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I lost a dream today
I lost a dream today, I can’t find it anywhere! It was here in my pocket; I just put it there! I clambered down on my knees; maybe it fell under my chair But oh, oh, I lost a dream today, it’s not there!
I lost a dream today, and I should honestly be frantic;
I thought it would always be there - but you know dreams, those fickle things. Gossamer dust, you turn around and they disappear in a puff.
This dream I held in my hand, it was so small, so tiny - but I swear it was there, it existed,
I left it in my pocket as I took a call But after that, I couldn’t find it anymore. I just lost it.
Sunday 21 September 2003 3:06pm Libellés : literature
[I lost a dream today]
Sngs Alumni @ 12.12.11 { 0 comments }
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George Gray
Edgar Lee Masters (1868–1950). Spoon River Anthology. 1916.
I have studied many times
The marble which was chiseled for me—
A boat with a furled sail at rest in a harbor.
In truth it pictures not my destination
But my life.
For love was offered me and I shrank from its disillusionment;
Sorrow knocked at my door, but I was afraid;
Ambition called to me, but I dreaded the chances.
Yet all the while I hungered for meaning in my life.
And now I know that we must lift the sail
And catch the winds of destiny
Wherever they drive the boat.
To put meaning in one’s life may end in madness,
But life without meaning is the torture
Of restlessness and vague desire—
It is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid.
Libellés : literature
[George Gray]
Sngs Alumni @ 10.12.11 { 0 comments }
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When You Thought I Wasn't Looking - by Mary Rita Schilke Korzan
Poetry is emotional shortform.
When you thought I wasn’t looking You hung my first painting on the refrigerator And I wanted to paint another.
When you thought I wasn’t looking You fed a stray cat And I thought it was good to be kind to animals.
When you thought I wasn’t looking You baked a birthday cake just for me And I knew that little things were special things.
When you thought I wasn’t looking You said a prayer And I believed there was a God that I could always talk to.
When you thought I wasn’t looking You kissed me good-night And I felt loved.
When you thought I wasn’t looking I saw tears come from your eyes And I learned that sometimes things hurt— But that it’s alright to cry.
When you thought I wasn’t looking You smiled And it made me want to look that pretty too.
When you thought I wasn’t looking You cared And I wanted to be everything I could be.
When you thought I wasn’t looking— I looked . . . And wanted to say thanks For all those things you did When you thought I wasn’t looking. Libellés : literature
[When You Thought I Wasn't Looking - by Mary Rita Schilke Korzan]
Sngs Alumni @ 16.4.11 { 0 comments }
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Absence - Jeffrey Daniels
On the scales of desire, your absence weighs more than someone else’s presence, so I say no thanks
to the woman who throws her girdle at my feet, as I drop a postcard in the mailbox and watch it
throb like a blue heart in the dark. Your eyes are so green – one of your parents must be
part traffic light. We’re both self-centered, but the world revolves around us at the same speed.
Last night I tossed and turned inside a thundercloud. This morning my sheets were covered in pollen.
I remember the long division of Saturday’s pomegranate, a thousand nebulae in your hair,
as soldiers marched by, dragging big army bags filled with water balloons, and we passed a lit match,
back and forth, between our lips, under an oak tree I had absolutely nothing to do with. Second part of the poem did not move me as much (interesting descriptions though, very hippie), but the first part resonated. Absence can weigh more than presence.Libellés : literature
[Absence - Jeffrey Daniels]
Sngs Alumni @ 24.6.09 { 0 comments }
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The Quiet World - Jeffrey McDaniel
In an effort to get people to look into each other's eyes more, and also to appease the mutes, the government has decided to allot each person exactly one hundred and sixty-seven words, per day.
When the phone rings, I put it to my ear without saying hello. In the restaurant I point at chicken noodle soup. I am adjusting well to the new way.
Late at night, I call my long distance lover, proudly say I only used fifty-nine today. I saved the rest for you.
When she doesn't respond, I know she's used up all her words, so I slowly whisper I love you thirty-two and a third times. After that, we just sit on the line and listen to each other breathe.
