i miss you :(
Jokes of the day
Two men on safari...one who is somewhat unkempt and a bit stinky says to the other..."look at those Hippos, aren't they such dirty fuckers, lying in dirt all day"......the other guy says...."well, aren't you being a bit hypocritical"
I made a Chicken salad the other day....the ungrateful little bastard didn't eat it though
And if i were to see her not.
No sight i see could compare to the beauty of my thought.
Shake dreams from your hair
my pretty child, my sweet one.
Choose the day and choose the sign of your day
the day's divinity
First thing you see
~Jim Morrison Ghost Song~
*Echoes* Pink Floyd
Overhead the albatross hangs motionless upon the air
And deep beneath the rolling waves
In labyrinths of coral caves
The echo of a distant time
Comes willowing across the sand
And everything is green and submarine
And no-one showed us to the land
And no-one knows the where or whys
But something stirs and something tries
And starts to climb towards the light
Strangers passing in the street
By chance two separate glances meet
And I am you and what I see is me
And do I take you by the hand
And lead you through the land
And help me understand the best I can
And no-one calls us to move on
And no-one forces down our eyes
And no-one speaks and no-one tries
And no-one flies around the sun
Cloudless everyday you fall upon my waking eyes
Inviting and inciting me to rise
And through the window in the wall
Come streaming in on sunlight wings
A million bright ambassadors of morning
And no-one sings me lullabies
And no-one makes me close my eyes
And so I throw the windows wide
And call to you across the sky
Thou shalt not mix Gammon with Pineapple, to do so will incur the full wrath of the Ham-God
Thou shalt not prick holes in thine sausages, it is sheer vulgarity and foolhardiness.
Thou must observe the day of feasting on nuts, bring all of your Squirrel friends to the party.
Thou must obey the rules in thine temple of cheese, whilst eating Stilton no butter shall be on thine crackers
Thou must observe the strict guidelines for making a cup of tea, thine milk enters thine drinking receptacle last.
Thou shalt not eat grapes on a Friday afternoon at 4PM, anyone caught doing so shall be covered in jam.
Thou shalt never eat Mustard, it is forbidden in this land of Domesticated primates.
Thou shalt never mix beans with brown sauce, this is a moral outrage and extremely evil.
Thou shallt see to it that only fine looking maids shall be allowed to milk thine cows. No ugly wenches can be permitted to squeeze udders.
Thou shalt vehemently condemn anyone caught disposing of a chickenleg on a full moon. They must be punished by 15 slaps to the face with a wet cod.
The Poet as was his custom liked to take long walks in the late summer afternoons. He would wander with his mind, his imagination reflecting on what sights came before him. Veering off the beaten track, his trail would often take him high above the valley where he would sit and dream, looking down upon the suburb and the plain concerns of ordinary life, and listening, the sounds of the day, a dog barking in the distance, children playing, the low hum of a lawnmower eating up the grass.
The forest was always his ultimate destination on these walks, it's quietude and stillness inspiring to his inner vision. He had discovered an ancient Oak, it's gnarled wood and opulant canopy, acorns scattered. This tree had been here for at least five-hundred years, many lives had come and gone, many wars fought, generation upon generation of seasons, ever-dying and ever-returning
Within it's thick bark he could see inscriptions, where people had carved their initials. Many names now forgotten. There was a heart inscribed, within it there were two names and a date. Their lives and dreams had long passed but he could imagine their souls forever entwined as the roots of the mighty Oak.
He sat and he listened, all he could hear within the forest, this temple of nature, were the calls of birds, the Wood-Pigeon, the Crow...and the soft breeze as it blew gracefully through the trees. Within the breeze he like to imagine were the spirits of the forest, and if he listened closely enough to their whispering he could hear such secrets spoken of, the arcana of natures riddle, the eternal runes, the great mystery.
He opened his eyes. He blinked. All around him, and descending slowly and sofly to the forest floor there were thousands of Rose-petals. And with his startled senses ablaze with wonder he could also hear faintly in the distance the sound of Pipes, ephemeral with infinite melody.
