Ralph Wiggum

Dedicated to Katrina....

Ha ha, we all love Ralph Wiggum! He says funny things....




"The doctor said I wouldn't have so many nose bleeds if I kept my finger outta there."

My sister's favorite quotes are: "I wanna twirl." and "it's cold and hurty" lol...What's yours?

Something's going on...(Public Secret--MGGLA remix)

"The only secrets are the secrets that keep themselves." -George Bernard Shaw


I guess it's not as secret as we thought;
everyone seems to know. Do they?
How could they, I've been on my guard but...
Must be a gaze held too long, constant nearness
a touch that lingers longer than it used to.
Can all see the smiles when you call my name
or hear the inside jokes with not-so-hidden undertones?
The obvious mystery of the chemistry
that charges any room we're in together-
Can they feel it too?
I look around the room
and am relieved to see
that the rest are oblivious-
Aren't they?
Did I say your name too often or
try too hard to catch your eye?
Do they, could they, know it was unavoidable.
I wouldn't, couldn't have stopped if I'd wanted to.
Powers greater than me have carved out my path
and I, the puppet of fate, the tarot's fool,
follow it, unable and unwilling to control my feet.
I've stopped hiding from myself.
I've stopped hiding from you.
Am I ready to stop hiding from the world?
Too long talking of others before
kindled sparks uncontrollable
When you're speaking can they tell I hear your whisper,
when you shout that I hear your moan
and when you laugh...
When you laugh I hear your breath
in the uneven patterns of ecstasy.
Can you hear mine when I'm quiet?
The way I let your name escape my lips,
a breathy sigh of sensual pleasure,
a sound with soft wings slowly
beating out a steamy rythm.
Oh! Do they know? Would it matter if they did?
Secret's public and accepted; out.
Would it be ok?
Can they see through the facade? The secret?
Or am I just overreacting to looks that mean nothing?
Harmless glances that know nothing about us.
Keep my mine, I'll keep yours.
The candle light dances in your eyes,
and I pretend not to notice.

Happy Birthday, Alex!

Alex in her Birthday suit!

First: Happy Easter.
Now, down to business.

I was in church last night, and the bishop said that the secular world has it all wrong. Easter is the big holiday, not Christmas. I was thinking about that...what would it be like if Easter was the big one? How long would it take, if ever, that were to change? Is there as big a market for Easter as Christmas? I was talking to my dad about it, and he says yes. I said, you know, you're right. It's all politics. And it is. The easter bunny could be the santa claus of spring, but I don't want to get into that. When you think about how unoriginal the whole thing is it's almost disgusting. All recycled. Pagan holidays. Rebirth, not a new concept. People have been doing it forever. Celebrating spring time, the return of the green things we all take for granted until then, baby animals everywhere. That's been going forever. It's politics because, in an effort to ease "barbarian" peoples into the new system they kept the old holidays and gave them new names. I could go into my theory on catholicism ruining women but that's another rant. It's crazy when you think about it. I don't necessary blame catholicism, I blame the idiots who got it all wrong. Wrong interpretation, wrong reasons for wrong interpretation. People are selfish and self serving, that's why they fucked up. It's human nature. We need to get things right again. Let's go back to the basics, that doesn't mean into the woods (thanks, but no thanks Walden) but back to the do unto others. That's all you really need, and people still aren't getting that. Shiny things can distract you I guess. When I think about all I need to be happy...not much. In fact, I have most of it already. We don't need much. We just want, Mos Def (I think it was him, if not someone correct me) " N**s run past what they need chasin after what they want." Slow down. Open your eyes and look around. You have everything you need already. Now it's up to you to be happy. No one else is going to do that for you. No one else has the power to make you happy. If you can't do it, no one else can do it for you. Realize that.

I realize I completely jumped trains of thought. But hang in there with me. I'll come back to it some other time.

Happiness. We all have a right to be happy. We owe it to ourselves. Sometimes you know what it is that will make you happy but you're too afraid to take that step. For some people it involves finally speaking out about something they were too afraid to acknowledge, whether it's to themselves or to others. I think sometimes the hardest is to admit to yourself that you have to power to make yourself happy. But you do. Sometimes the only thing holding you back from your happiness is yourself. That's too bad. Don't be afraid. If other people don't appreciate it, then you don't need them around. Don't be afraid to be yourself. If I ever learned anything in my life, it's that. You can't make other people happy at the expensive of living in misery. Life is way too short for that. You don't have to be mean, or rude or whatever they'll call it. Be true to yourself, and what you believe is right and you can't go wrong. Unless you hurt someone, you owe nobody an explanation for being who you are. Ok. I'm done preaching. Happy Easter. And...Happy Anniversary to my parents. Thanks for raising me right.

