Darling you send me..

Thursday, March 30, 2006

Mr Landen Has No Brain

Quiver, female, for I Am Lepus, master of the night, and soon you shall be my rumpy-pumpy boing-boing toy. Carrots. Carrots.

Friday, March 17, 2006

Believing

If you stumble at mere believability, what are you living for? Isn't love hard to believe?

Love is hard to believe, ask any lover. Life is hard to believe, ask any scientist. God is hard to believe, ask any believer. What is your problem with hard to believe?

Life of Pi - Yann Martel

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Reality

It is natural to feel depressed in such circumstances, natural for anyone who still has an idea of what life could be and is not. Depression becomes a right when we look around us and see nothing and no one to offer us a spark of inspiration, when the world seems to be sliding into a morass of imbecility and cheap materialism, with no more ideals, no more faiths, no more dreams. One has nothing great to believe in any longer, no mentor to emulate. How many are true leaders of humanity, illuminating guiding lights, and how many are merely the products of publicity and marketing?

The Chinese have looked to the skies ever since Wan Hu, a 14th century carpenter, lashed 47 gunpowder rockets to a chair affixed with kites, ignited them and vanished in a plume of smoke, never to be heard from again.

..For I shall yet praise Him.. Ps42:5

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Operating

Have you ever travelled the ceilings of the unknown? An operation will take you there.

Saturday, March 11, 2006

Wooden Heart



Can't you see
I love you
Please don't break my heart in two
That's not hard to do
'Cause I don't have a wooden heart
And if you say goodbye
Then I know that I would cry
Maybe I would die
'Cause I don't have a wooden heart

There's no strings upon this love of mine
It was always you from the start
Treat me nice
Treat me good
Treat me like you really should
'Cause I'm not made of wood
And I don't have a wooden heart

Muss i denn, muss i denn
Zum Stadtele hinaus
Stadtele hinaus
Und du, mein schat, bleibst hier?
There's no strings upon this love of mine
It was always you from the start
Sei mir gut
Sei mir gut
Sei mir wie du wirklich sollst
Wie du wirklich sollst
'Cause I don't have a wooden heart

Pakistan - V.S. Naipaul

No real thought had ever been taken to the running of the new country. Everything had been expected to flow from the triumph of the faith. Always in the background now were the fundamentalists who - fed by the ecstasy of the creation of Pakistan, and further fed by the partial Islamisation of laws - wanted to take the country back and back, to the seventh century, to the time of the Prophet. There was a hazy programme for that as there had been far Pakistan itself : only some idea of regular prayers, of Koranic punishments, the cutting off of hands and feet, the veiling and effective imprisonment of women, and giving men tomcatting rights over four women at a time, to use and discard at will. And somehow it was thought, out of that, out of an enclosed devout society with uneducated men tomcatting away, the state would right itself, and power would come, as it had come to Islam in the beginning.

The fundamentalists were a presence now. They were still in the background, but they pushed and pushed, and always wanted more. It wasn't enough that this large portion of ancient land had increased, millenia after millinea, to be India; and - like Iran, like the Arab countries - had finally cleansed of the older faiths. The people themselves now had to be cleansed of the past, of everything in dress or manners or general culture that might link them to their ancestral land.The fundamentalists wanted people to be transparent, pure, to be empty vessels for the faith. It was an impossibility: human beings could never be blanks in that way. But the various fundamentalist groups offered themselves as the pattern for goodness and purity. They said they followed the ancient rules (especially the rules about women); all they asked of people was to be like them and, since there was no absolute agreement about the rules, to follow the rules they followed. If Iqbal's Muslim state had it's calamities, it wasn't the fault of Islam; it was only the fault of the people who called themselves Muslim. In the fundamentalist way of thinking this kind of failure automatically condemned itself as the failure of a false or half-hearted Islam. And the Jamaat could always say - its cause ever fresh - that Islam had never really been tried since early days, and that it was time to try it now. The Jamaat would show the way.

Manners - Christa D'Souza

Diplomacy, like childcare, should be taught as a school subject.
"Manners maketh a man, kill them with kindness".

Blame it on the culture of instant-gratification, the bypassing of social interaction via e-mail, the desperation to look cool, or whatever - there are times when it feels as though there's almost a kudos attached to having shoddy manners. If you are uninterested, somehow you will appear more interesteding. If you arrive late, you're a somebody. By the same token if you go out of your way to be kind to someone, or take the time to listen to what they are saying, that is somehow perceived as a weekness.

Rudeness if often, half-heartedly put down to shyness or personal integrity - usually by people who are inherently lazy or have spent far too much time in psychotherapy. There are plenty of us out there, for example, who believe that if our words do not match the way we feel inside, then we are somehow being dishonest with ourselves. Manners are what actually glues theworld together. The general lack of them is probably part of the reason why we all feel so unstuck at the moment.
moment.

Friday, March 10, 2006

ARRGHH

STUPID PIECE OF CRAP THING WORK DAMMIT

The School

once upon a time , the animals decided they must do something heroic to meet the problems of ' a new world ' . so they organized a school .

they adopted an activity curriculum consisting of running , climbing , swimming and flying . to make it easier to administer the curriculum , all the animals took all the subjects .

the duck was an excellent swimmer , in fact better than his instructor , but he made only passing grades in flying and was very poor in running . since he was slow in running , he had to stay after shcool and also drop swimming in order to practice running . this was kept up until his webbed feet were badly worn and he was only average in swimming . but the average was acceptable in school , so nobody worried about that except the duck .

the rabbit started at the top of the class in running , but had a nervous breakdown because of so much make-up work in swimming .

the squirrel was excellent in climbing until he developed frustration in the flying class where his teacher made him start from the ground up instead of the treetop down . he also developed a ' charlie horse ' from overexertion and then got a C in climbing and a D in running .

the eagle was a problem child and was diciplined severely . in the climbing class he beat all the other s to the top of the tree , but insisted on using his own way to get there .

at the end of the year , and abnormal eel that could swim exceedingly well , and also run , climb and fly a little , had the highest average and was valedictorian .

Zadie Smith



I think the thing which changed my life when I was very young was when I came across a boy who I thought was extraordinarily beautiful.

I think that partly the rapture of that, and the wanting something that I could never have made me start writing to the extent that I wrote in my teenage years and onwards.

So I think that would probably be it.

Vladimir Nabokov thought that unrequited love was part of what writing was - part of a long chase.

He wrote a novel in which he combined the two absolutely perfectly - Lolita.

I think it's partly that.

I remember Martin Amis saying to me something about the desire of being unwanted also is partly what writing is about.

There's certainly revenge in there, in the mix.

But the yearning towards something - I think I wrote somewhere once when I was asked about it that the yearning makes you become yourself.

You don't even notice it happening but you become so much yearning that you become a different person in the process and I think that's probably what happened to me.

But you never grow out of being obsessed with beauty.

It's all different kinds of beauty - some human, some natural, some literary.

But that's a thing which motivates me most of all, I think - I see something beautiful and I want to get it down.