tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36836562012-02-11T06:14:12.681-04:00MetaforaAlexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comBlogger1251100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-42447135192426755242012-01-25T08:17:00.004-04:002012-02-11T06:14:12.692-04:00WholeNeil spoke of a dreaded hookThat snares you by the heartand drags you intothe other sideof the mirror.Whole.Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-83366024760863901572011-12-06T06:44:00.014-04:002011-12-19T17:08:23.783-04:00 Laugh, and the world laughs with you. Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-58241482717333825922011-10-05T01:09:00.023-04:002011-11-28T10:23:55.993-04:00Deactivation"Aw shit... god damned motherfucking bootleg counter-cycle son of a shitty fuck!"(and that's when Alex found out that fancy language may be a beautiful thing, but there's nothing in god's green Earth to rival the eloquence of a well-uttered curse when the issue is frustration.)Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-5535034968493705232011-06-16T11:23:00.002-04:002011-06-16T11:41:59.583-04:00Not worth a thousand words:The bank won't take my word, says it's no good to buy music.'I'm sorry, sir, these goods are just not interchangeable.''What am I supposed to do, then?''Would you be interested in borrowing from one of our famous poets?'I stand up and grab my coat.Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1999115953064710672011-06-05T10:41:00.004-04:002011-08-08T15:00:02.700-04:00Gamma Convergence
The whole thing lit up like a small, blue sun, and the engineers who intimately believed all this work to be another wasted effort looked at each other and wondered. They wondered if there was still time, time being of the essence, after so much having gone so wrong. They didn't dare to hope, but there was some serious wondering going on.
Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-57105418604241645382011-04-13T15:28:00.005-04:002011-04-13T15:57:45.567-04:00Technician ReportingThere seem to be no structural anomalies,Everything is in its place.In fact, it's a slightly above-the-average device;You should count yourself lucky.Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-42656620384559422332011-04-05T14:26:00.003-04:002011-05-17T15:20:30.262-04:00,¡ɯoʇʇoq ǝɥʇ ǝǝs uɐɔ ı ʞuıɥʇ ı,˙ʇɥƃnoɥʇ ı ',ʍou ɹǝƃuol ǝlʇʇıl ɐ ʇsnɾ,ʎǝuɹnoɾ dǝǝpAlexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-84292320972584477562011-03-28T13:57:00.011-04:002011-10-13T07:35:37.726-04:00Turn of the TideClick....rrrrrrrrrr...*low hum*CLANK!...rrrrRRRRR...Click.*metal sliding*Dusty analog display, blue: 0000Dusty analog display, red: 0001Dusty analog display, green: 3006Tick. Tock.Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-68266144935959972922011-03-21T15:42:00.005-04:002011-03-27T02:00:11.055-04:00Diligence, the Fourth Virtue"The seven-fold yron gates of grisly Hell,And horrid house of sad Proserpina,They able are with power of mightie spellTo breake, and thence the soules to bring awaieOut of dread darknesse to eternall day,And them immortall make which els would dieIn foule forgetfulnesse, and nameles lie."(Edmund Spenser)Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-32405899823283198802011-01-31T20:15:00.005-04:002011-01-31T20:32:13.079-04:00BelieveI am hanging by a thread;StubbornResilient- and torn.But this tiny, thinbarely visiblepiece of stringis of the strongest materialin all known universe, soit won’t break,it won’t give,I won’t fall....I will hang in there.Trust me,If you canTrust me,I will hang in there.Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-65927371703059085762010-10-28T08:49:00.008-04:002011-03-01T22:06:58.840-04:00Ask no questions, hear no liesI'd slay one Goliath today,Lick my wounds in silence andDo it again tomorrow;And the day after that, Again and again.I'd want to be tough and fearlessImpervious to painBecause of the faith I seeIn the eyes that see me.Without the warmth of this balmI'd be, however, diminished;And I'd battle, still, as I must,In an old desperate fray whose outcome's uncertain.Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-43574336393020970982010-10-13T14:56:00.003-04:002010-10-14T14:16:20.871-04:00Onward.They taught me at the catechism: "When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became a man, I put childish ways behind me". Funny how these old memories resist the rust of time.Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-34104525938781854512010-09-02T01:19:00.004-04:002011-04-27T22:05:12.157-04:00Illegitimi non CarborundumWe live in a world of broken compasses, but the old and the wise leave us markings, clues and directions to help us get through the wilderness of horrors:I – The capacity for compassion; without it, a man spirals down into selfishness and bigotry.II – Enlightened humility; the acceptance – without resentment – that we are perpetual learners. Without it, the disease of Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-29535958101448426072010-06-30T15:05:00.006-04:002010-07-28T17:41:16.754-04:00Nil DesperandumDearest Helena,I have sailed the seas and fought many monsters. Some of them I was acquainted with, a few others proved entirely new. Some battles I won, a good deal were miserably lost. One of them creatures was particularly tenacious, striking me several times these last months when I had little chance to retaliate: Self-Doubt is an old foe. Will I ever get it right? I think I Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-51764768728014330212009-09-20T20:20:00.002-04:002009-09-20T20:32:23.830-04:00CastlingThe Lighthouseby Henry Wadsworth Longfellow The rocky ledge runs far into the sea,And on its outer point, some miles away,The Lighthouse lifts its massive masonry,A pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day.Even at this distance I can see the tides,Upheaving, break unheard along its base,A speechless wrath, that rises and subsidesIn the white lip and tremor of the face.And as the evening Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-40284656093267314952009-09-13T17:11:00.001-04:002009-09-13T17:18:00.817-04:00A Study in EmeraldText by Vijayendra MohantyAlexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-6590253880613249192009-09-05T11:29:00.001-04:002011-08-15T20:56:34.729-04:00
Tenebris Interlucentem
by J.E.Flecker
"A linnet who had lost her way
Sang on a blackened bough in Hell,
Till all the ghosts remembered well
The trees, the wind, the golden day.