And now he could see her through the sea of petals, she seemed to glide elegantly toward him, her feet treading on the soft forest floor now layered thinly with red.
She held in each hand a bird, in her left a Raven and in her right a Dove. Before she had reached where he sat she raised her hand and the birds flew.
And she smiled. Her eyes, warm and gentle and they looked to him. As she got nearer he felt such a peace, he was at home. Although he didn't know her name he had always known her.
She leaned forward to him and kissed him, then she whispered in his ear. And now at last he knew. He knew the answer to all the questions posed on every mouth. He had awoken.
He opened his eyes.........
Passing through the silence of the sombre night,
Seeking, yearning with wings of hope
Dreaming angels in blissful flight
Gathering health for the birth of dawn.
And echoes the past remaining to allure
In sound such gods we become as all
The wind carries the haunting tune so pure
To cast such longing before the fall.
Quotes Concerning music
Music is the poetry of the air. ~Richter
There is nothing in the world so much like prayer as music is. ~William P. Merrill
Music is the mediator between the spiritual and the sensual life. ~Ludwig van Beethoven
Music is the wine which inspires one to new generative processes, and I am Bacchus who presses out this glorious wine for mankind and makes them spiritually drunken. ~Ludwig van Beethoven
The notes I handle no better than many pianists. But the pauses between the notes - ah, that is where the art resides! ~Artur Schnabel
Music is well said to be the speech of angels. ~Thomas Carlyle, Essays, "The Opera"
A painter paints pictures on canvas. But musicians paint their pictures on silence. ~Leopold Stokowski
All deep things are song. It seems somehow the very central essence of us, song; as if all the rest were but wrappages and hulls! ~Thomas Carlyle
"A few Of The Things I Know About Her" by Robert Anton Wilson
i know that she forever grows more loveable as i understand her better;
And that she forever grows more understandable as i love her better.
I know that she is incarnate, a living prescence, Anna Livia Plurabella, in every living creature of us, including the peple i can't stand; Which shows her incredible humility and her fantastic sense of humour.
I know that she has time and time again ravished me entirely with her beauty, so she is the supreme artist; And i know that she forever transcends my understanding, so she is the supreme intelligence.
I know that she inspires the bard who sings to me, and that he is her priest; And that i am only the local transmitter through which he broadcasts his eternal adoration for her.
And i know that i adore her, my Babalon!
I adore her, my dark-eyed Nu!
I know that it is the supreme glory of my life that she has manifested herself to me, sometimes for hours on end, once even for two weeks; But she has manifested herself most truly in those brief moments when i have been annihilated entirely in her.
I know that i can love her best through one woman, but there are other paths for other lovers of her.
I know that although she seems fickle and arbitrary at times, she is only so in my narrow egotistic view of things at the moment, and that i have understood her, and loved her best in those moments when i accepted her total perfection without question.
I know that she is my compliment, my other self; And that she is a ll the fiery intoxication that draws me out of my narrow self into eternal striving towards her perfection.
And i know that i adore her, my Babalon!
I adore her, my lion-lioned Nu!
I know that i only know a few things about her now, but i am lucky beyond belief, for once i knew nothing about her.
I know that she loves me with as fierce a passion as i love her. But she is sometimes promiscuous and loves all her lovers that way.
i know that she is in the stars and in beetween them, and in every sentient mind.
I know that all her lovers go mad, by the judgement of this world, but this is flase, for it is the world that is mad, and deranged, and besotted in grief. Because it does not know her.
And i know that i adore her, my Babalon!
I adore her,my mother Nu!
I know that she is beyond metaphor, beyond speech, beyond thought. But she is radiantly sane and simple in her heart.
I know that she is happiest of all, because she loves all; And she is wisest, because she is drunken in her ecstasy of creation.
I know that she is in the dance, because she is dance.
She is in the movement of the stars, and in the astronomers equations, for she is the mother, not the daughter of order.
