I hate to see you
When you're falling apart
Can't you start over, again?
Elizabeth crumbles
Alone in her chair
Keeps her windows shut
To keep out the air
Elizabeth crumbles
Alone in her bed
Spends all her pastime
Mulled in her dread
What keeps her living
Is her fear of being
Anywhere other than here
So they’ll feed her too much
Or it’s never enough,
Then it's fuck you
“Get the hell out of here!"
Elizabeth stumbles
Over everything I've said
Pining words are useless
Pushed round in her head
The mystery was my bravery
I never knew what I'd get
Will it be her fear or regret?
Her confusion my denial?
Walked her shoes a while
Now she can’t turn back
So she said then she’ll stay
And I will walk away
Elizabeth mumbles
Over and over my name
Forgetting tomorrow
Will never be the same
She’s repeating her beating
Did you bring her a drink?
Why are you leaving?
What the hell do you think?
That she’ll fuck you
To get the hell out of here
Elizabeth tumbles
Out onto the floor
With an abandon of reason
It is herself abhorred
She sat alone in her room
Pouring over her gloom
Never got out of her chair
And they don't even care
Now that they’ve all receded
Into the ground or fleeted
To the wormholes
And woodwork back there
You'll find repair
Where that memory
Becomes illusory
Look, again?
p.s. in the end it is what you think you will get.
When you're falling apart
Can't you start over, again?
Elizabeth crumbles
Alone in her chair
Keeps her windows shut
To keep out the air
Elizabeth crumbles
Alone in her bed
Spends all her pastime
Mulled in her dread
What keeps her living
Is her fear of being
Anywhere other than here
So they’ll feed her too much
Or it’s never enough,
Then it's fuck you
“Get the hell out of here!"
Elizabeth stumbles
Over everything I've said
Pining words are useless
Pushed round in her head
The mystery was my bravery
I never knew what I'd get
Will it be her fear or regret?
Her confusion my denial?
Walked her shoes a while
Now she can’t turn back
So she said then she’ll stay
And I will walk away
Elizabeth mumbles
Over and over my name
Forgetting tomorrow
Will never be the same
She’s repeating her beating
Did you bring her a drink?
Why are you leaving?
What the hell do you think?
That she’ll fuck you
To get the hell out of here
Elizabeth tumbles
Out onto the floor
With an abandon of reason
It is herself abhorred
She sat alone in her room
Pouring over her gloom
Never got out of her chair
And they don't even care
Now that they’ve all receded
Into the ground or fleeted
To the wormholes
And woodwork back there
You'll find repair
Where that memory
Becomes illusory
Look, again?
p.s. in the end it is what you think you will get.
6,531 comments:
«Oldest ‹Older 3201 – 3400 of 6531 Newer› Newest»Next day Blacky had to go into the neighboring town to do some marketing and to buy a big kettle. As he was walking home with it slung over his shoulder, he heard a sound of steps stealthily creeping after him. For a moment his heart stood still with fear, and then a happy thought came to him. He had just reached the top of a hill, and could see his own little house nestling at the foot of it among the trees. In a moment he had snatched the lid off the kettle and had jumped in himself. Coiling himself round, he lay quite snug in the bottom of the kettle, while with his foreleg he managed to put the lid on, so that he was entirely hidden. With a little kick from the inside, he started the kettle off, and down the hill it rolled full tilt. And when the fox came up, all that he saw was a large black kettle spinning over the ground at a great pace. Very much disappointed, he was just going to turn away, when he saw the kettle stop close to the little brick house, and a moment later, Blacky jumped out of it and escaped with the kettle into the housed, when he barred and bolted the door, and put the shutter up over the window.
"Oho!" exclaimed the fox to himself. "You think you will escape me that way, do you? We shall soon see about that, my friend." And very quietly and stealthily he prowled round the house looking for some way to climb onto the roof.
In the meantime Blacky had filled the kettle with water, and having put it on the fire, sat down quietly waiting for it to boil. Just as the kettle was beginning to sing, and steam to come out of the spout, he heard a sound like a soft, muffled step, patter, patter, patter overhead, and the next moment the fox's head and forepaws were seen coming down the chimney. But Blacky very wisely had not put the lid on the kettle, and, with a yelp of pain, the fox fell into the boiling water, and before he could escape, Blacky had popped the lid on, and the fox was scalded to death.
As soon as he was sure that their wicked enemy was really dead, and could do them no further harm, Blacky started off to rescue Browny and Whitey. As he approached the den he heard piteous grunts and squeals from his poor little brother and sister who lived in constant terror of the fox killing and eating them. But when they saw Blacky appear at the entrance to the den, their joy knew no bounds. He quickly found a sharp stone and cut the cords by which they were tied to a stake in the ground, and then all three started off together for Blacky's house, where they lived happily ever after. And Browny quite gave up rolling in the mud, and Whitey ceased to be greedy, for they never forgot how nearly these faults had brought them to an untimely end.
* Source: Andrew Lang, The Green Fairy Book, 7th impression (London: Longmans, Green, and Company, 1906), pp. 100-105. This book first appeared ca. 1892.
Storytime is over. Nap time!
Bye Elena.
I really loved this telling of the classic.
thanks for the story, Anon. Have a nice nap. Wish I could take one too.
And god bless Nap Time Folky anon! Thank the damn maker...It's been a day! And it's only half way there. Help. And ya have awesome timing dear! We made flying pigs today. Pink, plump, feathered and happy (not to meantion cardboard and without real problems) -just the way to be! ;p Thanks for the awesome story! Totally cool that one!
Thanks to the anon(s?) dropping all the poetry and quotes too. It's all lovely, truly. Thank you for sharing it here.
Saintly, I haven't forgot ya. I promise. Will try to mail you later tonight. (I'm working now...Really! ;p) Are you doing good loves? I miss ya! I do promise to catch you later, I do! I do!! (Believe in fairies? Blog Believe has fairies yea? So who's a fairy and who's an imp? Or is there really a difference..)
And anon.
I don't know what I did, but I appear to have gotten under your skin in a bad way. I apologize for that. If you want to talk privately about whatever it is that I have offended you with, please drop me a note or mail me. I don't understand this. And I don't want to believe that anyone could feel the way you say you do, about touch being the only true affection. You are heartbreaking anon.
And 7:03, thank you. I appreciate your words. I am doing my best here. But I am what I am, yea? ;p
Ergo, I do. But thank you anyway loves.<3
So Mayo, are you a fairy or an imp? (I'm curious, what can I say.) Or by chance are you pink and feathered? I think I prefer the latter myself. Nobody believes they can actually fly. People are so ignorant sometimes. ;p
Alrighty, you guys all be well. NOT coming back in for now, can't even sign in! Thinkin of ya crazies, love to you!
<33
So that made me think of a story I used to read to the girls when they were little. It's titled "True Story of the Three Little Pigs."
Hope I don't bother anyone but it seems pretty quiet right now so.....
THIS IS THE REAL STORY.
Way back in Once Upon a Time time, I was making a birthday cake for my dear old granny. I had a terrible sneezing cold. I ran out of sugar. So I walked down the street to ask my neighbor for a cup of sugar. Now this neighbor was a pig. And he wasn't too bright either. He had built his whole house out of straw. Can you believe it? I mean who in his right mind would build a house of straw? So of course the minute I knocked on the door, it fell right in. I didn't want to just walk into someone else's house. So I called, "Little Pig, Little Pig, are you in?" No answer. I was just about to go home without the cup of sugar for my dear old granny's birthday cake.
That's when my nose started to itch. I felt a sneeze coming on. Well I huffed. And I snuffed. And I sneezed a great sneeze.
And you know what? The whole darn straw house fell down. And right in the middle of the pile of straw was the First Little Pig - dead as a doornail. He had been home the whole time. It seemed like a shame to leave a perfectly good ham dinner lying there in the straw. So I ate it up. Think of it as a cheeseburger just lying there. I was feeling a little better. But I still didn't have my cup of sugar . So I went to the next neighbor's house. This neighbor was the First Little Pig's brother. He was a little smarter, but not much. He has built his house of sticks. I rang the bell on the stick house. Nobody answered. I called, "Mr. Pig, Mr. Pig, are you in?" He yelled back."Go away wolf. You can't come in. I'm shaving the hairs on my shinny chin chin."
I had just grabbed the doorknob when I felt another sneeze coming on. I huffed. And I snuffed. And I tried to cover my mouth, but I sneezed a great sneeze.
And you are not going to believe this, but the guy's house fell down just like his brother's. When the dust cleared, there was the Second Little Pig - dead as a doornail. Wolf's honor. Now you know food will spoil if you just leave it out in the open. So I did the only thing there was to do. I had dinner again. Think of it as a second helping. I was getting awfully full. But my cold was feeling a little better. And I still didn't have that cup of sugarr for my dear old granny's birthday cake. So I went to the next house. This guy was the First and Second Little Pig's brother. He must have been the brains of the family. He had built his house of bricks. I knocked on the brick house. No answer. I called, "Mr Pig, Mr. Pig, are you in?" And do you know what that rude little porker answered? "Get out of here, Wolf. Don't bother me again."