[source]
It's unusual because it's from a guy's POV; the fact that he loved her so much that he saved his words, and couple that with the true fact that women talk twice as much as men - it was an unusual reversal of roles. The ending is lovingly comfortable as well - sitting in companionable silence is a highly underrated trait.Libellés : literature
[The Quiet World - Jeffrey McDaniel]
Sngs Alumni @ 23.6.09 { 0 comments }
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The Bean
I found a poem I wrote in 2003. I think I was at a Crusade camp and I hadn't slept the entire night. This was written at 8.30am in the morning. Could also be that this was the allocated time for QT and I was bored.
Is it weird to think that I'm quite funny?
The Bean The time is short       yet my pages still clean I cry to God      "Were I born a bean!" "No thesis, no typing, no pain, no noise,       But then I'd be harvested       to be stuffed into toys."
27 Jan 03 8.30amLibellés : literature, personal, writing
[The Bean]
Sngs Alumni @ 25.5.09 { 0 comments }
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Lord Byron: When We Two Parted
In the midst of talking to friends about their relationships, I've reaffirmed my strong belief that I REALLY SUCK at relationship sympathy. So if you've got an issue, unless you want to be emotionally bludgeoned bloody, avoid me at all costs.
Lord Byron: When We Two Parted When we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted To sever for years, Pale grew thy cheek and cold, Colder thy kiss; Truly that hour foretold Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning Sunk chill on my brow-- It felt like the warning Of what I feel now. Thy vows are all broken, And light is thy fame; I hear thy name spoken, And share in its shame.
They name thee before me, A knell to mine ear; A shrudder comes o'er me-- Why wert thou so dear? They know not I knew thee, Who knew thee so well-- Long, long I shall rue thee, Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met-- In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee?-- With silence and tears.Libellés : literature
[Lord Byron: When We Two Parted]
Sngs Alumni @ 21.4.09 { 0 comments }
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Really Lame Cards
About ten years ago, I came across a bunch of very old cards in a drawer somewhere. They had really lame messages on them - "can we just be friends" was the sentiment written on them.
I rediscovered where I had stashed the text of these cards (long thrown away in horror), and now I share them with you. I hope you're equally icked out by the lame messages.
1) I LIKE YOU AS A FRIEND
You're very special to me I enjoy talking with you and hearing the way you feel about the world we live in and the people we know.. you're good company. That's why I care about you adn consider you my friend...
and it's because i value our friendship that i need to tell you that i hope you aren't thinking of us as being something other than friends. And I hope you can understand that I'm saying this now so that our friendship can grow without either of us worrying about being hurt later on
2) IT MEANS A LOT TO ME
It means a lot to me to have a good friend of the opposite sex. You're someone I never need to pretend with - about anything We can hare our separate romances and share our opposite viewpoints without any fear of misinterpretation
We're good for each other and I'm so glad we're friends because we've got something notmany others may have and I wouldn't change a single thing about the special relationship we shareLibellés : humour, literature
[Really Lame Cards]
Sngs Alumni @ 10.3.09 { 1 comments }
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IF - Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated, don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master; If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to broken, And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run - Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
Feeling rather raw tonight.Libellés : literature
[IF - Rudyard Kipling]
Sngs Alumni @ 9.3.09 { 0 comments }
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Goodbyes and love
Something true that resonated with me as I read it:
"We'll keep in touch."
"No, we won't," I replied. It was, after all, the end of a long day, and I'd been bombarded with sentiments like that. No matter how much she meant to me as a friend, I was too tired to keep up the façade.
"We'll mean to, and we'll manage it at first. You'll call every week, and we'll have lunch whenever you're in town. But eventually we'll reach the point where we're both so busy that we never have time for more than an occasional email or an obligatory Christmas card."
She, who was never afraid to face the truth, nodded.
"You're right," she said, "but know this: That won't mean I love you any less."Libellés : books, literature
[Goodbyes and love]
Sngs Alumni @ 3.6.08 { 2 comments }
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Brown Penny
I whispered, "I am too young," And then, "I am old enough;" Wherefore I threw a penny To find out if I might love.
"Go and love, go and love, young man, If the lady be young and fair." Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny, I am looped in the loops of her hair.
