again and again, you return to spew.
you are unkind and while you think you are doing something that will save the world, you are not. i cannot believe i had to install haloscan on a blog i have had for two years - just so i could block you.
how pathetic you are!
this was a little safe haven for me, simply to post stories i had written and poetry that i love and people left me nice little comments, things that simply affirmed. we all need that, don't we? but now that i had to install haloscan in order to block your ip address, you have taken that from me.
thanks.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Saturday, January 05, 2008
"I cannot exist without you. I am forgetful of everything but seeing you again. My life seems to stop there, I see no further. You have absorb'd me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I were dissolving. I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for religion... I have shudder'd at it... I shudder no more. I could be martyr'd for my religion: Love is my religion. I could die for that. I could die for you. My creed is love, and you are its only tenet. You have ravish'd me away by a power I cannot resist." -
letter written by John Keats
letter written by John Keats
Friday, January 04, 2008
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
e.e. cummings
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Violence is the first refuge of the incompetent.
Issac Asimov