Talk about impolite! He probably had a whole sackful of sugar. And he wouldn't give me even one little cup for my dear sweet old granny's birthday cake. What a pig!
I was just about to go home and maybe make a nice birthday card instead of a cake, when I felt my cold coming on. I huffed And I snuffed. And I sneezed once again.
Then the Third Little Pig yelled, " And your old granny can sit on a pin!" Now I'm usually a pretty calm fellow. But when somebody talks about my granny like that, I go a Little crazy. When the cops drove up, of course I was trying to break down this Pig's door. And the whole time I was huffing and puffing and sneezing and making a real scene.
The rest as they say is history.
The news reporters found out about the two pigs I had for dinner. They figured a sick guy going to borrow a cup of sugar didn't sound very exciting.
So they jazzed up the story with all of that "Huff and puff and blow your house down"
And they made me the Big Bad Wolf. That's it The real story. I was framed. "
LIBERATE THE INNOCENT! FREE THE WOLF! DOWN WITH FALSE GOVERNMENT DRIVEN PERSECUTION!!
Er, ok, really going back to work now... Thanks Elena! Love it! ;p (and ya!) <33
Hey Lewis I didn't see you there. Sent you an e-mail. Give me a shout when you can.
Anonymous said...
i do fuck...but not by myself. thanks for the thought anyway. and, it does belong in the past.
May 28, 2009 9:28 AM
And, you fail. Did it make you feel good writing that? Bet it did.
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
Shel Silverstein
Perhaps theWorld Ends Here
by Joy Harjo
The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.
We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.
It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.
At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.
Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.
This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.
Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.
We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.
At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.
Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.
Oh anon I love Shel Silverstein. He was so talented. That is one of my favorites, thanks for posting it.
Now it's time for me to head for home.
Take care, everyone.
HERE BE DRAGONS
Serpentine, the spinal cord from mountains in the north
on an unrolled scroll curled at the corners,
crags drawn like a blade across the throat, headwaters
decapitated by the top of the map. In the lower left
a polder, portals walled from the world—
afraid of fabricated borderlines, elders chart
bloodstreams along the dots in order,
farmers versus berserkers with reptilian
scale armor. Compass points tattooed on skin outgrown
nightly at the tavern as travelers warn
of wyrm caverns and ruins in the parchment desert.
The lone road in the entire empire slithers its lies
underfoot, its grid of brick twisted through treemen,
rooted and grumbling, who walked as children,
through keyholes without tower doors,
through legends without wings. Only room for one
quarter of a continent in this cartography—urchin, unearth
each territory on the periphery to sketch unnamed
distant geography and flames outside the frame.
© by Steven D. Schroeder
LAST COMMENT! I mean it!
I got it Saintly, I have to stay late tonight to set up for grad celebration tomorrow. We have shit everywhere, trying to orgazine and start packing. But I will try my hardest to mail you either late tonight or late tomorrow. I'm required to attend tomorrow as well...so no touchy the comp. I know. I'm sad about it too... :( But I got ya, no worries.
Uh, 4:41 -not me surely? Just to be clear! Only anon-ISH today as am at work and cannot sign in. (And shouldn't be hidding in one of my happy places...);p
And Shel! So awesome to see ya buddy! I so have chalk for you! And I am totally game for an adventure where the sidewalk ends! ;p
You guys be good! No time outs for you! But possibly one for me if I don't get my ass out of here and back to work! :( Love to ya guys! <33
(*Really, swear, no more comments from me NSI!! Bye!)
Hiya everyone, how are you all?
Thanks Miranth for your get well wishes.
I'm not staying tonight as I'm knackered. Bad sleep last night, I could hear mum's snoring through two doors, what's that all about?
I hope you all have a fantastic weekend.
xxxxxx
good morning!!!
hi anons, elena, lewis missT
love the 3 little pig stories, the traditional and the "I was framed!!"
looks like Cat has decided to stay, he's looking at me through the window
I see. So as long as it doesn't bother Amyranth and her friends, anything goes.
I'm so proud of you. :)
How are the fish biting 5:31? Looks like you should call it night and use the bait to make a sammich for dinner.
If you're so proud of him 6:29 tell him to get on with his life and stop this nonsense.
Come again?
*shrugs*
Bloody Hell!!
A girl can't even defrag her computer without getting naughty suggestions from a certain WENDY.
*huffs*
hi amy
well I should probably take a smidge of the blame for that lol
Hallo Ergo!
The blind leading the blind, eh? ;)
How did it go today?
brb, shoppin.
ok
it's good I have been for a nice 4km walk and am now doing a workout which is on tv
it's a stretching thing
and Cat is still here, very comfortably lying on an outside chair
I do wonder how Amyranth feels about all the poetry though. Is it "derailing" her anymore?
gotta go blog, I'm off for the afternoon. take care everyone
xx
*runs back in*
Bye Ergo! Talk to you later!
So how do you feel about the poetry Amyranth? Is it "derailing" you or is it OK with you because it's not posted by people you hate?
Are they allowed to continue?
"LOOOOOOOO-CY! I'm HO-OME!"
But is anybody else? Helloo? Any folks out in the ether?
I'm here but I don't count.
Hmm. There doesn't seem to be anyone here right now.
So, I'll go ahead and say this:
Congratulations to Gerard and Lindsey on the birth of their daughter! I'm sure there's a story behind the name...should be interesting to know. :)
Hello, Anon! You count, too. How's it going?
Well, as, um, interesting *coughboringcough* as it is talking to myself, I guess I'll go and read or something. Goodnight to any who stop by later.
Goodnight Mayo, be good.
Goodnight SS, hope you're doing alright and staying out of trouble. Two authors to recommend to you: Andrew Vachss, Greg Rucka. Distinctive writing styles from both men. You might like them. Love you, Precious.
xo
oh fooey! i missed j. :(
and ergo's off gallivanting around, amyranth is forcefeeding her father sushi, elena is probably lurking...
*wanders around the room aimlessly*
*picks up the andrew lang book left by the anon*
ooh! i haven't read this one in about forever!
*curls up on the couch, feet tucked under*
*flips through the book*
man, i love h.j.ford. what a great illustrator...
*starts to read*
ass turd monkeyfucker! What movie did I watch tonight?
TJJJJJJJJJJJ....Read to me please...
:)
*looks up*
i have no idea, but something makes me want to guess one of jay and silent bob's films?
aawww, anon, how can i say no?
:)
"The Training of Melanie"
Don't you remember..
Didn't miss much, It was a sleeper.
OK...Let me get under the covers.
OK..
I hope there a princess..oh and a giant. ;)
the title doesn't ring a bell...
so what shall i read? let's see...
I kinda like this un...
Rock me sexy Jesus?
Bandit Lee. Really?
HAS to be a joke.
It will be, for sure.
ooh, that is a good one, 11:45. one of the best!
there's lots of good stories, it's really difficult to pick just one...all those brave scullery maids and honest youngest sons, talking bears and enchanted sewing needles, glass mountains and holes in the ground that go to cottages that walk by themselves...
and those sound great..
well, umm...
should i tell you a story?
It's more the Lee Way part I have a problem with. A pun built into your kid's name?
alright, i'll tell you a story.
the moon is a smiling woman. she has always been so, or so the people of the earth believe, because they have always looked up to see her round peaceful face in the night sky. but what no one knows is that the moon gazes down upon the land and smiles because she has a secret.
the moon is an adventurer. she watches over us for part of the year, but every once in awhile she sneaks off, slips away in the darkness like a lover. she travels far in a very short while, for her feet are swift. she runs from star to star, tiptoe on the points of the constellations, from the big dipper to orion's belt to cassiopia's hair, until she is at the very back of the night.
there is a door there, darker than dark, a door made of shadows, a door you could look for forever but never find because no stars glow nearby. they keep her secret for her, they hide the door of the moon's house.
when she arrives there, she opens her mouth, the mouth we only see as a gentle invisible smile, and takes out from under her tongue a key. it is small, and doesn't look like much. it's just a tiny, stone key, but it fits into the lock of the door neatly, and opens the lock without a sound. the moon pushes open the door only a sliver, and slips inside, then closes it firmly behind her.
she is gone from the night sky. it is dark and silent when the moon runs away to her house.
what does she do there, behind her door? does she sing songs shyly, does she dance, does she pretend to be the sun, mimicking his rolling gait across the sky?
i'll tell you what she does there, because i was told by a little jack-in-the-green, who made bold by his curiosity grabbed hold of the moon once, and swung himself silently up from the treetops to where she hung in the sky. he hung on to the hem of her skirt, and so small was he that he remained undetected by the moon. he was jostled and jolted by her path across the sky, but prised open the seam and made a pocket in which to ride safely. it was he who told me of the door, which he but saw for a moment when he peeked out from behind the loose stitches, and it was he who told me of the moon's habits when behind her dark, dark door.