At last they knew that they had died
When they heard music in that land,
And some one there stole forth a hand
To draw a brother to his side."
Questions I ask myself when I read this poem:
1. Why is the linnet a 'she'Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-36817186046776897342009-09-04T10:57:00.001-04:002009-09-04T10:59:59.912-04:00A Moment of Perfect SolitudeAlexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-15239864324720605172009-08-17T12:41:00.004-04:002009-08-31T10:23:36.078-04:00"So up he jumped to try againTen yards behind the lastIf I'm going to gain those yards, he thoughI've got to move real fast"--- D. H. GrobergThere's a race going on right now - But I do not run alone, and I do not run only for myself. I run best when I run for someone else, and I believe you are like that too: You point the lantern, but the lantern does not point at you. So let us run, and I'll Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-30554374130226638282009-08-08T14:49:00.005-04:002011-04-27T22:31:24.499-04:00To the OceanSea, my old and bottomless mirror, I call unto you to tell you this: That you are indeed my ever-hungry keeper, and your creatures have guarded me faithful and diligently for decades. And I would be ungrateful to deny you this - that yet today I live and breathe because of you.I loved the immeasurable vastness in which you held the demons, drowning them lest they reached me with the Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-35822159271882742292009-07-17T12:49:00.001-04:002009-07-17T12:50:48.118-04:00Recursive Metaphor- Look at all those bottles.- I wonder who writes all these messages...- Lets open some!Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-86496393719009511612009-06-15T02:07:00.009-04:002009-06-19T08:42:21.824-04:00New JourneyThe not-so-young man put his pen to the thick piece of paper. “Dear Helena”, he started, and hesitated in intimate search for the first string of words. “The last time you had news from me, I was a sailor. Well, I’m a captain now; I’ve got my own ship and hands to crew it. Are you proud of me?”. He hesitated again, familiarly compelled to downplay his merits – intimately, he wanted to Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-53512167193929270912008-10-28T14:59:00.006-04:002009-06-15T02:52:53.989-04:00Final DestinationWherever the journey leads,It’s not through the fathomless sea.Whatever the answer is, it is not within.We peek through the porthole, and the worldIs vast, truly without end.Perhaps (I tell my fellow sailors)We’ve been sailing for too long.No more.Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-46735061909067566262008-09-16T10:42:00.016-04:002008-10-16T11:56:45.873-04:00Tell me why."William Walker sat silently one night and began to think. His feeble attempts to put the events of life in perspective had never born good fruits – mostly green ones – which he had been unable to digest properly. Hope was a fragile, warm, tiny flickering bluish thing hovering above his left shoulder, ready to expire. He was waiting for a miracle, a life-changing episode. However, he Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-79820485238602833502008-09-14T15:05:00.000-04:002008-09-14T15:06:02.946-04:00Backfire"Good Lord, Alex, you are completely stiff and humourless!""Only when there's an idiot talking to me"What a zinger! Brilliant! But then again, I... do talk to myself a lot.Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-67447459429552232752008-09-11T15:15:00.004-04:002008-09-12T22:49:10.657-04:00Today I went to the bakery in order to get some bi-daily supplies, and one of the girls working inside was singing the Lion King theme, that one which starts with a Swahili chant and goes on about the Circle of Life. Well, at least she was trying to, because the one thing she kept doing was repeating sounds that only remotely had anything to do with that obscure Swahili mantra, over and over. I Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-91015140678350334182008-08-31T17:51:00.006-04:002008-08-31T18:06:09.371-04:00( and now, for an attempt at semi-original, true-to-life poetry... )MaryMary had a little fear,Its fur was as white as snow;And everywhere that Mary went,The fear was sure to go.It followed her to school one night;Which was against the rule;It made the children weep with fright,To see a fear at school.“Why does fear follows Mary so?”The frightened children cry;“Why, Mary lives in fear, you know,”Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-46459323955701028442008-08-26T16:19:00.003-04:002008-11-12T05:32:05.601-04:00Our Best Efforts“So. Alex, right? Your name?”“Yeah. That’s what people call me. Most of them, anyway.”“Any previous occupation?”“Well, I… started as a musician. I used to sing in a choir, and I wanted to play the piano. Professionally.”“For how long did you exercise that profession?”“No, no. I never did. I never acquired enough skills. It’s a bit embarrassing, really.”