O love is the crooked thing, There is nobody wise enough To find out all that is in it, For he would be thinking of love.
Till the stars had run away And the shadows eaten the moon. Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny, One cannot begin it too soon.
- William Butler YeatsLibellés : literature
[Brown Penny]
Sngs Alumni @ 27.3.08 { 0 comments }
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A Christmas Oratio (an excerpt from For The Time Being)
Well, so that is that. Now we must dismantle the tree, Putting the decorations back into their cardboard boxes -- Some have got broken -- and carrying them up to the attic. The holly and the mistletoe must be taken down and burnt, And the children got ready for school. There are enough Left-overs to do, warmed-up, for the rest of the week -- Not that we have much appetite, having drunk such a lot, Stayed up so late, attempted -- quite unsuccessfully -- To love all of our relatives, and in general Grossly overestimated our powers. Once again As in previous years we have seen the actual Vision and failed To do more than entertain it as an agreeable Possibility, once again we have sent Him away, Begging though to remain His disobedient servant, The promising child who cannot keep His word for long. The Christmas Feast is already a fading memory, And already the mind begins to be vaguely aware Of an unpleasant whiff of apprehension at the thought Of Lent and Good Friday which cannot, after all, now Be very far off. But, for the time being, here we all are, Back in the moderate Aristotelian city Of darning and the Eight-Fifteen, where Euclid's geometry And Newton's mechanics would account for our experience, And the kitchen table exists because I scrub it. It seems to have shrunk during the holidays. The streets Are much narrower than we remembered; we had forgotten The office was as depressing as this. To those who have seen The Child, however dimly, however incredulously, The Time Being is, in a sense, the most trying time of all. For the innocent children who whispered so excitedly Outside the locked door where they knew the presents to be Grew up when it opened. Now, recollecting that moment We can repress the joy, but the guilt remains conscious; Remembering the stable where for once in our lives Everything became a You and nothing was an It. And craving the sensation but ignoring the cause, We look round for something, no matter what, to inhibit Our self-reflection, and the obvious thing for that purpose Would be some great suffering. So, once we have met the Son, We are tempted ever after to pray to the Father; "Lead us into temptation and evil for our sake." They will come, all right, don't worry; probably in a form That we do not expect, and certainly with a force More dreadful than we can imagine. In the meantime There are bills to be paid, machines to keep in repair, Irregular verbs to learn, the Time Being to redeem From insignificance. The happy morning is over, The night of agony still to come; the time is noon: When the Spirit must practice his scales of rejoicing Without even a hostile audience, and the Soul endure A silence that is neither for nor against her faith That God's Will will be done, That, in spite of her prayers, God will cheat no one, not even the world of its triumph.
-- W. H. Auden ... and so, Christmas is over, and we return to the mundane reality of our lives.
But, as Auden implicitly asks, are we merely filling in the Time Being between events? The night of agony still to come though - are we ready?Libellés : literature, thinking
[A Christmas Oratio (an excerpt from For The Time Being)]
Sngs Alumni @ 18.1.08 { 0 comments }
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George Herbert - Bitter-sweet
Ah my dear angry Lord, Since thou dost love, yet strike, Cast down, yet help afford, Sure I will do the like.
I will complain, yet praise; I will bewail, approve; And all my sour-sweet days I will lament, and love.Libellés : literature
[George Herbert - Bitter-sweet]
Sngs Alumni @ 7.1.08 { 0 comments }
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A Series of Unfortunate Events: Highly Unstisfactory Ending
The end of this series was highly unsatisfactory. One of the greatest disappointments was the sheer lack of resolution of any relationship in the series (apart from the kinship felt between the Baudelaire children, which had already been established in Book 1.)
Before you write in and tell me that certain answers can be gained by reading this or that book (like The Beatrice Letters, or Horseradish). Imo, this series should be complete by itself, and no extrabiblio material should be required.
(Spoilers ahead) Let's see the various relationships that never got resolved/ were rather unsatisfactorily resolved imo:
1. the Baudelaire children and parents - no resolution, no final letter, no love, no chocolates (only bitter apples). The kids just collected a journal to continue, and a baby. Yay.