the moon's house is made of dark glass, like the back of a mirror seen through from the front. there is a shimmer over everything, a glistening shine on the grate at the fire, a gloamy glow on the high-backed chair at the table, a glimmering hum on the frames of the pictures on the walls.
and in the very center of the house, there is a well.
it is made out of black stones, all sleeping and quiet. when the moon is in her house, when she closes the door firmly behind her and is alone, she goes to the well in the center of her house. it is a deep well, so deep that when she sits herself on the edge and allows her feet to dangle within, allows her legs to straighten and follow her feet, allows her arms to straighten and then let go of the stones of the well, she disappears utterly. the well is so deep, it swallows even the glow of the moon's face.
the jack-in-the-green is a quick fellow, i have seen this for myself, and he nimbly freed himslef from the hem of her skirts before they ever touched the water in the well. he sat himself on the edge of the well and watched the moon slide down, drop into the water like a glowing stone, little bubbles of light tracing her descent.
it was very dark when she disappeared.
it was very dark for a long time. then, just when the jack-in-the-green was beginning to wonder what the moon might have to nibble upon in the closets of her kitchen, and if that was truly a glass horse up on the mantel, and if that beaded box on the floor by chair might have a peppermint or a licorice in it, he heard a sigh. it was a humming sort of sigh, and it made him sigh in response, in a summer-afternoon-laying-in-a-sunbeam sort of way.
the sigh came from the well, or from underneath it, and it rose toward the jack-in-the-green. the sigh met him as he sat there, and smoothed his hair back from his grubby face, and when he opened his eyes, the moon was in front of him, resting her smiling face on her arms, which in turn were folded on the edge of the well.
she came out of the well, and stoked the fire in the grate. she dipped a silver kettle into the well, and set it to heat, then made a little seat by the fire (but not too near to the fire) out of some folded dishcloths for the jack-in-the-green. he made himself comfortable, crossing his legs beneath him and watching the moon. she went into the kitchen and back, into the kitchen and back, and soon had a fine lunch placed in front of them both, of tea and toast and trumpetvine jelly and both the peppermint and the licorice from out of the beaded box.
once it was all ate up, the moon put all the things away again, and emptied the kettle back into the well. she beckoned to the jack-in-the-green. he went to her as quickly as he could, which was no longer all so very quickly, so full was he. but he reached the moon at last, and she took him gently and placed him in the pocket of her gown, pulling the drawstrings closed lest he fall on the return to the earth.
he heard the door open, and close again, and though the key made no sound, there a silent space in which he imagined the moon must have surely relocked the dark door to her house. then there was nothing but the speed and swift spears of starlight as the moon raced back to us, the people on the earth.
but the whole time the jack-in-the-green had been eating the toast the moon had made, and had sipped the tea she had steeped, and sucked the peppermint she had handed him, he watched her. she was a curiosity. she was brighter, perhaps, or maybe a different color than before. more silver, perhaps, or more golden? the jack-in-the-green looked at her and looked at her, but he wasn't sure what it was that was catching at it his eye. was she smiling more, or less? was there a glint in her eye that hadn't been there before? did she hum more often, or was she more silent?
she was different and she was the same, and though the jack-in-the-green looked and thought, he could not say for sure whether the moon was the same moon with whom he had stole a ride to the house behind the night.
and he never did say why it was she smiled at us from the sky.
there.
there's your story, and now it is bedtime, for me if not for you. :)
thank you, anon, and sweet dreams.
I don't know what I did, but I appear to have gotten under your skin in a bad way. I apologize for that. If you want to talk privately about whatever it is that I have offended you with, please drop me a note or mail me. I don't understand this. And I don't want to believe that anyone could feel the way you say you do, about touch being the only true affection. You are heartbreaking anon. Why are you always so emotive? There is no problem. It's just what I believe. There is nothing heartbreaking about it.
mayo,
earlier tonight, i was feeling a bit lost. it wasn't a frantic feeling, it was gentle and drifty, like my heart was all socked in with fog.
i don't know why. i wasn't in despair, i wasn't all sharp, i was just somewhat lost. i can still feel it, just a little, but it isn't as close as it was.
never expected to tell a story tonight, didn't know i had that story in me, but i think it was a nice piece of medicine, one of the little bits of magic that seem to be found here on your blog, in this imaginary home.
so i thank you, too.
*grin*
good night, mayo.
Might I suggest a new imagery home? There are more colorful ones out there.
i have others, but this one is my favorite. thanks for the suggestion, though.
good night. :)
You have bad taste.
Thank you for the bedtime story TJ.
For the record I wasn't lurking tonight I just got here. Too much work and no play makes Elena a dull girl.
can't read my, can't read my,
no he can't read my Bandit face
and what a nice story it was TJ....Thank You....
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
(..shh, as quietly as possible, don't want to wake 2:28..)
(GOODNIGHT!)
(ahahahaha, I'm a shitmonkey. Sorry.) ;p
Alrighty. Well hell 1:09, if to you, my thinking that "Touch = Love" is a concept that rather blows, makes me officially Emo(tive) -then so be it. Excuse me while I rock my fringe yo. ;p I just believe that with that way of thinking you are going to miss out on things anon. That's all I was trying to say to you. Conversation, understanding others, pardon. I'll leave you to it now. Good luck to you, truly.
Which, Elena.. "Tickle Me Emo" -You remember? ;p And we must speak comics, very soon. Something is bugging me, I need backup.
Thank you for the story Tj! And not to worry, there are many of us with bad taste. (Just eat a skittle, it goes away!) ;p
Oh and Ergo! CAT is beautiful! He has such gorgeous eyes! Please keep him! Pleasepleasepleaseplease! I wish I could pet him! I miss little fuzzies. My big moosey dog just isn't the same as my old cats were! Thanks for the pic! (awwz)
You hangin in there Mayo? Hmm. (If I had a beard, I'd rub it. Which, eww. Sounds rank. So never fuckin mind that. Jesus.) Off to bed ladies, gents, anon's of undisclosed desire or intent! ;p Hope everyone, hostile or emotive is well! Nighty night! Loves<33
Hi and Bye Lewis. Sorry I missed you.
Yep, I remember.
Mayo
Today was a work, work, workday. Worked at the store and worked at home for hours on the Net. I’m tired, damn it. But tomorrow I’m not working. Well that’s not really quite true because I’m sure I’ll return home with a carload of books but that’s okay. I’m heading out to several estate sales and I always enjoy those. I like them because it gives you the opportunity to peek into someone else’s life. I like to walk through the house, look and all the items for sale and try to imagine the people that lived there. Sometimes by the time I’m through perusing each room I have a whole story inside my head about the previous occupants, what they were like, how they spent their free time, stuff like that. I have to say I’ve only had a few bad experiences going to these sales. I’ll tell you about one of them.
It was an estate sale in an older home. The house was large and well kept. On this particular day the hubby was with me. (he doesn’t go often) Anyway we split up because he always heads to the basement or garage looking for tools and well, guy things. I walked through the downstairs of the house then headed upstairs. At the top of the stairs is when it happened. I can’t really explain the feeling but I felt drawn to the first bedroom. It was large with few windows and at first I thought maybe the chill I felt was because of the lack of sunlight. But it was more than that. I stood in the room a minute then quickly turned and went down the hallway to the other bedrooms. Nothing seemed different about them. Finding nothing to purchase I went back downstairs and decided to look around a bit more. Soon I ran into hubby and asked him if he’s been upstairs. He gave me a strange look and said “The bedroom at the top of the stairs?” I nodded realizing he’d felt something too. Now I was curious and wanted to know more but let’s face it you just can’t go up to someone and ask why the bedroom upstairs feels creepy. But I just wanted to know. So we spent a bit more time looking around and I started paying more attention to the women who were running the sale. It didn’t take long for me to hear what I’d believed had happened. They were talking about the previous owner, Margaret, and how they thought the way she’d “passed in her sleep” had been a blessing. I listened a moment longer then went back upstairs. Walking into that bedroom again I looked around and knew I was in Margaret’s room. Nope, I had no proof but I can tell you I know it was her room and that she had died in that room. When we left the sale I told my hubby what I’d overheard. He nodded and said as soon as he’d walked into that room he’d felt something too. In a way I feel bad that the room bothered me. If, as they said, she had passed peacefully why was I getting that uncomfortable vibe? I’ll never know why I guess.
Okay that’s my long ass story for the night. Not sure why I shared it but I guess because from time to time I remember that house and that room. I guess in a way it haunts me.
So sleep is in order. I’ve got a full day planned for tomorrow. Hope you have a wonderful day whatever you do. Take care.
Night Mayo
Elena
adiós
Buenos dias
Cómo está? Qué hubo?
THE WHITE DOE
One day, as the king's huntsman was riding in the forest, he came to a
small pool. Fallen leaves covering its surface had given it the colour
of blood, and knee-deep in their midst stood a milk-white doe drinking.
