Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Shares: There is more than just 'i carry your heart with me'

I have, for a long time now, loved e.e.cummings. I think I could claim him as my favorite poet, easily. I have read 2 or three full novel sized works of his poems, and always find something new and just enthralling with his work.

I have decided to post a few of my favorite works by him, because I think the world should love him as I do.

suppose... (VIII)
by E. E. Cummings


Life is an old man carrying flowers on his head.

young death sits in a cafe
smiling, a pierce of money held between
his thumb and first finger

(i say "will he buy flowers" to you
and "Death is young
life wears velour trousers
life totters, life has a beard" i

say to you who are silent.--"Do you see
Life? he is there and here,
or that, or this
or nothing or an old man 3 thirds
asleep, on his head
flowers, always crying
to nobody something about les
roses les bluets
will He buy?Les belles bottes--oh hear
, pas cheres")

and my love slowly answered I think so. But
I think I see someone else
there is a lady, whose name is Afterwards
she is sitting beside young death, is slender
likes flowers.

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
by E. E. Cummings

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


...I love The Onion.

Friday, July 24, 2009

Funnies: Because it is free on Hulu....

And everyone should watch every episode. Also you all should buy me the DVD set to own. Really, it's about time.

Funnies: This Quote

...more specifically the bolded part. But you needed some context, I assumed.

"I consider myself to be a Feminist in the sense that I've always thought, "Yeah, ladies are just as good as dudes, right? I mean, why not?" I never was one to shout about it, though, mostly because I've never been a very politically correct person. It's pretty hard to be politically correct and hilarious. I'd much rather be funny than someone who pretends to respect everyone."


"Bonnaroo actually did a very good job of keeping the two things separate. There was a tiny bit of spillover from the music, but they had a great big air-conditioned tent for the comedians which worked well. If they invite us back, I’d love to go, although next time I’m hoping we can stay for more than a few hours. The reason we had to come and go so quickly is that we’re still in production on our TV show and there just wasn’t time to hang out and enjoy the amazing bands they had: Bruce Springsteen, Public Enemy, Beastie Boys, Band of Horses. They also had Phish! You will note I separated Phish from the list of amazing acts. Actually, I’ve been making fun of Phish a lot but the truth is, I honestly don’t even know their music. My mockery is coming entirely from a place of ignorance based on their genre: jam band. I’ve never been fan of free form musical experimentation because I am not a fan of being bored. " -Michael Ian Black

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Shares: K is for Kate who was struck with an axe

I have always enjoyed the art of Edward Gorey, with the above, The Gashlycrumb Tinies being my favorite. It is a book, that goes through each letter of the alphabet, and how each child with a name starting with the corresponding name of the alphabet comes to their death. Every once in a while I stumble upon something that reminds me of Gorey, and a few years back actually got my friend The Gashlycrumb Tinies as a present.
Below is a website that goes through the entire stories, with links to each picture associated with a letter.

Shares: Excited!

Ramblings: Tattoos



I suppose that it really only matters to the person receiving the tattoo, and what it means to them...but I am still going to judge them no matter what.

Personally, I am too fickle to ever REALLY get a tattoo, but have recently been playing around with the idea. Here is as much as I have decided:

It will feature a portion of the poem 'Birches' by Robert Frost. Some part of the bolded section below:

When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.

But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay.
Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen the
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust--
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
But I was going to say when Truth broke in
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm
(Now am I free to be poetical?)
I should prefer to have some boy bend them
As he went out and in to fetch the cows--
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
Whose only play was what he found himself,
Summer or winter, and could play alone.
One by one he subdued his father's trees
By riding them down over and over again
Until he took the stiffness out of them,
And not one but hung limp, not one was left
For him to conquer. He learned all there was
To learn about not launching out too soon
And so not carrying the tree away
Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise
To the top branches, climbing carefully
With the same pains you use to fill a cup
Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.
So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It's when I'm weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig's having lashed across it open.
I'd like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:
I don't know where it's likely to go better.
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

And it would most likely have a portion of this with it, somehow...(details elude me at the moment):
This is a picture by Gustav Klimt, one of my favorite artists. The snag with this is, these are not Birches...the are Beeches. *shrug*

Ramblings: Why I am doing this...

I spend the majority of my work day online. Between the emails, recruitment, and other work-related stuff I process, I am constantly jumping around from site to site, random moment to moment, and come across a lot of things that I just want to share. Some you will find intriguing, some you may not. All will be trivial.

So here is my mind, and what I find engrossing, and why I get sidetracked so easily.