2. Baudelaires and Quagmires - so Isadora and Duncan got spirited away, and Violet had a thing with Quigley, and Klaus got his heart broken by the traitorous Fiona, and then... they all never met anyone again. Yay.
3. the Baudelaire children and Count Olaf - so at the end, we see that he was in love with Kay Snicket, and we see his soft side - a whole generous TWO SECONDS BEFORE HE KEELS OVER AND DIES. Such revelation. Who is the father of Kay's baby? Yay.
4. Count Olaf and Kay - what's the story, dead dude? No answers. Yay.
5. the readers and Lemony - so he's the missing brother, later found to be alive (since Klaus wasn't named Lemony), and then? Yay.
6. the VFD eye - story? Hello? Why the eye? Why VFD? What does it REALLY REALLY stand for? What's the story behind the schism (besides teaching kids a new word?) Yay.
I am most displeased.Libellés : books, literature
[A Series of Unfortunate Events: Highly Unstisfactory Ending]
Sngs Alumni @ 25.11.07 { 0 comments }
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random thoughts in a sermon
equal parts mystery equal parts mess
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christianity is an intensely private experience. how can one share an experience? it is yours, and yours alone.
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i fear i might have st(r)ayed too long in this place.
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our need to give is every bit as desperate as the poor's need to receive.
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compassion - com*passion - literally, "to suffer with"
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the paradox of faith: the one who shares love comes away richer, not impoverished.
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Jesus showed an incredible respect for human freedom.
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having time for persons, plural. life is a mosaic which you must piece together, one chunk of time at a time. parcelling out your days stingily, miserly, amongst a people who would suck you dry.Libellés : christian, church, literature, writing
[random thoughts in a sermon]
Sngs Alumni @ 1.7.07 { 0 comments }
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As We All Fall Down
as we all fall down let's find a way to fall such that we prop each other up.
as tears roll down let's find a way to cry such that we land on each other's shoulders.
as life passes by let's find a way to live such that we live with each other and not just by(e), and hi(gh-rise)
we're just damaged people learning damage control without the instruction manual test-driving together
except this is not a test this is not a test this is not a test not a drill
as we all fall down let's find a way to fall such that we prop each other up.Libellés : literature, personal, thinking
[As We All Fall Down]
Sngs Alumni @ 27.6.07 { 0 comments }
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Baudrillard passes
A moment of silence, please, for the passing of a great thinker; one who inspired the name of this blog.
RIP, Jean. We'll miss you.Libellés : current affairs, literature, technology
[Baudrillard passes]
Sngs Alumni @ 7.3.07 { 0 comments }
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Mourning the loss of Gaiman/Carey's Lucifer
"A young man who wishes to remain a sound atheist cannot be too careful of his reading. There are traps everywhere . . . God is, if I may say it, very unscrupulous." - C.S. Lewis
Some of you might know that I read the provocatively-named Lucifer, a comic produced by Vertigo (under D.C. comics). The label also prints Sandman by Neil Gaiman, which was the comic that birthed the fiction of Lucifer.
Loosely based on Milton's Satan ( Paradise Lost), the 75-comic series has tracked the events in the (after)life of Lucifer Morningstar - occasionally also known as Samael, or Lightbringer in the series. The tangent takes off where Sandman left off - with Lucifer becoming sick of being in charge of hell, and deciding to call it a day being the ruler of hell and abdicating his throne to run a nightclub called Lux (Latin for "light") in Los Angeles with only a Lilim called Mazikeen as a companion.