The beauty of the doe set fire to the huntsman's soul; he took an arrow
and aimed well at the wild heart of the creature. But as he was loosing
the string the branch of a tree overhanging the pool struck him across
the face, and caught hold of him by the hair; and arrow and doe vanished
away together into the depths of the forest.
Never until now, since he entered the king's service, had the huntsman
missed his aim. The thought of the white doe living after he had willed
its death inflamed him with rage; he could not rest till he had brought
hounds on the trail, determined to follow until it had surrendered to
him its life.
All day, while he hunted, the woods stayed breathless, as if to watch;
not a blade moved, not a leaf fell. About noon a red deer crossed his
path; but he paid no heed, keeping his hounds only to the white doe's
trail.
At sunset a fallow deer came to disturb the scent, and through the
twilight, as it deepened, a grey wolf ran in and out of the underwood.
When night came down, his hounds fled from his call, following through
tangled thickets a huge black boar with crescent tusks. So he found
himself alone, with his horse so weary that it could scarcely move.
But still, though the moon was slow in its rising, the fever of the
chase burned in the huntsman's veins, and caused him to press on. For
now he found himself at the rocky entrance of a ravine whence no way
led; and the white doe being still before him, he made sure that he
would get her at last. So when his horse fell, too tired to rise again,
he dismounted and forced his way on; and soon he saw before him the
white doe, labouring up an ascent of sharp crags, while closer and
higher the rocks rose and narrowed on every side. Presently she had
leapt high upon a boulder that shook and swayed as her feet rested, and
ahead the wall of rocks had joined so that there was nowhere farther
that she might go.
Then the huntsman notched an arrow, and drew with full strength, and
let it go. Fast and straight it went, and the wind screamed in the
red feathers as they flew; but faster the doe overleapt his aim, and,
spurning the stone beneath, down the rough-bouldered gully sent it
thundering, shivering to fragments as it fell. Scarcely might the
huntsman escape death as the great mass swept past: but when the danger
was over he looked ahead, and saw plainly, where the stone had once
stood, a narrow opening in the rock, and a clear gleam of moonlight
beyond.
That way he went, and passing through, came upon a green field, as full
of flowers as a garden, duskily shining now, and with dark shadows in
all its folds. Round it in a great circle the rocks made a high wall,
so high that along their crest forest-trees as they clung to look over
seemed but as low-growing thickets against the sky.
The huntsman's feet stumbled in shadow and trod through thick grass into
a quick-flowing streamlet that ran through the narrow way by which he
had entered. He threw himself down into its cool bed, and drank till
he could drink no more. When he rose he saw, a little way off, a small
dwelling-house of rough stone, moss-covered and cosy, with a roof of
wattles which had taken root and pushed small shoots and clusters of
grey leaves through their weaving. Nature, and not man, seemed there to
have been building herself an abode.
Before the doorway ran the stream, a track of white mist showing where
it wound over the meadow; and by its edge a beautiful maiden sat, and
was washing her milk-white feet and arms in the wrinkling eddies.
To the huntsman she became all at once the most beautiful thing that the
world contained; all the spirit of the chase seemed to be in her blood,
and each little movement of her feet made his heart jump for joy. "I
have looked for you all my life!" thought he, as he halted and gazed,
not daring to speak lest the lovely vision should vanish, and the memory
of it mock him for ever.
The beautiful maiden looked up from her washing. "Why have you come
here?" said she.
The huntsman answered her as he believed to be the truth, "I have come
because I love you!"
"No," she said, "you came because you wanted to kill the white doe. If
you wish to kill her, it is not likely that you can love me."
"I do not wish to kill the white doe!" cried the huntsman; "I had not
seen you when I wished that. If you do not believe that I love you,
take my bow and shoot me to the heart; for I will never go away from you
now."
At his word she took one of the arrows, looking curiously at the red
feathers, and to test the sharp point she pressed it against her breast.
"Have a care!" cried the hunter, snatching it back. He drew his breath
sharply and stared. "It is strange," he declared; "a moment ago I almost
thought that I saw the white doe."
"If you stay here to-night," said the maiden, "about midnight you will
see the white doe go by. Take this arrow, and have your bow ready, and
watch! And if to-morrow, when I return, the arrow is still unused in
your hand, I will believe you when you say that you love me. And you
have only to ask, and I will do all that you desire."
Then she gave the huntsman food and drink and a bed of ferns upon which
to rest. "Sleep or wake," said she as she parted from him; "if truly you
have no wish to kill the white doe, why should you wake? Sleep!"
"I do not wish to kill the white doe," said the huntsman. Yet he could
not sleep: the memory of the one wild creature which had escaped him
stung his blood. He looked at the arrow which he held ready, and grew
thirsty at the sight of it. "If I see, I must shoot!" cried his hunter's
heart. "If I see, I must not shoot!" cried his soul, smitten with love
for the beautiful maiden, and remembering her word. "Yet, if I see,
I know I must shoot--so shall I lose all!" he cried as midnight
approached, and the fever of long waiting remained unassuaged.
Then with a sudden will he drew out his hunting-knife, and scored the
palms of his two hands so deeply that he could no longer hold his bow
or draw the arrow upon the string. "Oh, fair one, I have kept my word to
you!" he cried as midnight came. "The bow and the arrow are both ready."
Looking forth from the threshold by which he lay, he saw pale moonlight
and mist making a white haze together on the outer air. The white doe
ran by, a body of silver; like quicksilver she ran. And the huntsman,
the passion to slay rousing his blood, caught up arrow and bow, and
tried in vain with his maimed hands to notch the shaft upon the string.
The beautiful creature leapt lightly by, between the curtains of
moonbeam and mist; and as she went she sprang this way and that across
the narrow streamlet, till the pale shadows hid her altogether from his
sight. "Ah! ah!" cried the huntsman, "I would have given all my life to
be able to shoot then! I am the most miserable man alive; but to-morrow
I will be the happiest. What a thing is love, that it has known how to
conquer in me even my hunter's blood!"
In the morning the beautiful maiden returned; she came sadly. "I gave
you my word," said she: "here I am. If you have the arrow still with you
as it was last night, I will be your wife, because you have done what
never huntsman before was able to do--not to shoot at the white doe when
it went by."
The huntsman showed her the unused arrow; her beauty made him altogether
happy. He caught her in his arms, and kissed her till the sun grew high.
Then she brought food and set it before him; and taking his hand, "I
am your wife," said she, "and with all my heart my will is to serve you
faithfully. Only, if you value your happiness, do not shoot ever at the
white doe." Then she saw that there was blood on his hand, and her face
grew troubled. She saw how the other hand also was wounded. "How came
this?" she asked; "dear husband, you were not so hurt yesterday."
And the huntsman answered, "I did it for fear lest in the night I should
fail, and shoot at the white doe when it came."
Hearing that, his wife trembled and grew white. "You have tricked us
both," she said, "and have not truly mastered your desire. Now, if you
do not promise me on your life and your soul, or whatever is dearer,
never to shoot at a white doe, sorrow will surely come of it. Promise
me, and you shall certainly be happy!"
So the huntsman promised faithfully, saying, "On your life, which is
dearer to me than my own, I give you my word to keep that it shall be
so." Then she kissed him, and bound up his wounds with healing herbs;
and to look at her all that day, and for many days after, was better to
him than all the hunting the king's forests could provide.
For a whole year they lived together in perfect happiness, and two
children came to bless their union--a boy and a girl born at the same
hour. When they were but a month old, they could run; and to see them
leaping and playing before the door of their home made the huntsman's
heart jump for joy. "They are forest-born, and they come of a hunter's
blood; that is why they run so early, and have such limbs," said he.
"Yes," answered his wife, "that is partly why. When they grow older they
will run so fast--do not mistake them for deer if ever you go hunting."
No sooner had she said the word than the memory of it, which had slept
for a whole year, stirred his blood. The scent of the forest blew up
through the rocky ravine, which he had never repassed since the day
when he entered, and he laid his hands thoughtfully on the weapons he no
longer used.
Such restlessness took hold of him all that day that at night he slept
ill, and, waking, found himself alone with no wife at his side. Gazing
about the room, he saw that the cradle also was empty. "Why," he
wondered, "have they gone out together in the middle of the night?"
Yet he gave it little more thought, and turning over, fell into a
troubled sleep, and dreamed of hunting and of the white doe that he had
seen a year before stooping to drink among the red leaves that covered
the forest pool.
In the morning his wife was by his side, and the little ones lay asleep
upon their crib. "Where were you," he asked, "last night? I woke, and
you were not here."
His wife looked at him tenderly, and sighed. "You should shut your eyes
better," said she. "I went out to see the white doe, and the little ones
came also. Once a year I see her; it is a thing I must not miss."
The beauty of the white doe was like strong drink to his memory: the
beautiful limbs that had leapt so fast and escaped--they alone, of all
the wild life in the world, had conquered him. "Ah!" he cried, "let me
see her, too; let her come tame to mv hand, and I will not hurt her!"