Busy

Harry Emerson Fosdick:

"The world is moving so fast these days that the one who says it can't be done is generally interrupted by someone doing it."

Early warning for the ladies

I've come to realize that with time, my stunning good looks and my chiseled physique will one day turn into liver spots and turkey neck and arthritis-induced flab. Here's a brief sampling of what's likely to come.

Yes. That is indeed a combover. Hairstyle of choice for countless old farts that refuse to accept that their hairline has receded a good 5 inches or so. As if they're fooling anyone. My gorgeous, thick head of hair will undoubtedly thin in the next couple of decades, so you might see me sporting this chic look at a high school reunion or a Denny's early bird special somewhere. An alternative to the combover for follicle challenged individuals of both genders could be a nice wig. But what about Donald Trump? He has more money than most small, eastern european countries, and his toupee looks like he glued a rotting chinchilla to his scalp. Go ahead, Don. Splurge a little.

Socks with Sandals. Yuck. This has to be the biggest fashion faux pas within the under thirty set, but becomes increasingly accepted the older one becomes. I think the appeal of socks and sandals has a direct correlation to how far back the hairline is. It might even be hardwired into the brain. In thirty years you might see me with my socks and sandals, a mickey mouse t-shirt and a fanny pack, probably carrying around my daughter's Barbie backpack.

The hottest accessory that every self-respecting middle-aged man simply must own: a gargantuan beer belly. A beergut is even more appealing when it's covered by a t-shirt that's a little too small, so the hairy navel is still exposed. The look is completed by a can of beer clutched by a pudgy hand. Who wouldn't be impressed by such style?

Trips to the grocery store to buy low fat soy milk and generic store brand cereal just aren't as practical in a flashy two seater convertible. After 45, you can't really drive a convertible because all of the wind loosens the adhesive on a toupee. To cart kids to soccer practice and dance rehearsals and slumber parties, the only viable option is the multifunctional minivan! With over 70 different seat configurations and special straps for child safety seats, it's really the only choice for the aging family man!.

I really don't know what to say about this... Apart from being the pinnacle of dorkiness, flip up sunglasses are a testament to old-fart laziness. The force, strength, coordination and time it takes to switch regular glasses for sunglasses are minimal. And just to restate the obvious: Flip up sunglasses are the pinnacle of dorkiness.

So this might be me in twenty years. Anyone wanna go out on a date?

I love the Theatre!

Oh man. I had a dream last night that i was watching that "School of Scandal" play again. It was a nightmare. I was chained to the seat in the front row. Oh god. That was the worst play ever. Sorry. I know one of us (names don't need to be mentioned... You know who you are.) enjoyed it. half of it. whatever.

1 down, 7 to go

Ha. I forgot I was going to write something. I've had this open for a few hours now.
Neil, the office windows are open and strangely, I am not raving. You may be onto something.

Or.....

Maybe it's because I GOT ACCEPTED TO SAINT JOHN'S today. Well, I got the acceptance letter anyway. St. J's used to be my first choice, until I found Barnard and Columbia. But I'd definitely go there. Now I'm just waiting to hear from the other billion schools I applied to. Hurray for me. Strugglin has finally paid off. Thank God, and thank Gonzo. lol.

I feel like my name's originator....*sigh*



Uh...Nike--goddess of victory etc. (Nicole= Victory of the People.)

Now that I know how to put pictures on...I'll do it all the time (evil laugh).

Our Mascot

Lift your glasses to our Mascot...





Long live Gonzo...King of the weirdos.

Today's Thought

"I like work: it fascinates me. I can sit and look at it for hours."

Jerome K. Jerome

We spent today at the river taking pictures.
I must say that it's the most satisfying, Saturday I had in a long time.
I started to write something while we were down there, but I'll work on it later
I guess I just needed to get the thoughts down.

Let's see, lots of pictures, fed ducks, and ate good german food.
lol, Then I got 4 Frank Sinatra cds for 20 Euros...100 songs, very good deal.
I'm excited and exhausted. (sigh)

No ranting or raving from me today...maybe that's good.

Alex

The girl works four hours a day, and is addicted to coffee...