There are many plots and sub-plots that twist and turn like beautiful sculpted vines in the series' entirety - given an assignment by heaven, Lucifer has to retrieve his wings, which were stolen (and sabotaged industrially) from him; he saves the world from certain destruction by Norse gods who were trying to bring about Ragnarok, he fights on the side of heaven, and he even fakes his own death in order to win a fight between heaven and hell. Evensong ties up the loose ends left by Morningstar, where pre-teen Elaine Belloc (right; I covet her dress btw) has taken Yahweh's creation and Lucifer's cosmos, and dropped them both into a creation of her own. This effectively makes her God (or Goddess) of everthing - Yahweh's as well as Lucifer's creations.  Where does this leave Lucifer, then? In the Void, a location outside of Elaine's cosmos; yet paradoxially right where he started - seemingly on par with his Father, Yahweh, God. Both "creators" of worlds in their own right, the final pages depict the final showdown between Yahweh and Lucifer. Everything that Lucifer has done has been to bring him to this point where he is able to question his Father: ask Him about his purpose, to ask what right the Father has to impose His will on Lucifer himself. There is a great deal of seething, repressed anger and resentment in that meeting - to me, it echoes vaguely of the parable of the prodigal son, but a son who returns home ungrateful to be offered acceptance, but instead questions his Father... on everything. Mike Carey's Yahweh hits the nail on the head when he tiredly informs Lucifer that for all his rebelling and reasons behind his fall from grace, " no one can be their own maker." The frustration that Lucifer feels is one which stems from something that he cannot change; something that no one can change. No one can be their own maker: it is as simple as that, Yahweh explains.  Lucifer (petulantly and unwisely, I feel) refuses to accept a compromise that Yahweh offers, an offer to make Lucifer equal in knowledge to Yahweh Himself, and disappears into the Void, leaving everything behind. His Godhead, he leaves with Elaine Belloc. His Lightbearing status, conferred onto a heartbroken and bitter Mazikeen. Carrying only the angry scar across his face from his disappointed lover, he just... goes away. The ending of the series left me with mixed feelings. I confess that I ask a lot of the questions that Carey (via Lucifer) asks of God: why this, why that, why did you ask this of me, what is my function? There are no easy answers to these questions (no easy non-Christian responses, anyhow), and I doubt they can be answered by people who are less than omnipotent and omnipresent. I enjoyed the process of asking though, and the comic pushed the limits on that asking, bringing the questions and the conflicts to life. (Left: Goya's Saturn Devouring His Children/Devoration, 1819)For all it's brilliance, Carey's Lucifer is not an accurate, biblical Satan though - far from it. Carey's Lucifer is modelled after Milton's sympathetic, almost regretful Satan, who is tortured by his choice, and questions the path of his existence, which runs contrary to all that we are told of Satan in the bible. Granted, we're not given a lot to go on, but a few things do stand out in Carey's account. For instance, Carey's Lucifer is a Satan that does not lie because he thinks it is "crass", but we know from the bible that Satan is the Father of all Lies (John 8:44). Carey's Lucifer is also one who keeps his word and pays back his debts, and adheres to a strange code of honour which only he knows the rules. Given that Satan is described as a "lying spirit" (1 Kings 22:22), this seems inconsistent with Carey's "courtly, but unscrupulous gentleman". In this respect, Carey's Lucifer could very well be a male hero in Austen's novels, just sans the compunction and penitance gene I know moomoo's gonna bludger me for that statement, but I've always felt it to be true, right from the outset of the series.  I'm sad that the series has ended, and I'm more than a little upset at the too-neat ending. The series (I felt) promised much in terms of theological discussion: at the outset, it looked like the writers were rolling up their sleeves, ready to tackle some serious issues that people grapple with when discussing matters of heaven and hell, but perhaps I was too naive in thinking that this would be a proper discussion. It is, after all, entertainment. On the other hand, some good news: Diana and other Gaiman fans: How exciting is it that his best story (imho) Neverwhere comic adaptation has just been released as a trade paperback??? And by Mike Carey as well! I've held off buying the individual comics in the hope that it'd be collected, and I'm dreadfully excited now! US$19.99, so possibly $28 at Kinokuniya. Yay! The adventures of the Lady Door and hapless Richard Mayhew, here we come! There are too many exclaimation marks in this paragraph! Libellés : literature
[Mourning the loss of Gaiman/Carey's Lucifer]
Sngs Alumni @ 18.2.07 { 0 comments }
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Word Play
repress regress stress depress distressed impress de-stressed get dressed
digress
May-Ann 5 Nov 2000
Sighted in an email to J. Libellés : literature
[Word Play]
Sngs Alumni @ 5.11.00 { 0 comments }
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