His wife answered: "The heart of the white doe is too wild a thing; she
cannot come tame to the hand of any hunter under heaven. Sleep again,
dear husband, and wake well! For a whole year you have been sufficiently
happy; the white doe would only wound you again in your two hands."
When his wife was not by, the hunter took the two children upon his
knee, and said, "Tell me, what was the white doe like? what did she do?
and what way did she go?"
The children sprang off his knee, and leapt to and fro over the stream.
"She was like this," they cried, "and she did this, and this was the
way she went!" At that the hunter drew his hand over his brow. "Ah," he
said, "I seemed then almost to see the white doe."
Little peace had he from that day. Whenever his wife was not there he
would call the little ones to him, and cry, "Show me the white doe and
what she did." And the children would leap and spring this way and that
over the little stream before the door, crying, "She was like this, and
she did this, and this was the way she went!"
The huntsman loved his wife and children with a deep affection, yet
he began to have a dread that there was something hidden from his eyes
which he wished yet feared to know. "Tell me," he cried one day, half
in wrath, when the fever of the white doe burned more than ever in his
blood, "tell me where the white doe lives, and why she comes, and when
next. For this time I must see her, or I shall die of the longing that
has hold of me!" Then, when his wife would give no answer, he seized his
bow and arrows and rushed out into the forest, which for a whole year
had not known him, slaying all the red deer he could find.
Many he slew in his passion, but he brought none of them home, for
before the end a strange discovery came to him, and he stood amazed,
dropping the haunch which he had cut from his last victim. "It is a
whole year," he said to himself, "that I have not tasted meat; I, a
hunter, who love only the meat that I kill!"
Returning home late, he found his wife troubling her heart over his long
absence. "Where have you been?" she asked him, and the question inflamed
him into a fresh passion.
"I have been out hunting for the white doe," he cried; "and she carries
a spot in her side where some day my arrow must enter. If I do not find
her I shall die!"
His wife looked at him long and sorrowfully; then she said: "On your
life and soul be it, and on mine also, that your anger makes me tell
what I would have kept hidden. It is to-night that she comes. Now it
remains for you to remember your word once given to me!"
"Give it back to me!" he cried; "it is my fate to finish the quest of
the white doe."
"If I give it," said she, "your happiness goes with it, and mine, and
that of our children."
"Give it back to me!" he said again; "I cannot live unless I may master
the white doe! If she will come tame to my hand, no harm shall happen to
her."
And when she denied him again, he gave her his bow and arrows, and bade
her shoot him to the heart, since without his word rendered back to him
he could not live.
Then his wife took both his hands and kissed them tenderly, and with
loud weeping quickly set him free of his promise. "As well," said she,
"ask the hunter to go bound to the lion's den as the white doe to come
tame into your keeping; though she loved you with all her heart, you
could not look at her and not be her enemy." She gazed on him with full
affection, and sighed deeply. "Lie down for a little," she said, "and
rest; it is not till midnight that she comes. When she comes I will wake you."
She took his head in her hands and set it upon her knee, making him lie
down. "If she will come and stand tame to my hand," he said again, "then
I will do her no harm."
After a while he fell asleep; and, dreaming of the white doe, started
awake to find it was already midnight, and the white doe standing there
before him. But as soon as his eyes lighted on her they kindled with
such fierce ardour that she trembled and sprang away out of the door and
across the stream. "Ah, ah, white doe, white doe!" cried the wind in the
feathers of the shaft that flew after her.
Just at her leaping of the stream the arrow touched her; and all her
body seemed to become a mist that dissolved and floated away, broken
into thin fragments over the fast-flowing stream.
By the hunter's side his wife lay dead, with an arrow struck into her
heart. The door of the house was shut; it seemed to be only an evil
dream from which he had suddenly awakened. But the arrow gave real
substance to his hand: when he drew it out a few true drops of blood
flowed after. Suddenly the hunter knew all he had done. "Oh, white doe,
white doe!" he cried, and fell down with his face to hers.
At the first light of dawn he covered her with dried ferns, that the
children might not see how she lay there dead. "Run out," he cried to
them, "run out and play! Play as the white doe used to do!" And the
children ran out and leapt this way and that across the stream, crying,
"She was like this, and she did this, and this was the way she went!"
So while they played along the banks of the stream, the hunter took up
his beautiful dead wife and buried her. And to the children he said,
"Your mother has gone away; when the white doe comes she will return
also."
"She was like this," they cried, laughing and playing, "and she did
this, and this was the way she went!" And all the time as they played he
seemed to see the white doe leaping before him in the sunlight.
That night the hunter lay sleepless on his bed, wishing for the world
to end; but in the crib by his side the two children lay in a sound
slumber. Then he saw plainly in the moonlight the white doe, with a red
mark in her side, standing still by the doorway. Soon she went to where
the young ones were lying, and, as she touched the coverlet softly with
her right fore-foot, all at once two young fawns rose up from the ground
and sprang away into the open, following where the white doe beckoned
them.
Nor did they ever return. For the rest of his life the huntsman stayed
where they left him, a sorrowful and lonely man. In the grave where lay
the woman's form he had slain he buried his bow and arrows far from the
sight of the sun or the reach of his own hand; and coming to the place
night by night, he would watch the mists and the moonrise, and cry,
"White doe, white doe, will you not some day forgive me?" and did not
know that she had forgiven him when, before she died, she kissed his two
hands and made him sleep for the last time with his head on her knee.
From
The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Blue Moon, by Laurence Housman
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Snack time!
I like the part where he buries his arrow where the sun don't shine.
:)
LOL
Everyone finds their own moral of the story
I suppose. ;p
Sex Therapy-Louisiana Style
A Louisiana couple, both well into their 80s, go to a sex therapist's office.
The doctor asks, "What can I do for you?"
The man says, "Will you watch us have sexual intercourse?"
The doctor raises both eyebrows, but he is so amazed that such an elderly couple is asking for sexual advice that he agrees.
When the couple finishes, the doctor says, "There's absolutely nothing wrong with the way you have intercourse." He thanks them for coming, he wishes them good luck, he charges them $50 and he says goodbye.
Finally, after 5 or 6 weeks of this routine, the doctor says, "I'm sorry, but I have to ask. Just what are you trying to find out?"
The old man says, "We're not trying to find out anything. She's married and we can't go to her house. I'm married and we can't go to my house. The Holiday Inn charges $98. The Hilton charges $139. We do it here for $50, and I get $43 back from Medicare...!
Frugal and sharp old man.
The 2009 best blog for conspiracy theorY comments on the webz award goes to
VERITA VENOM'S BLOG
dem funny 2
Baby there's no other superstar
You know that I'll be your
Papa-paparazzi
Promise I'll be kind
But won't stop until...
But this photo of us
It don't have a price
Ready for those flashing lights
'Cause you know that baby I-
If I want to read fairy tales I'll pull out my old copy of Grimms.
I like fairy tales. Anybody got another one? :)
Would you rather a poem 11:53? Tell us what you would like to read or discuss.
Keep Me Fully Glad
Keep me fully glad with nothing. Only take my hand in your hand.
In the gloom of the deepening night take up my heart and play with it as you wish. Bind me close to you with nothing.
I will spread myself out at your feet and lie still. Under this clouded sky I will meet silence with silence. I will become one with the night clasping the earth in my breast. Make my life glad with nothing.
The rains sweep the sky from end to end. Jasmines in the wet untamable wind revel in their own perfume. The cloud-hidden stars thrill in secret. Let me fill to the full my heart with nothing but my own depth of joy.
A poem by Rabindranath Tagore
This is the kind of poetry that should be on the blog. Not the "Mayo LOOK AT ME" poetry, "I POSTED THIS FOR YOU AND ONLY MY FRIENDS AND NO ONE ELSE" poetry.
And THAT my friends is the difference.
*rolls eyes*
i hope you aren't wearing contacts eye rolling anon.
PETA'S PISSED
WHACK A KITTY
Chill out peta. It's love taps to get the kitties adopted. Cute and creative.
NKorea test-fires missile, slams Security Council
The North fired the missile from its Musudan-ni launch site on the east coast, a South Korean government official said. He spoke on condition of anonymity, citing the sensitivity of the matter. It is the sixth short-range missile North Korea has test-fired since Monday's nuclear test.
star birth
light echo
a perfect storm
cosmic pearls
20 U.S Cities With the Lowest Unemployment Rates
Average: 2.9
1. Fargo, N.D.: 2.1
2. Casper, Wyo.: 2.4
3. Houma-Bayou Cane-Thibodaux, Louisiana: 2.5
3. Lafayette, Louisiana: 2.5
3. Sioux Falls, S.D.: 2.5
6. Ames, Iowa: 2.6
6. Bismarck, N.D. 2.6
8. Fort Walton Beach-Crestview-Destin, Florida: 2.7
8. Idaho Falls, Idaho: 2.7
8. Iowa City, Iowa: 2.7
11. Cape Coral-Fort Myers, Florida: 2.8
11. Charlottesville, Virginia: 2.8
11. Harrisonburg, Virginia: 2.8
11. Rapid City, SD: 2.8
11. Sarasota-Bradenton-Venice, Florida: 2.8
11. St. George, Utah: 2.8
11. Winchester, Virginia: 2.8
18. Billings, Montana. 2.9
18. Boise City-Nampa, Idaho: 2.9
20. Des Moines-West Des Moines, Iowa: 3
20. Lake Charles, Louisiana: 3
20. Logan, Utah: 3
20. Missoula, Montana.: 3
So dead.
so, liven the place up 6:53.
tell us a story.
sing a song.
tell a joke.
get all your friends to come.