I know that she is feared and comes as the nightmare into the minds of all those who are without love; But she is forever gracious to those who sing to her, and cry out to her, and moan to her, and repeat endlessly in their hearts;
I know that i adore her, my Babalon!
I adore her, my soft-fleshed Nu!
I know that even though my heart may sing with the ecstasy of her, and my brain whirl with the mystery of her, one part of me will live in misery forever until i am entirely lost in her.
I know that even though my heart may sink with despair , and my brain stop with confusion, one part of me will be joyfully understanding forever, because i am not truly seperate from her.
I know that she is beyond intelligence, beyond emotion, beyond intuition; I know that she is drawing me beyond intelligence, beyond emotion, beyond intuition.
I know that i am enslaved and enraptured and destroyed by her again and again and again, until my words die in my throat and i can only moan as i try to repeat.
I adore her, my Babalon!
i adore her, my hot-tongued Nu!
The poet through his eyes sees the beauty of the rose, such charms are his words to invoke and to compose.
The musician through his ears hears the celestial harmony, yearning for the eternal utopian melody.
The clown through his wit sees the worlds delusion. telling jokes of sweet absurdity to mirror it's confusion.
The magician through his spell casts a glamorous enchantment, raising lead to gold with sacred exactement.
The sceptic through his doubt kills all gods and superstition, but ever suspecting his ultimate contrition.
The believer through his faith is redeemed and absolved of sin, but perhaps to forever envy the merriment of the inn.
The child through his naivety and innocent mind, perceives of reality pure without cynical blinds.
The lover through his love transcends all time and space, seeking bliss in the other and the splendour of her face.
The man through his strength beholds all and is secure, jovial and patient with grand candour.
All life is vampiric,
And i embrace it's reward
Storms the ocean within,
My bloods tide, seeks it's accord.
And still, in contemplation
But yet in deep allure
To all natures garden
The exotic sacre fluer
My solace is contained,
All art, music and dream
The dance of the stars within
The immortal refrain
The glory concealed
In esoteric bliss
We one and all laugh, weep and love
Suffer life and it's bitter sweet kiss
To rearrange the stars, to form patterns
To seek meaning from a shout in the street,
A sign in a doorway an augury,
Two strangers ever fated to meet.
Reality rapturous in isomorphic
displays of hidden design
An epiphany in a random word
The ultimate truth to divine
All is in potential, undiscovered, untrodden
And measurement relatively read
All that has been returns ad infinitum
Past, present, history forever bled
To convey and to know
the sacred, the geometric
Angels speaking in tongues
The ultimate aesthetic.
The gang of chimneys smoked,
They puffed, they gasped, they wheezed.
And whenever a fire was lit,
One of them always sneezed.
The Woe Of Gerald
Gerald the forlorn Snail,
Was always spinning rather fishy tales
Of his daring deeds at the Olympics of yore
How he would run and jump and how he would score.
His friends all thought he was sad,
To tell such lies, he must be mad
But Gerald knew better
He was a boxer and a sprinter
And not just a little snails dad.
So one day he decided, he would prove his worth so confided,
in his best friend Bobby the Slug
"I'm a proud snail not a liar, and those others so dire,
Shall cease to be ever so smug.
I will run, i will fight.
And i will take great delight,
In proving my worth to the crowd"
So he took his position,
Desiring praise and contrition
To fight the good snails fight
His shell was all steady,
And his antenna was ready
But then he got a shock and a fright.
A man giant stepped near
And to Gerald it was clear,
That this giant was in a hurry
So our snail tried to move.
but his shell was in a groove
And he really started to worry.
He tried and he tried,
but alas to no avail
He just could not move from where he was at.
So it all was in vain,
When all of a sudden it came,
The sound of a crunch and a splat...
All that you are,
All you will ever, could ever be,
All that you love,
All that you hate,
Every dream you have,
Every tear you shed,
Every moment of fear,
All of your potential,
All of your desire,
All of your regret,
All your hope,
All of these will surrender to time, but will be reflected in eternity.
Appearance, Reality and Theory