“Right. So…”“I turned my Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-37900842574908421732008-08-10T17:34:00.001-04:002008-11-12T05:23:57.024-04:00The Atlantic Journal of Alex EwingIt was with a calculated amount of regret that I embarked on this journey, searching for a destiny brimming with promises of new and exciting knowledge as well as that subconsciously prophesied place in life where one could finally settle down and practice his craft. I might have succeeded, at no small cost – but what point is there in measuring the cost, when itAlexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-39001269920839477352008-07-09T00:25:00.007-04:002008-07-24T14:42:25.686-04:00Obsolescence Welcome, my invisible reader. Pray forgive my delay. You’ve been probably told I was entertaining guests, eh? – that was just a way to appease you with a clever half-truth and, at the same time, keep you amused. Two birds, as they say, the silly old pranksters, heh. Well, full-truths are VERY rarely entertaining, anyhow. So there! Let no one ever utter a word about me not being a Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-48029166178899139092008-07-01T12:16:00.004-04:002008-07-24T14:42:57.677-04:00- Shh...(whispers)- It is right there. Can you see it?- No... Where?- Right... there.- I can't see it.- C'mere. Quiet!- Sorry.- It's alright. Look.- Where?- Behind the bulb.- Wait...- See?- There is someth...- Shh! Don't point.- Sorry.- S'okay. Now look.- Yeah... It's moving.Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-79513143592552314672008-06-20T17:33:00.005-04:002008-06-25T19:05:00.263-04:00Delightful Delusions(you are what you are becoming) I am not an old person, unless you adopt the adolescent’s perspective. But well, teenagers suffer from at least two delightful delusions: (1) they are going to live forever; (2) adults were born old, and have never been teenagers. Therefore, they see anyone who’s survived more than twenty winters as part of a remote caste, distantly related toAlexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-18218529742319091792008-05-07T17:58:00.041-04:002009-09-11T23:38:25.489-04:00Th3 B1g 70ckd0wnError running compass.sysError running hourglass.sysError initializing multitasking routinesError initializing vice inhibitorsError running core.sysError accessing errorlst.datCan't reach Jabberwock.stationCan't reach Asimov.stationBackup files not foundSystem lockdown enabled.Running diagnostics... Reboot in 25(347) piece(s) of corrupt code deleted................................Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-881038816627185082008-05-04T16:35:00.001-04:002008-05-04T16:37:59.292-04:00HandiworkAlexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-61542114388398509732008-04-27T13:24:00.008-04:002009-09-11T23:37:11.983-04:00Emergency ShutdownError writing new entry.Refer to manual for details... ■Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-67883723552537549782008-04-06T23:30:00.021-04:002008-05-02T23:55:19.468-04:00Breaking the Shell"A angústia dos acometidos pelo mal da inércia só pode compreender quem já a experimentou alguma vez. Ócio é algo com que todo ser humano sonha. O mal da inércia, entretanto, fica longe da agradável sensação de descanso e paz que o ócio proporciona: quem por ele é acometido não consegue agir, por mais que se empenhe. Mente amortecida e visão embaçada, o enfermo debate-se na poçaAlexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-87852843783534396592008-03-30T10:14:00.004-04:002008-04-02T08:49:00.174-04:00The AlchemistI burned my life, that I might findA passion wholly of the mind,Thought divorced from eye and bone,Ecstasy come to breath alone.I broke my life, to seek reliefFrom the flawed light of love and grief.( Louise Bogan )There is no regret. I am happier now than I've been in a decade.Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-67485479464670555192008-03-14T20:01:00.010-04:002008-03-29T00:48:14.789-04:00Wishful ThinkingAlexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-67124238632281097192008-02-25T09:34:00.005-04:002008-02-25T10:08:52.869-04:00Back to Work Once one knows what really matters, one ceases to be voluble. And what does really matter? That is easy: thinking and doing, doing and thinking - and these are the sum of all wisdom... Both must move ever onward in life, to and fro, like breathing in and breathing out. Whoever makes it a rule to test action by thought, thought by action, cannot falter, and if he does, will soon Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-52585770273178699352008-02-01T03:24:00.002-04:002008-04-26T14:12:22.908-04:00[The gatekeeper is a short knight in silvery armor with a lion's head instead of a human one. He has a sword (which remains sheathed) and stands casually by the gate, looking rather harmless. The towering gate makes its keeper look even smaller and less important in comparison, in a way insinuating that his presence is of no great relevance or consequence. A travelling girl arrives at the scene Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-67993580644036998022008-01-17T22:39:00.001-04:002008-01-29T10:18:59.963-04:00Closing TimeI hereby declare that in here it will be alwaysone hour till dawn...Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-20773213593737512922007-12-23T00:17:00.002-04:002009-07-10T10:43:21.660-04:00Room for ImprovementThe two engineers climbed down the spiral staircase quietly, their boots against the naked concrete being the only sound to disturb that distant humming from far below. As they got farther into the underground construction site, two things happened: first, the droning of some deep machinery operating in the distant depths of the building increased, followed by a subtle yet Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-57786688430896776832007-10-27T19:25:00.002-04:002008-07-09T09:09:25.778-04:00Remember:And so am I.Did you come by chance, or was it a willful gesture of reckless affection that drove you here? You are not like the others who are reading these words. You aren’t merely an observer. You are here, and need not open your eyes to read the work of my hands. You could even write if you wanted. In fact, you do. I can sense the quiet words you’ve written in invisible ink when I wasAlexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-19414296954740512802007-10-06T23:38:00.000-04:002007-10-10T07:59:31.835-04:00This Quiet Covenant...I know I am but a shadow right now, and it might seem as if I am far away, that nothing can reach me and no one can touch me. But that is not true at all. I’ve got a compass; I know where I need to go.Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-6824611337397435582007-09-26T07:14:00.000-04:002007-11-07T10:19:15.383-04:00Damage Control- Hey.- Hm? Eh, hi. What’s up?- Same-o same-o. It’s hard to keep current with anything that’s not work lately anyway. How´s it going?- Well, you know, I’m contractually bound to a life of servitude with no entertainment breaks. But seriously, I’m swamped.- Cool blueprints.- Hah, yeah, I’ve been working on these for quite some time now.- What’s that?- Parts designs. Remember the Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-36408728436549946262007-09-20T13:54:00.001-04:002007-09-20T14:10:01.096-04:00Waking up from the Postcard DreamScene: A phone rings in a dark room, its blinking red LED is the only source of light. The silhouette of a hand reaches for the panel and punches a series of keys, until the correct one is pressed. A white screen lights the room. Switch to caller's screen (bad image reception), and back to the dark room. Close on hand. It rubs a sleepy eye and reaches for a pair Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-21543589146659107162007-09-20T12:29:00.000-04:002007-09-20T14:09:46.126-04:00Postcard from a dream.Hi.I hope everyone's doing ok.(sorry I couldn't write sooner)The sea is going shallow,And I wanted to swimand take lotsof pictures.I will show them to you.Love,Alex.Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-72999883458996030982007-09-17T14:14:00.001-04:002008-07-08T22:25:17.084-04:00Fine TuningIt is much more difficult than it looks.[1] I’ve always led a life of unrestrained thought. The offspring of my mind has always moved in freedom, and never before had I guessed that it could be otherwise. Until now, there has never been something like "too much thought". I'm stuck in the middle of a highway, though, and at any moment one of those speeding ideas might come right at me Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-59774209641406226482007-08-28T15:13:00.000-04:002007-09-20T14:06:09.199-04:00Previously on Metáfora..."The giant grinding stone within my head churns, fed by the wind that rages outside. I close the trembling windows of the windmill. I tread carefully down the wooden stairs, as the whole edifice shivers with the cyclic tension of the furious mill. What oppressing force compels the sails of this old edifice? What must one do to constrict its perpetual whirl, I ask the Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-65721650453120028912007-05-20T21:41:00.001-04:002007-07-07T17:45:21.478-04:00Desperate CovenantWill you be my strength?I am exhausted.There is so much to doAnd I need something to keep me on my feet.Will you tell me what encumbers me?For whatever's eating me insideHas been in there for too longAnd I cannot see it anymore.There's an endless frayWhere my happy memories should be.If you could pull me out of it,Until I can tell right from wrong again...In return I'll watch Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-41905100014570765662007-05-10T11:31:00.000-04:002007-06-18T18:02:05.303-04:00In the fertile recess of his mindI’ve sown the whispers ofA thousand tales,To make him think– and think, and think –Of illusions, of affection,And brew the pain himselfThat poisons his heart.Wind Fiendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02361977909923598703noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-80211041336506554172007-04-29T14:06:00.000-04:002007-04-29T14:58:48.969-04:00"I don't have a tv now but that's ok. The shows in my mind are almost always better" --- The MAXX.Linderman: There comes a time when a man must ask himself whether he wants a life of happiness or a life of meaning.Alex: I'd like to have both.Linderman: *chuckles* Can't be done. Two VERY different paths. I mean, to be truly happy, a man must live absolutely in the present. No thought of what's Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-74659472479937522692007-04-22T17:33:00.000-04:002007-04-22T17:44:40.913-04:00I wish, I wish...Having counted a thousand waves, the boy summoned the thing that lives at the end of the ocean, down into the abyss where foaming waters plunge towards the invisible heart of the world. “Ah, silly lad”, hissed the dripping shade as soon as it emerged. And they talked long and eagerly, for the sea demon is an old and lonely creature who fancies company above most things. The boy Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-51486191590600075242007-04-16T13:57:00.001-04:002008-04-26T14:24:05.821-04:00It's