The End Is Near....
12/22/12
Five ways to irritate the living shit out of people.
1. Sing the Batman theme incessantly.
2. In the memo field of all your checks, write "for sensual massage."
3. Specify that your drive-through order is "to go."
4. Learn Morse code, and have conversations with friends in public consisting entirely of "Beeeep Bip Bip Beeep Bip..."
5. If you have a glass eye, tap on it occasionally with your pen while talking to others
Is that when all the US troops will be withdrawn for Iraq? I heard that the bringing the troops home immediately would be sometime in 2012. Unless it takes longer. Then they'll be there indefinitely.
Beeeep bip bip bip beeeep beeeep bip
Awwww Damn look at Ozzie...lol
good morning!
boy what a big day I had yesterday, I was exhausted by the time I got home at 8:45pm, though I really didn't do a lot, filling in time is so boring.
But everything got done ok and I have a new car stereo (though not installed yet) that I can play my iPod directly through, new car seat covers, 2 cd's -
PP!! I bought the new Greenday!!!!
- and various miscellaneous things, I really shouldn't be left unsupervised in stores with pretty colours and flashing lights lol
7 more ways to irritate the living shit out of people.
Go to a poetry recital and ask why each poem doesn't rhyme.
Ask the waitress for an extra seat for your "imaginary friend."
Ask your co-workers mysterious questions, and then scribble their answers in a notebook. Mutter something
about "psychological profiles."
Stare at static on the TV and claim you can see a "magic picture."
Select the same song on the jukebox fifty times.
Construct elaborate "crop circles" in your front lawn.
Construct your own pretend "tricorder," and "scan" people with it, announcing the results.
oh irritation anon, something I think should be added to the list is
walk around making a "chink' noise every time you put your feet down, as though you have spurs on
my friends and I used to do it often
or
walk into a lift and don't turn to face the door, excellent if you are first in the lift, then see how many others do the same
or
stand on a corner and look up at a building and point, not dramatically just point, see how many others you can collect
or
skip instead of walking, anywhere
guarantee you, at least, will end up smiling
Hi EP. You seem lively. That's good.
Bye EP. Bye lively anon(s ?)
Good suggestions EP.
*skips out & makes chink noises*
bye anon
I am usually pretty lively, I learnt it makes me feel far better :]
damn now I'm singing "Life is a Cabaret" lol
Ozzie ?
*chinks anon on the head with spur* ;p
Anonymous Anonymous said...
The End Is Near....
12/22/12
May 29, 2009 6:59 PM
Here comes Yog-Sothoth, Here comes Yog-Sothoth, quick, let's try to hide!
God, those massive iridescent globes are six miles wide!
He just turned Dunwich into goo and had it for a snack!
He's gonna visit your home town, so run and don't look back!
hello Amy
Hallo Ergo!
you doing anything interesting today?
He Is The Gate
Sorry...Ozzy
Ergo, going off the rail on a crazy train, after I bark at the moon.
brb, have to start supper.
well that sounds more interesting than me!
I am home having bailed on going to cut up a beef steer and a pig at bro-in-laws, my excuse is that I want to get the housework done in case we go fishing again tomorrow, but also just don't want to go there lol
Ozzy's cool...here goes my hero!!
did the aztecs fuck up the date too? can't anybody get their numbers and dates right? how we be expected to prepare for doomsday like this.
The Koolest MF that ever lived.
Edgar Casey...The Aztecs...American Indian Culture...all are in close agreement of the date of our renewal....or demise.
Our Choice
The Mayan cultures calendar ends 12/22/12
There is nothing more after that..
Might mean nothing
Then again.....
MTV? Outta Here..Peace
One millenium ended
a new millenium began.
One cycle ends
a new cycle begins. :)
much more
The astronomer Philip Plait has stated very clearly that the Mayan calendar does not end in 2012 at all, that it is like the odometer on your car, as each section of the odometer reaches 9 and then clicks over to 0, the next number to it starts a new cycle, so that when all the numbers again reach 0 all the way across the odometer - the last number will change from 1 to 2 and the new cycle starts all over again.
One day an Indian boy asked his father why they have such long names? The dad answers, "Well son whenever a Indian baby is born the father would go outside and name the baby after the first thing he sees... Why do you ask Two Dogs Fucking."
Here are some of the promoters of the 2012 hoax which is based on no scientific evidence.
Zecharia Sitchen - an author, not a scientist, a proponent of the ancient astronaut theory, the Annunaki, and Nibiru.
Mark Hazlewood - author of a book predicting Planet X to come in 2003
The Hysteria Channel - promoting doomsday scenarios to increase viewers and sell advertising.
Nancy Lieder – a “contactee” who thinks she is getting information from entities from Zeta Reticuli.
Nibiru/Planet X doesn't exist. Planet X is a name that was used when looking for an unknown planet. Zecharia Sitchin is not a scientist, but is an author of books promoting the ancient astronaut theory for human origins. He attributes the creation of the ancient Sumerian culture to the Annunaki (or Nephilim) from a hypothetical planet named Nibiru in the solar system. The Doomsayers predicted that it was to hit Earth in 2003. Undaunted when it didn't show up, they just moved it out to 2012 to coincide with the end of the current cycle of the Mayan calendar.
The Sun isn’t going to be aligned with the center of the galaxy.
There is no actual planetary alignment. Sometimes the planets appear to be aligned in our view of the sky. This is a long way from actual alignment in space.
Geomagnetic reversal - These reversals of the magnetic field have occurred in the past, as shown by magnetic striping, but we can’t predict when they will occur again. However, the time between reversals is not constant, varying from less than 100,000 years, to tens of millions of years.
Although fast by geological standards, reversals are by no means quick on the human time scale. They take roughly 5,000 years, with estimates ranging from 1,000 years to 8,000 years.
Solar flares – These do increase and decrease in an eleven year cycle. They haven't caused any serious problems in the past. The direct effects of solar flares are mainly related to communications and radio transmissions. We had a major series of solar flares in 2005.
SONJA
Previous end of the world predictions
You can go to the abhota site to read any or all of the predictions. There are almost 400 of them. The dates of 391 of them are already in the past
Source(s):
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zecharia_Si...
Paul Chodas / NASA / JPL
Donald Yeomans, manager of the Near Earth Object Program
Jean Meeus, Mathematical Astronomy Morsels, 1997
http://www.straightdope.com/columns/read... http://curious.astro.cornell.edu/
http://www.abhota.info/end1.htm
http://www.universetoday.com/2008/05/19/...
http://www.etsu.edu/physics/etsuobs/star...
wow nearly 400 ends of the world!
I remember there being a few during my life
eh... not much you can do about it though, so it's not worth any worry,
just don't join up with any groups, especially if they offer snazzy matching tracksuits!
...though now I have R.E.M in my head
Anonymous said...
The Mayan cultures calendar ends 12/22/12
Actually the date is 12/21/12 and the calendar does not end. It is reset to start the new cycle.
thread at snopes
I liked this reply from Not Done Living best.
The calander i got from my local Chinese Food restaurant ends on Dec 31 of THIS year!!!
Maybe they know something the Mayans don't!!!!
just don't join up with any groups, especially if they offer snazzy matching tracksuits!
I don't know. Snazzy matching tracksuits might make me consider joining up. What color are they? ;)
Can anyone predict when this blog will end? Will the world end before this blog does? Will the ending of this blog cause the end of the world?
snazzy matching tracksuits would make me run the other way, just a reflexive action. i might be allergic to the stripe on the pant legs.
Will pigs ever have their names cleared in the recent swine flu epidemic?
Will Pluto regain its planetary status just in time to go boom?
Will Pepe Le Pew ever find love?
Will his lover feel love stinks?
hi TJ I'm having a lunch break
the tracksuits would have to be silver, and they would have matching joggers, can't board a doomsday avoiding spacecraft in any other shade!
and velour!! like Lost In Space
hi there ergo!
i'm trying very hard not to run even as i type! *shudders*
'tis ok Tj I will protect you!
WHEW
*feels safer*
:)
damn
I was doing a quick mop of the house and accidentally tipped the bucket over
how are you TJ apart from a bit disturbed by tracksuits?
Do I need to be fitted for my tracksuit, or is it one size fits most?
well you have to ask yourself Amy
"how forgiving is velour?"
I also have to ask myself:
"How hot is velour?"
"How washable is velour?"
