PS: Loved the new Anna Karenina.
Saturday, March 02, 2013
PS: Loved the new Anna Karenina.
Posted by weatherman at 1:25 PM
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Posted by weatherman at 7:19 AM
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Posted by weatherman at 7:58 AM
Friday, July 06, 2012
Was it because he went mad?
Posted by weatherman at 3:07 PM
Sunday, June 24, 2012
THEME FOR ENGLISH B
By Langston HughesThe instructor said,
Go home and writeI wonder if it's that simple?
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you---
Then, it will be true.
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page: It's not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I'm what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
hear you, hear me---we two---you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York too.) Me---who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records---Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn't make me NOT like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white---
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
Sometimes perhaps you don't want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that's true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me---
although you're older---and white---
and somewhat more free.
This is my page for English B.
Posted by weatherman at 12:25 AM
Saturday, May 26, 2012
- Do not stand at my grave and weep,
- I am not there; I do not sleep.
- I am a thousand winds that blow,
- I am the diamond glints on snow,
- I am the sun on ripened grain,
- I am the gentle autumn rain.
- When you awaken in the morning’s hush
- I am the swift uplifting rush
- Of quiet birds in circling flight.
- I am the soft star-shine at night.
- Do not stand at my grave and cry,
- I am not there; I did not die.
- by Mary Elizabeth Frye
- A beautiful, beautiful poem. Just a few, simple words...and in them holding such profound truths! Amazing!
- I'd donate my body, but I think I'd still want a grave though. Would b nice if someone comes and cries a li'l sometimes. Guess I've a long way to go before I learn to let go.
Posted by weatherman at 9:25 AM
The World As I See It - An essay by Einstein
An amazing essay by an incredible mind. No point in trying to squeeze out the juice from here - its cooked just right - fat free and excuisite.
Posted by weatherman at 9:19 AM
Saturday, April 28, 2012
|“Where shall we meet again?”|
|“Nowhere but here|
|Once more before we meet elsewhere.”|
|"It ought to be in rain. Sometime in rain.|
|In rain to-morrow, shall we, if it rains?|
|But if we must, in sunshine.”|
~ Robert Frost (The Generations of Men)
Sometimes things bubble up in the mind...feels like there is something left to say after all. But its never convenient. I'm on the way...have to do it later...hope I remember this stuff. Hey, think its coming...but its late. Need to get to sleep. There's always an excuse. Biggest one of which - its too damned scary, sitting down with a pen. Put that pen on paper and you know for sure...its lost. Forget about saying it right; forget keeping it together...there is just ...nothing there!
Nothing there besides self pity, self loathing, jealousy and hate. The bad kind. Kind that doesn't breed anything...except for posts like this.
But then, sometimes you flip a page...and find lines that makes your heart...just a bit lighter. It becomes just a little bit easy to carry yourself around. All that baggage...they suddenly decide to give you a break. For a moment, however brief...you feel...free!
God is a poet and poets are gods. Who else has the power to take you around heaven and hell like that?
Posted by weatherman at 9:46 AM