easy to fight when everything's right,And you're mad with the thrill and the glory;It's easy to cheer when victory's near,And wallow in fields that are gory.It's a different song when everything's wrong,When you're feeling infernally mortal;(...)And so in the strife of the battle of lifeIt's easy to fight when you're winning;It's easy to slave, and starve and be brave,When the dawn of Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-42023333679450605262007-04-02T15:48:00.000-04:002007-07-02T12:25:04.197-04:00*static* … you are tuned to SAM 85.7, where the news are inevitably fabricated since we have no contact whatsoever with the real world. It’s the only radio for you lunatics and daydreamers out there looking for a sympathetic voice in this brute, harsh world. Good evening to all! Moving on to the latest reports – some extremely heavy traffic is expected as the holiday approaches and the days grow Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-87017213741283038012007-03-26T14:08:00.001-04:002009-03-27T18:40:44.720-04:00I love dreams, and I hate dreams. They are supposed to make you feel good, but instead they only make you feel... harder. When you get caught in the acoustic bubble of a dream, any sound - a whisper - is like thunder in your ears. You end up deafened by your own heartbeats. The colours are more delightful, distracting the mind from the petty, mundane laws of cause and effect. Thus the cages of Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-21650307647669150532007-03-12T11:56:00.000-04:002007-03-29T00:56:05.418-04:00"What if you slept? And what if, in your sleep, you dreamed? And what if, in your dream, you went to heaven and there plucked a strange and beautiful flower? And what if, when you awoke, you had the flower in your hand? Ah, what then?" --- Samuel Taylor Coleridge."Goodnight kiss in your nightgown /Lavender in your bed So innocent as you lie down /Sweet dreams that run through your head"You lookAlexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-55916914942454536172007-03-10T18:19:00.000-04:002007-03-11T09:13:03.691-04:00Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-64035644192872092352007-03-05T03:04:00.000-04:002007-07-02T12:33:20.966-04:00Daydreamer's TreasureI have, you see, an excellent memory. I can recall very tiny details of certain events years after they take place. I remember the rusty spot on the van that used to drive me off to kindergarten when I was three. I remember what shoes I was wearing when I met my yet-to-be first girlfriend, fifteen years ago. I remember things I did not understand then, suffering with it the Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-84100267842657391172007-02-21T13:18:00.000-04:002007-06-18T18:03:42.164-04:00L'EnnemiMa jeunesse ne fut qu'un ténébreux orage,Traversé çà et là par de brillants soleils;Le tonnerre et la pluie ont fait un tel ravage,Qu'il reste en mon jardin bien peu de fruits vermeils.Voilà que j'ai touché l'automne des idées,Et qu'il faut employer la pelle et les râteauxPour rassembler à neuf les terres inondées,Où l'eau creuse des trous grands comme des tombeaux.Et qui sait si les Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-29662198594384283732007-02-08T00:46:00.000-04:002007-02-08T03:58:31.939-04:00And now they beat at the prison door,"Ho, keeper, do not stay!We are friends of him whom you hold within,And we fain would take him awayFrom those who ride fast on our heelsWith mind to do him wrong;They have no care for his innocence,And the rope they bear is long."(Paul Laurence Dunbar)Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-85107765010281438992007-01-29T00:03:00.000-04:002007-04-09T09:28:26.739-04:00The guy who lived here? No, we never met. Reckon he was a type who kept to himself. Lotsa people are like that, they mind their own business and don’t like no contact, I s’pose. Yeah, he lived alone. No, he did get no visitors very often as far as I know, but I never paid much attention, really. What, did he kill somebody? Are you wit’ the police or sumthin’? Well, y’never know. You live in the Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-24086510966285422732007-01-17T15:20:00.000-04:002007-08-04T10:35:10.173-04:00Sir Alexander in 12 ImagesI - The GargoyleHe was once human, or at least he thinks he was, but ever since he can remember he’s been standing on the castle keep overlooking the ocean, rock-still and noiseless. Only his eyes move, and he sees it all – the stirring waters, the soaring birds, the chattering people beyond the curtain walls – a whole world oblivious of his scrutiny. Beneath the stony Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-21842232681305039742007-01-16T18:02:00.000-04:002007-01-17T10:04:22.821-04:00 The giant grinding stone within my head churns, fed by the wind that rages outside. I close the trembling windows of the windmill. I tread carefully down the wooden stairs, as the whole edifice shivers with the cyclic tension of the furious mill. What oppressing force compels the sails of this old edifice? What must one do to constrict its perpetual whirl, I ask the storm. Alas, no answer. Now Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-3924155140630638322007-01-05T16:50:00.000-04:002007-01-05T16:55:29.429-04:00"I am still here, while the day goes up and down.Spare as the moon up there I walk to town.The barns are gone, the woods, the yellow deer,The roaring church is gone, but I am here.Today the sun was walking in the rain,As if the rain were words; I am the same; (...)"