"Do I really WANT to be part of this doomsday cult?"
"No?"
smart answer, amyranth. :)
i'm doing ok, ergo, if being somewhat aimless tonight. i blame it on the cotton candy my boss brought in this afternoon.
and yu have to factor in static cling
arriving at a new planet covered in fluff, small bits of paper and lint might not be appropriate
you know.
you want to!
Time portends its swift conclusion.
To trudge this path of lifes illusion.
Dwindled away from muscle to bone.
Take stock in the scrap from which you have grown.
Forward march through tortured eyes.
Concealed from the truth, their darkness lies.
Self justification for all the wrongs.
Of earthly pride their souls belong.
Battle rages, my heart interred.
The Generals scorn we await the word.
The four alight from every corner.
Each seal is broken, left not one mourner.
Hidden by night, absent by day.
The spot is picked by which we'll lay.
caught by our sins like pigs we wallow.
is there no way out from this scourge we swallow.
time for bed. good night ergo,amyranth, et al.
sweet dreams. :)
so much doom and gloom :(
goodnight Tj sweet dreams
anon you want a nice velour tracksuit?
you can't be gloomy in purple and lime green velour!!
mayo,
the grey mood i dodged last night with the bedtime story caught up with me tonight. it will pass, but in the meantime i'm left a bit empty on words.
so i'll just wish you a very good night, and the hope that you're doing well, and finding life so full of beauty that you hardly want to blink for fear of missing a moment.
sweet dreams, mayo.
*places plate of freshly made scones on table*
*adds knives and pots of strawberry jam and whipped cream*
*jots down easiest, best scone recipe*
3 cups self raising flour
1 cup whipping cream
1 cup lemonade
mix together lightly until just combined,
put on floured surface and gently bring together,
pat out to about 1 inch thick,
cut into shapes,
(squares are easiest or use circle cutter)
bake at 220C for about 20 mins
Mayo
Today was a great day. I did come home with boxes of books but I also came home with some new plants. See, I’m trying very hard to revisit my past love of plants and flowers. So that does sound a bit off I know. It’s like I’m trying to force myself to like something that is a part of my past. I USED to love to work in my flower gardens. Then I lost interest. So why am I trying to cultivate and interest in things I’ve left behind? Oh hey I just realized cultivate was really a fitting word for that sentence. Whoops off track, sorry. Well shit, I don’t have an answer. Some little voice is telling me that I left behind everything because I was trying so hard to change. But I think that voice is saying that I went overboard. I gave up everything I once loved (people not included) and I shouldn’t have done that. The gardening is just one small facet of my life I left behind. I’m finding there are more and more things I gave up that I regret now. I’m not making sense I know but well, to me this is making sense. Holy crap I’m having an internal struggle over gardening. Perhaps this is just my way of taking my mind off other, bigger issues that are looming. But really I can’t think of a better way to de-stress myself then to dig in the dark, rich soil and plant something that will one day became beautiful to the eye.
And besides I might as well get into this gardening thing again because Mom has once again thought up something for me to find. Now added to unfrosted wheat square cereal I’m on the quest for Hens and Chicks. They are a plant Mayo, and yes they do have another name, one I can’t pronounce. Growing up we always called them Hens and Chicks and Mom wants some of them, damn it. Of course I can’t find any at K-Mart, or Home Depot of the Evil Empire (Wal-Mart). But then as soon as she said she wanted some I knew it would be a challenge. I swear the woman is testing me. She probably knew they were impossible to find so that’s what she decided she must have. So I will continue to search for them.
Oh well, that’s my exciting life in a nutshell. I simply move from one day to the next searching, always searching.
Hope you had a wonderful day. Hope your tomorrow is bright, full of love, laughter and hens and chicks. Okay, maybe not the plants but if you do find any can you tell me where you found the damn things?
Night Mayo
Elena (Hens and Chicks and the search for lost pieces of me)
oh elena
I know hens and chicks! if it's the same ones, succulents like rosettes of leaves. Try a nursery that has a good rock garden plant section
lol if I could send some over, I would, don't know about quarantine though!
Mayo
so you have a good day? Mine was moderately productive, so I got the housework done. I hate it but can't be escaped. Well I have escaped it for short periods before, but it doesn't do much for the look of the house, or for being able to find clean underwear.
But now it means we can go fishing and crabbing tomorrow if the weather is nice, and I can relax and enjoy it, and not have to catch stuff up on monday, So tomorrow maybe more scrummy crab for dinner, I'd share if you wanted to come on over!
much love EP xx
SS
you have a good week? Glad it's over and time for the weekend? I hope you have some nice plans, perhaps a relax, or a hobby or a sport? I don't know what you prefer to do. So whatever it is, I hope you have a fantastically enjoyable time :]
lotsa love EP xx
goodnight blogbelieve, see you in my morning
♥xx♥
At a Window
Give me hunger,
O you gods that sit and give
The world its orders.
Give me hunger, pain and want,
Shut me out with shame and failure
From your doors of gold and fame,
Give me your shabbiest, weariest hunger!
But leave me a little love,
A voice to speak to me in the day end,
A hand to touch me in the dark room
Breaking the long loneliness.
In the dusk of day-shapes
Blurring the sunset,
One little wandering, western star
Thrust out from the changing shores of shadow.
Let me go to the window,
Watch there the day-shapes of dusk
And wait and know the coming
Of a little love.
by
Carl Sandburg
The End of the World
“We're going,” they said, “to the end of the world.”
So they stopped the car where the river curled,
And we scrambled down beneath the bridge
On the gravel track of a narrow ridge.
We tramped for miles on a wooded walk
Where dog-hobble grew on its twisted stalk.
Then we stopped to rest on the pine-needle floor
While two ospreys watched from an oak by the shore.
We came to a bend, where the river grew wide
And green mountains rose on the opposite side.
My guides moved back. I stood alone,
As the current streaked over smooth flat stone.
Shelf by stone shelf the river fell.
The white water goosetailed with eddying swell.
Faster and louder the current dropped
Till it reached a cliff, and the trail stopped.
I stood at the edge where the mist ascended,
My journey done where the world ended.
I looked downstream. There was nothing but sky,
The sound of the water, and the water’s reply.
by
Dana Gioia
Yep Ergo that's what I'm on a quest for. I know, I'll just come on over there and get them and stay for dinner. That okay?
Time to take Stormy to work. Her car, Nini, is sick. Yeah, she named her car like she named her phone. Anyway I'm off to do that and look for Hens and Chicks. Hope everyone has a great day.
susan boyles f-bomb rants
it's ok susan. pressure can get to anybody. you're only human
i still think you're beautiful and wonderful. good luck tonight.
The crowd wanted blood.
They were disappointed.
TORONTO – Former President George W. Bush called ex-President Bill Clinton "his brother" and the two rarely disagreed in their first-ever appearance together on stage.
The Republican and Democratic ex-presidents defended each other at a Toronto forum on Friday, disappointing some in the crowd of 6,000 who expected a more heated debate.
They've bonded. :)
The Top 20 Album Sellers Of The 2000s
Posted Fri May 29, 2009 10:52am PDT
by Paul Grein in Chart Watch
Here are the 20 acts that have sold the most albums since the first week of January 2000. The number immediately after the artist's name is the total number of albums that the artist has sold in this decade. I also identify when the artist first cracked The Billboard 200, and the title of their best-selling album since January 2000.
1. Eminem, 31,127,000. First charted: 1999. Eminem, 36, is the top male artist and the top rap artist so far in this decade. His 2000 album The Marshall Mathers LP is his best-seller. It has sold 10,178,000 copies.
2. The Beatles, 27,591,000. First charted: 1964. The Beatles have sold more albums in the 2000s than any other group, rock act or foreign act. Their 2000 compilation 1 is their best-seller. It has sold 11,402,000 copies. The Beatles were the #5 album-selling act of the 1990s.
3. Tim McGraw, 24,295,000. First charted: 1994. McGraw, 42, is the #1 country artist so far in the 2000s, nosing out Toby Keith. McGraw was the #38 album-selling act of the ‘90s. His 2000 compilation Greatest Hits is his best-selling album of the decade. It has sold 5,995,000 copies.
4. Toby Keith, 24,189,000. First charted: 1993. Keith, 47, is the #2 country artist of this decade. His 2003 album Shock'n Y'All is his best-seller. It has sold 4,420,000 copies.
5. Britney Spears, 22,937,000. First charted: 1999. Spears, 27, is the youngest artist on this list, edging out Josh Groban by one year. She is also #1 female artist in this decade. Her 2000 album, Oops!...I Did It Again, is her best-seller of the decade. It has sold 9,183,000 copies. Spears was the #108 album-selling act of the ‘90s.
6. Kenny Chesney, 21,396,000. First charted: 1996. Chesney, 41, is the #3 country artist of this decade. His best-selling album is 2004's When The Sun Goes Down, which has sold 4,111,000 copies.
