the cold
Waited at the time that
I had been told
That curly black hair
Slowly fading to white
We haven't hugged in months
Mother, daughter, unite
Just a day together
See how the other's changed
Smiles to show
Love to exchange
Just a day...
We laugh, we share
Stories, moments, memories
Wishing the other had been there
Back to the parking lot
We hug, we cry
It's time now, Mom
To say goodbye
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its a spell she spoke in her house made of gold
all too well i know her beauty that scolds
those who don't bow down to kiss her feet
i sway to and fro, head high but so discreet
i used to worship her for all she was
till i slipped and she turned hollow just because
i used to know her mind so well
now i cannot find the right words to tell
how great she is, she stands so tall
but i'm just the kid
who used to break her fall |
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Apologies: they seem as distant as the sun
in all the needs warmth can give
as your eyes draw farther away
from mine,
between the layers we love to hide
of who would ever be right
I feel a tug at my heart
of wanting to say sorry for all I've done
yet deep inside the pain I feel
I can't grasp such a step
when reality knows faults
is not what this is.
You kindle a spark
within my soul
something so deep
I don't even know it went off,
a piece of myself I never realized
you could see straight through
as if I was a culprit to a crime
you hold against me in those eyes,
a graceful smile can't even cover the lie
that something has been felt,
I see the cracked lines kindness
loves to open when there is
no other way.
And in my silence of recognition
that who I thought I was
is not even close to my own mark
I lose what is to feel and to be felt,
and all I know is to hide-
to fall away from the sky
as reality hits like a frozen wind
slashing at skin in mid-winter,
a cold unable to thaw faith
back into life.
These pieces we thought would connect,
have only broken each other down...
You found the part of me
that crawls into it self
before it dies,
and signals a whirlwind
of broken pieces
that pierce deeper and deeper
as time goes by,
the me that isn't me
but a stranger sitting
among thorns
with no idea they're even bleeding inside.
I've discovered a darkness so thick
that no matter how hard I tried
you could never understand;
the innocence faded as
the world dissipates again.
I have lost in this actuality
where strength isn't existent
but painted in white,
so lovely that my blackened soul
can't touch it
without tarnishing hope,
and this is where
apologies would flow,
but there are no words,
nothing left in this soul.
I lay in a field of grasses
in the middle of a place
where nothing can be found
and nothing is ever replaced,
the cold numbing
what I can't hold
inside this chest anymore,
feeling as if I finally escaped
as the world around me spins
then fades...
-MM-11/27/09 |
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If, 2009
If you can keep your job while all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can keep a nest egg when all men suspect you
But make allowance in case that one is discovered too,
If you can make one heap of other peoples' savings
And risk it all in one turn of pitch and toss,
And lose it, (but keep your bonus), despite the crowd's ravings
And avoid the sack and dodge your gamble's loss
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds worth of being a w**ker
Yours is an advisory post and all that comes with it
And - which is more - you'll be an investment banker! |
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Hey, I'm leading a workshop for teen writers, and I've been trying to come up with a list of publications that focus on young poets -- generally, people 25 or under, although more specific ones (13 to 19, high school students only) would be great as well.
Do you guys know of any submissions-based journals, either online or in print, that meet these specifications? So far, I've found a couple, but they seem to be Canadian, and the group I'm working with is all American. (New York City, if that makes a difference.)
Any suggestions you guys have would be great -- these kids are really eager, and I want to show them that there are publication resources for people their age, too! |
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6 more
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Nov. 27th, 2009 @ 05:10 pm
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Ben said,
"Well, you will be missed."
You will be missed my friend.
Even though I wasn't paying attention,
I know I witnessed every move you made.
And though I don't understand you at all,
I know exactly what you want.
And so you're leaving?
I didn't notice you packing bags
and giving things away.
I didn't hear your months of farewells,
or know that you had things lined up,
and in a row.
And so you're leaving.
Well, you will be missed.
You will be missed my friend.
An(n)ex
I didn't fall for your expiable charisma
I didn't fall for your broken bits and your lower case letters.
I didn't fall for your handle, or your handle on me.
I didn't fall for your insincerities and manipulations.
I didn't fall for your false modesty.
I didn't fall for your masked indifference.
I didn't fall for your bleeding heart.
I didn't fall for your insatiable stomach.
I didn't fall for that amber glint in your eye.
I didn't fall for that story you always tell.
I didn't fall for that line you pull.
I didn't fall for that.
I fell for you.
Evelyn
Why such an angry child?
The truth has found you--why must you hide from it--while
Beneath the billowing memories of your afternoon bed
You toss and turn and bump your foolish head
Why such a silly Eve?
Turning to spite, turning to leave
To run away with Failure; your oldest friend
He will soon age that pretty face instead
The Writer
Poised, you sit at your desk.
It's 9 am.
Isn't it time for your scheduled contemplation?
By 9:30 you are inspired,
By 10 it's time for tea.
No need for spontaneity, only dollar signs.
No need for spoons, only sugar.
With your education bookended between two Elizabeths,
you swallow your desperation,
you strike through your ruddy unconscious,
and you again choose a life of obscurity.
Pennsylvania
You picked at me like dirt beneath your nails.
You cut at me like a backhoe in the soil.
You pushed and pulled my growth like a rusty mower.
You screamed like a wild animal.
You kicked like an angry child.
But you were none of these things.
You are what holds them all together.
You are the rail that runs through you.
You're just a beautiful, frail, steely thing.
Like a distant, selfish lover.
Boats
When lips part, why do we?
Words become too much trouble.
When will they fall, instead of just hanging there, in the air?
When seas part?
Why do we?
Boats become too full and heavy to float.
But they never sink,
They just splinter apart. |
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She struck up a familiar tune
Boldly on my heartstrings
The hands were different,
New and strange
She played in unfamiliar ways
But I recognized the prelude
And I knew what was to come
As the first chord sang out in time
I knew she was the one.
( ......... ) |
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У ailev шикарное предложение по внесению в Конституцию РФ второй поправки:
"данная Конституция обязательна к исполнению"
Я давно не видел столь здравых нормотворческих инициатив. Осталось найти тех, кто эту поправку внесет в Федеральное Собрание. |
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He once told me
The saddest part of a beer
Is the end
I've seen anger in his eyes
Down to his bruised knuckles
From a fight he didn't start
I've seen tears in his eyes
Only once
When his daddy died
I've seen hurt in his eyes
Many times, I've seen blood
But he won't dare submit to pain
I've seen pleasure in his eyes
And happiness
Though it seems a thousand miles past
I've seen confusion, compassion
My hands in his
My heart for the taking
I've seen heartbreak in his eyes
And I know
He's seen it in mine
He once told me
The saddest part of a beer
Is the end
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Nov. 27th, 2009 @ 02:00 pm
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Hi all. I am getting married December 12th, and have not been able to find someone to do our hair at a reasonable rate. I am getting married at 10am, so the person would have to travel to our hotel (Courtyard by Marriott in Penfield) early Saturday morning. This will be for myself and three bridesmaids.
If you know of anyone willing to do this for ~$150 or less, please contact me!! |
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Пироженко обнародовал документы ФАС, которые прежде публично не обсуждались :
http://alex-pirojenko.livejournal.com/10013.html |
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