--- Sarah RudenHappy birthday to me.Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-88670479934305013342006-12-30T12:46:00.000-04:002007-01-01T22:08:30.032-04:00... ..- -... - .-.. . ^_^"It will be alright."Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1166361595698452022006-12-17T09:16:00.000-04:002006-12-17T09:19:55.710-04:00Eu vejo aquele rio a deslizarO tempo a atravessar meu vilarejoE às vezes largoO afazerMe pego em sonhoA navegarCom o nome PaciênciaVai a minha embarcaçãoPendulando como o tempoE tendo igual destinaçãoPra quem anda na barcaçaTudo, tudo passaSó o tempo nãoPassam paisagens furta-corPassa e repassa o mesmo caisNum mesmo instante eu vejo a florQue desabrocha e se desfazEssa é a tua músicaÉ tua Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1164126079993998752006-11-21T12:15:00.000-04:002006-12-03T08:59:12.753-04:00She found an old note in one of her writing desk's drawers.I've been watching over the seasons with a dispassionate appetite for salvation - catching glimpses of clarity, of where I stand and what I have to do. But the intermittent sanity is swiftly quelled in the fog of the following day, fleeting footmarks waiting for the next tide. Washed away, their message is lost - leaving me with a burningAlexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1161715004800252232006-10-24T14:29:00.000-04:002006-11-05T16:45:26.153-04:00"Ah, here's the problem", the doctor said.Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1157346284443806542006-09-04T00:57:00.000-04:002006-09-05T11:49:51.416-04:00Half-Life, the Game I can't take it anymore.Ssh, it's all right...When is it all going to end?!Don't worry.Please!Everything's going to be okay.What are we going to do?We'll think of something.Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1156206788847188382006-08-21T20:28:00.000-04:002006-08-28T23:02:44.163-04:00What is the Vortex Veritarum?I am truly weary at the moment, exhausted from weaving layers over layers of those bittersweet (and ultimately hopeless) metaphors. Years of work gone to waste, building this huge mechanism, naming things, learning what they do, years of meticulous writing. To what end? Futile labor it was! Pointless, I realize, as the lifetime worth of indecipherable literature Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1155163869762288722006-08-09T18:21:00.000-04:002007-07-15T09:49:26.139-04:00Interlude[1] You look troubled, brother. Speak your mind.[2] I was thinking that the truth is like a rainbow in many ways.[1] Colorful?[2] Well, no. Not colorful.[1] Really…[2] You can never get close enough to touch it, and if you try – it will elude you every time.[1] Might you not consider observing it from afar, only?[2] No.[1] Well, ask your shadow then.[2] Why would it help me?[1] The Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1155128568623778152006-08-09T08:58:00.000-04:002007-06-18T22:10:57.411-04:00Why do people write? Do they want to be understood? Do they crave so dreadfully the attention? In writing, are they not implying that we do not comprehend them? That we cannot see into their souls? Is it not a sob of pain, a silent wave of the bruised hand? All the vain, wasted cries. All the bottles that sank into the ocean.Vortex ChimaerarumAlexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1151647415837153672006-06-30T00:51:00.000-04:002006-09-11T08:34:02.543-04:00“It is indeed unfair that real life isn’t even remotely as romantically orchestrated as in the books we so love to read”, you might be pondering, to which I will immediately concur. Sadly, we have little choice in this matter, eh? But a story is a story, and – once you get used to the loose ends – real ones can be as fine as any, really.Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1150930583340883382006-06-21T18:54:00.000-04:002006-06-21T18:56:23.360-04:00"So this time the Cat vanished quite slowly, beginning with the tail, and ending with the grin. Wasn't that a curious thing, a Grin without any Cat? Would you like to see one?" --- Lewis CarrolAlexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1150125829835518132006-06-12T09:48:00.000-04:002007-06-18T22:13:49.823-04:00Twilight of FlamesI haven't felt this in a long while. I suppose it's one of those marvels towhich we remain oblivious until something ... happens."The weary sun hath made a golden set,And by the bright track of his fiery carGives token of a goodly day tomorrow."(William Shakespeare)Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1146066078726908102006-04-26T11:10:00.000-04:002006-05-27T20:44:09.220-04:00The genius of the hole.No matter how long you spend climbing out,you can still fall back down in an instant.Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1145537438656937072006-04-20T08:32:00.000-04:002007-11-26T07:33:52.543-04:00The Vortex-Chimaerarum evisitedListlessly as the shallop departing in the stagnant air of an April evening, I walk into the swirling currents of the vortex. The revisited frostiness encumbers my senses with a plethora of old, incoherent and chimerical memoirs. The sweet, metallic taste of rust. A deep scent of rotten newspaper. The omnipresent, distant and thunderous pounding noise. These are theAlexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1137040887788398812006-01-12T00:38:00.000-04:002007-11-12T13:17:13.202-04:00I'm... the bad guy? ... When did that happen...?How, then? How does a person's core rot? When does the wine turn into vinegar? I will not explain it to you, but I will say that however it happens, it is a slow, quiet thing. Like a damaged roof left unattended – it looks fine when it isn't raining, and it gets worse over time. You do not wake up one day to decide that you are rotten, you wake up Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1136928943139421592006-01-10T17:35:00.000-04:002006-04-02T08:14:35.776-04:00Today I was sitting in a classroom chair and unintentionally thought of something. I thought that Life is a cosmically bitter, fat giantess whose features we can't entirely grasp, for we are but tiny little insects living in Her shadow.Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1135655593954021512005-12-26T23:21:00.001-04:002009-05-12T10:05:07.842-04:00 All this abandonment, all these growing empty spaces, the gloom, the cold dinner, the love letters I will never receive, the broken headphone, the handwritten music sheets, the spilt wine, the petals pressed inside the book, the sealed shoeboxes, the poetry taped to the cupboard doors, the act of looking back on the sidewalk, the bittersweet sound of slow strings, the arrhythmic heart, the Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1135058912976533032005-12-20T02:07:00.000-04:002006-04-16T12:06:31.116-04:00I used to enjoy being alone.Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1132754197159630202005-11-23T09:29:00.000-04:002007-07-09T21:29:08.746-04:00Dearest Helena,It feels so silly. You know how I enjoy writing - probably one of the few last things I truly, whole-heartedly enjoy. And yet it eludes me. Maybe I am a poet, as you once suggested - although you meant it as a compliment, a gentle flattery which I could only acknowledge after distilling it into something slightly more accurate; a poet needs to be selfish, in love with his own Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1126150985873033142005-09-07T23:41:00.001-04:002008-07-08T22:30:23.888-04:00I am going dazzlingly fast! I am a leaden pellet, an eagle, a hailstone – plummeting deep, free-falling into the dawning glow of morning. Graceless and without control, I plunge. I’m the beam of light trapped inside a diamond, bouncing off all possible exits a hundred times every second. I stand on the border of the Cycle, tightrope walking, stars shooting across my path towards the black hole Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1126031325075183172005-09-06T14:28:00.000-04:002005-09-06T14:30:45.676-04:00Noir Metaphor I drive through the city, the heat of day still lingering long after sunset. A thousand nights in this town and not a single gust of fresh wind to ease my mood… Sure as hell feels like I’ve been here for decades, but it’s not about time as in days, months or years. This town made me old at heart. I tread on empty streets, dodging old memories, trying not to look backAlexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1125883322276348132005-09-04T21:21:00.000-04:002005-09-05T14:45:44.470-04:00That Old Faustian Deal It will all go away, Alex. Given enough time, everything goes away. Not so many chances are given after all, to avoid the drafty things that make you shiver when the light is quiet. You know, they say if you hear an hourglass whispering, that means you are dead. And what an odd thing to say. Well, well. Onto the agreement: It calls and waits and you always go. It Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1122786699696091152005-07-31T01:10:00.000-04:002005-08-20T19:25:58.903-04:00I was once told that there are no special places, only special people. For a while, I found it believable, even sensible. This week, however, as I walked down the street that leads to my old student house, the rule failed – and the chill of morning saw me wistful and bereaved. I knew my way too well, having walked those same sidewalks time and time again – though it was all almost ten years ago. Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1121885932796421842005-07-20T14:56:00.000-04:002007-07-15T09:54:24.000-04:00I have always been a great fan of Irony. I honestly find the little cruel quirks of fate to be a manifestation of pure and distilled beauty. It’s one of the few things that can still bring tears to my eyes. How can I even dare to share this wonderful insight with you, my invisible reader? Indeed, how? – If Irony is a capricious goddess who manifests Herself when She sees fit and I… I remain Her Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1118680291114722582005-06-13T12:31:00.000-04:002005-06-14T11:36:40.876-04:00I once knew a mathematician who told me something curious: That everything in life obeys a cyclic, recurring movement. From that simple statement I derived my vision of the Cycle. The big spin. Life as an atom trapped inside the particle accelerator: You run in a circular path, faster and faster, leaving behind small disaggregated bits until everything comes to a sudden, violent halt. The atom Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1115588156211422492005-05-08T17:33:00.000-04:002005-06-08T14:39:24.870-04:00You understand. Everyone wants something which they know in their hearts is unworkable. They know, yet it doesn’t stop them from wishing. Some even think that longing for the impossible adds beauty to life, poetry. That is because they are distracted by the things that they can achieve. Do you know how it is to crave something so deeply, so beyond the ordinary needs of life and to suffer it beingAlexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1103744896948434562004-12-22T14:51:00.000-04:002006-09-10T23:57:36.790-04:00Another SoliloquyBeing crazy is like being cool. The more you want to be, the less you are.You are so sane and ordinary, Alex.Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1101662926209356132004-11-28T13:28:00.000-04:002005-09-09T13:52:30.750-04:00The Long Night Se sofremos reveses que desencadeiam em nosso íntimo forças negativas – como a amargura e a ira – por vezes uma noite de sono demonstra-se suficiente para que tais impulsos sejam dissipados e decompostos em emoções residuais praticamente inofensivas. É como se houvesse no sono uma propriedade curativa que isola e aprisiona no universo onírico os componentes tóxicos de um Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1094827673965113382004-09-10T09:56:00.000-04:002007-07-02T14:37:55.913-04:00The giant grinding stone within my head churns, fed by the wind that rages outside. I close the trembling windows of the windmill. I tread carefully down the wooden stairs, as the whole edifice shivers to the cyclic tension of the furious mill. I sit by the stone, dangerously close, and I wonder whether I can stop it or not. It takes hermitage, they say. Forty days and forty nights to fast in theAlexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1089049880109078492004-07-05T13:51:00.000-04:002007-07-03T00:11:41.168-04:00Missed[Do you know those cool 3000-pieces puzzles that usually depict large landscapes with castles or equally amazing views? If you ever try to assemble one of those – which you can achieve in a few months – you’d better know in advance that you WILL mislay at least one piece of the puzzle. Don’t let that keep you from trying, though, because it is definitely worth the effort. I just thought I’dAlexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1088613628276279402004-06-30T12:39:00.000-04:002004-06-30T12:40:28.276-04:00On the Birth of his Son
Families, when a child is born
Want it to be intelligent.
I, through intelligence,
Having wrecked my whole life,
Only hope the baby will prove
Ignorant and stupid.
Then he will crown a tranquil life
By becoming a Cabinet Minister.
--- Su Tung-p'o (1036-1101)
Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1083188021147606442004-04-28T17:33:00.000-04:002007-07-02T13:46:11.854-04:00Escaping the Vortex-ChimaerarumIt is a flicking window on the face of chance, when you may seize the opportunity to block the movement and stop the cycle. You must close yourself, silence your light. It swoops with the strength of anguish, and each year gives it a speeding turn. It would seem inescapably unblockable, but it is not so. It is not so. You must venture dangerously close and still allAlexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1081976223443913672004-04-14T16:57:00.000-04:002007-07-03T00:06:18.960-04:00"Omnipotent power, creator of all things, forged by the gods from eternal chaos, throw off these false garments and reveal thy true forms. Creators of all things, become a shield to protect me. Great Protectors, do not allow those who would destroy your good works to do their bidding in this sacred place. Use me as your weapon against this evil."--- Slayn (Record of Lodoss War) I once was a Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1079661558786612452004-03-18T21:59:00.000-04:002007-06-18T18:00:31.877-04:00De Fr agMe nt A tiOnSir Alexander (10:13 PM)oy!Lt.Cyx[UGA] (10:20 PM) heeeeeeeeyLt.Cyx[UGA] (10:20 PM) zup dude?Sir Alexander (10:20 PM) DefragmentingLt.Cyx[UGA] (10:21 PM) buuuuuutakes foreverSir Alexander (10:21 PM) you know it doesLt.Cyx[UGA] (10:21 PM) yeeeahSir Alexander (10:22 PM) So, did I miss anything this past week?Lt.Cyx[UGA] (10:23 PM) not much... what the hell have you been Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1079562428249170962004-03-17T18:27:00.000-04:002007-07-02T13:39:09.046-04:00Plead of the TormentedDoc... I am haunted by evil dreams... of things that bear sticks of white-hot metal and tear my innards with them... I dream of falling, doc, but the feeling is that of being held against the bars of a very tight cage. Then, down there on the ground I see hundreds of throbbing hearts leaping about like a legion of bloody toads, trying to bite off my feet, I... I can’t take Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3683656.post-1079041095714043752004-03-11T17:38:00.000-04:002007-07-07T17:41:46.717-04:00“Though they go mad, they shall be sane; Though they sink through the sea, they shall rise again”--- Dylan Thomas(And Death Shall Have No Domain)There are people who suffer from wayward hearts, the sort of heart which is like a broken compass that’s been mislaid – you can’t know where it is, but it wouldn’t work anyway. Those people will often sigh in deep thought, trying to remember when they’d Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16788063207287997656noreply@blogger.com