7. Nelly, 21,206,000. First charted: 2000. Nelly, 34, is the #1 new artist to emerge in this decade, edging out Linkin Park. He's also the #1 African American artist, edging out Jay-Z, and the #2 rap artist. Nelly's 2000 debut, Country Grammar, is his best-selling album. It has sold 8,454,000 copies.
8. Linkin Park, 21,125,000. First charted: 2000. Linkin Park is the #2 rock group of the decade, behind the Beatles. It's also the #2 new artist. The band's 2000 debut album, Hybrid Theory, is its best-seller. It has sold 9,600,000 copies.
9. Creed, 20,398,000. First charted: 1997. Creed is the #3 rock group of the decade. 1999's Human Clay is the band's best-selling album. It has sold 9,480,000 copies since January 2000. Creed was the #167 album-selling act of the ‘90s.
10. Jay-Z, 19,379,000. First charted: 1996. Jay-Z, 39, is the #3 rap artist of the decade. 2003's The Black Album is his best-selling album of this decade. It has sold 3,338,000 copies. Jay-Z was the #152 album-selling act of the ‘90s.
11. Nickelback, 19,158,000. First charted: 2000. The Canadian group is the #2 foreign act of this decade (after the Beatles). Nickelback is also the #3 new artist and the #4 rock group. 2005's All The Right Reasons is its best-seller, with sales of 7,159,000 copies.
12. Josh Groban, 19,115,000. First charted: 2001. Groban, 28, is the #1 pop male artist of this decade. He's the #4 new artist. The pop/classical star's 2003 album Closer is his best-seller, with sales of 5,746,000 copies.
13. Rascal Flatts, 18,831,000. First charted: 2000. The trio is the #1 country group of this decade, nosing out Dixie Chicks. It's also the #5 new act. 2004's Feels Like Today is the act's best-selling album. It has sold 5,134,000 copies.
14. Metallica, 18,490,000. First charted: 1984. Metallica is the #1 hard rock act of the decade (unless you count the genre-bending Linkin Park). The band's 1991 blockbuster Metallica is the band's best-selling album of this decade. It has sold 3,691,000 copies since January 2000. Metallica was the #3 album-selling act of the ‘90s.
15. Alan Jackson, 18,479,000. First charted: 1990. Jackson, 50, is the oldest solo artist on this list, edging out Toby Keith. 2002's Drive is his best-selling album of this decade. It has sold 3,508,000 copies. Jackson was the #17 album-selling act of the ‘90s.
16. *NSYNC, 18,402,000. First charted: 1998. The boy band is the #1 pop group of this decade (assuming you classify the Beatles as rock). *NSYNC's 2000 album No Strings Attached is its best-seller, with sales of 11,111,000 copies. The quintet was the #80 album-selling act of the ‘90s.
17. Dixie Chicks, 18,293,000. First charted: 1998. The female trio is the #2 country group so far in this decade. 2002's Home is the act's best-selling album of this decade. It has sold 5,997,000 copies. Dixie Chicks was the #105 album-selling act of the ‘90s.
18. Johnny Cash, 17,860,000. First charted: 1958. The country legend, who died in 2003 at age 71, is the most surprising name on the list. He made it on the strength of an enormous catalog and a renewed focus on him after his death. His 1999 compliation 16 Greatest Hits is his best-seller of the decade. It has sold 2,846,000 copies since January 2000.
19. Kid Rock, 17,606,000. First charted: 1999. Kid Rock, 38, is the #1 male rock artist of this decade. Kid's 2001 album Cocky is his best-seller of the decade. It has sold 5,045,000 copies.
20. Celine Dion, 17,579,000. First charted: 1991. The Canadian diva, 41, is the #2 pop female artist of this decade, behind Britney Spears. Dion's 1999 greatest hits album, All The Way...A Decade Of Song, is her best-seller in the decade. It has sold 4,971,000 copies since January 2000. Dion was the #4 album-selling act of the ‘90s.
Music Blogs > Chart Watch > Chart Watch Extra: The Top 20 Album Sellers Of The 2000s
:) ;) :D
one last breath
because of you
all summer long
faint
come together
Mayo, your blog is so not strepitoso.
Mayo's favorite plant is the myriacanthous.
Mayo smokes Delouls.
Too Many PeopleOne of my Favs
Mayo no longer posts hebdomadally.
revolution 1 (take 20) very rare
i wanna talk about me
the unforgiven 2
cocaine blues
it's your love
circus
we made you
my sacrifice
"Real Good Man"
Girl you've never known no one like me
Up there in your high society
They might tell you I'm no good
Girl they need to understand
Just who I am
I may be a real bad boy
But baby I'm a real good man
I may drink too much and play too loud
Hang out with a rough and rowdy crowd
That don't mean I don't respect
My Mama or my Uncle Sam
Yes sir, yes ma'am
I may be a real bad boy
But baby I'm a real good man
I might have a reckless streak
At least a country-mile wide
If you're gonna run with me
It's gonna be a wild ride
When it comes to loving you
I've got velvet hands
I'll show you how a real bad boy
Can be a real good man
I take all the good times I can get
I'm too young for growing up just yet
Ain't much I can promise you
'Cept to do the best I can
I'll be damned
I may be a real bad boy
But baby I'm a real good man
I may be a real bad boy
Oh but baby I'm a real good man
Yes I am
Johnny Cash
Cocaine Blues
Early one mornin' while makin' the rounds
I took a shot of cocaine and I shot my woman down
I went right home and I went to bed I stuck that lovin' 44 beneath my head
Got up next mornin' and I grabbed that gun took a shot of cocaine and away I run
Made a good run but I run too slow they overtook me down in Juarez Mexico
Late in the hot joints takin' the pills in walked the sheriff from Jericho Hill
He said Willy Lee your name is not Jack Brown
You're the dirty hack that shot your woman down
Said yes oh yes my name is Willy Lee if you've got the warrant just aread it to me
Shot her down because she made me slow
I thought I was her daddy but she had five more
When I was arrested I was dressed in black
They put me on a train and they took me back
Had no friend for to go my bail they slapped my dried up carcass in that country jail
Early next mornin' bout a half past nine I spied the sheriff coming down the line
Talked and he coughed as he cleared his throat
He said come on you dirty heck into that district court
Into the courtroom my trial began where I was handled by twelve honest men
Just before the jury started out I saw the little judge commence to look about
In about five minutes in walked the man holding the verdict in his right hand
The verdict read in the first degree I hollered Lordy Lordy have a mercy on me
The judge he smiled as he picked up his pin 99 years in the Folsom pen
99 years underneath that ground I can't forget the day I shot that bad bitch down
Come on you've gotta listen unto me lay off that whiskey and let that cocaine be
Why do you think he posts less and less?
He's busy?
He didn't like seeing people ridiculed?
He's outgrown the blog?
He doesn't like Johnny Cash?
Maybe.
He's said most of what he had to say?
He has writer's block?
He was feeling the pressure to perform?
The place stresses him?
His new internet service is unreliable?
He joined the peace corps and moved to a third world country?
He joined a doomsday cult?
He forgot his login information?
He found what it was he was looking for?
He has more answers than questions now?
Daylight came and him a wannated go home?
Why do you think he doesn't post as often anon?
Maybe its as simple as he is just trapped under something heavy.
Maybe your right...
:(
Maybe he could ask for help lifting that heavy load that has him trapped.
May Thee that has a free hand type for help.
Personally I think it is sad. He used to post a lot. He used to anon a lot. You could tell it was him.
Now the blog is actually GOOD, no fighting, no striving for attention, just decent friendships and RESPECT and how it seems he doesn't have the time to join in.
If Mayo left for good, a lot of people would feel betrayed, lost. The people who are here now, left posting here are the ones who really care.
They have invested a lot into this place.
To the people here, this blog was worth it. They TRIED. They worked for it.
I just think we deserve a little love.
In the words of Amyranth....
"It's better than doing nothing"!
Do you really believe he's not posting here as often because he doesn't have time? You keep telling yourselves that.
Beautiful song westlife anon. :)
Bye anons.
To the people here, this blog was worth it. They TRIED. They worked for it.
you got what you wanted. the porchies have all but gone. clearly mayo doesn't find this place as stimulating as he once did. coincidence? i think not.
You want an honest...Opinion
Anonymous said...
Do you really believe he's not posting here as often because he doesn't have time? You keep telling yourselves that.
^iawtc. if that's the case, he hasn't had time for most of this year. since the porchies left, mayo has been more distant.
Do you really believe he's not posting here as often because he doesn't have time? You keep telling yourselves that.
What is it that you believe anon? What have you been telling yourself?
LOL 4:05
We knew that was coming.
Now the blog is actually GOOD,
Mayo and SS don't seem to think so. When was the last time either of them anon'd? Mayo left his weird dead bee comment but that's about it. Not like the days of taking quizzes and playing games with us. I always wondered what SS did to make him level 7 of hell.
Why should Mayo continue posting at a certain rate?
Am sure his raison d'être is not to entertain anons on some blog he has.
*shakes head*
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