Ebonically speaking...
I been thinkin 'bout that.
Done heard sumwun say dat da otha day.
Ebonically speaking...
Wut the fuck duz dat mean?
Ebonix, cum tha fuck on.
Duz fuckin up gramma' count as anotha language?
I don' think so. Y not? Cuz. Droppin off lettas
an' makin up spellinz duz not count. Dat's not
originizzle dat's dyslexic or lazy.Even peepz dat be speakin fake languagez is mo'
creative dan dat. Dat shizz takez thought...
not simply omittin lettas and replacin 'em wit
emptee spacez. 4 wut? 2 sav time? U don'
no how hard it iz 4 me to type dis shit.
I feelz lyke I gotta think harder.
May-B cuzI's not used to dis.
MAYBE BECAUSE IT'S WRONG!!!
It getz on mah nerves wen peepz do dis.
Y? Duz it take dat much longer 2 type
da otha lettaz? Dis getz 2 tha point dat
U can't turn it off. Y? cuz U not used 2
typin, writin, or speakin tha rite wayz.
Iz dis worth it? I don' no.
Fuck ebonix, speak correctly. Pleaze!!

I feel like yellow.
Yellow coffee.
That's weird huh? Well, I've figured out that I'm strange, and I like me that way.
How many people actually like themselves...not many I know.
I'm completely satisfied with the person I am and the way I turned out...
(thanks parents for not letting me watch rated R movies until I had enough sense not to ask any more...now I'm a pervert.)

But anyway...yellow coffee. I don't know how to explain that. It just came into my head.
Maybe because I had coffee twice today...haven't done that in a while. I'm really feeling very wired. The kind of wired where you want to jump on someone's bed, or tell someone in your office you can't stand, what it is about them in detail that bothers you. And when they cry you laugh in their face and think of other mean things to tell them. Ok. Yes, there is someone in my office I can't stand, and instead of risking my paycheck I'll keep typing here. But I really want to...maybe on my last day of work...I have my reasons, believe me.

Yellow coffee. Well, ok, I felt like yellow. Like I was in a yellow mood, you know? Then I decided I felt like coffee too because the mochaccino was starting to kick in. That's where yellow coffee came from...then I thought that's not really that far fetched because in about an hour it will be yellow, but that would mean I feel like pee. And I don't feel like I'm excess waste, so maybe that's not right...I feel orange. Energetic, sunny and almost annoying. Orange is borderline annoying. Yellow is pretty annoying too now that I think about it, because it screams look at me. Must be why those are Leo colors, and since I'm a leo, I'll just embrace the colors and be happy.

My thoughts are making me dizzy. Ha ha. Welcome to the inside of my head. I'm not really letting all of it out, because I have to keep somethings to myself or else I'd be too weird...institutional weird even. Hmmm. I don't know if I'd hate being locked up in one of those things for a couple days, anything I'd do would be justified because I'd be "crazy." Labels, labels, labels. I remember reading one time that someone said that being labeled crazy was the most freeing thing that ever happened to her (i think) because she didn't have to answer to anyone or make any excuses for anything. She was allowed to just exist. Or maybe I saw it in a movie. I don't remember. Side effects of that green stuff...it's definitely fucked my short term. That's why I write everything down now.

Uh, I have an idiot student on the phone and speaks really slowly. He's gettin on my nerves complaing about something and has no idea what he's talking about. What a moron. Right, he ruined my blog now. What was I talking about? Oh yes. Writing shit down. I do it all the time, only way to keep my thoughts. But the trick is knowing what to write down...I found something I wrote yesterday (in German no less) and wooo buddy. I hope my boyfriend didn't read it. Haha. It was almost disturbing, well, probably not to him. Lets just say my sexual id was talking big shit that day.

Right...thanks for riding in my head with me, it's probably better that I stop now though. Until I rave again....

Now we know why caffeine is a drug.

Spring

I hate sitting in the office when I hear the birds outside and feel the warm breeze teasing me through the open window.

I lose all my motivation to do any work, not that I was doing any to begin with, since I am blogging...but the point is, the sun puts me in such a good mood that I don't want to waste it on my coworkers. I'm see them more than I see my family, and for thatreason they usually only get the worst of me. Kidding, they get good parts sometimes too, but I'd rather be outside then in here with them.

I'm positive I have that sunlight depression thing. I'm a sun child, even if it gives me migraines lol. You just feel better. I'm even kind of a morning, well late morning person in the spring and summer months. I feel recharged, inspired, motivated and flirty.

It's twitterpation time. If you don't know that word brush up on you Bambi terminology. lol.
Twitterpation time is when people you don't like don't ruin your day like they would if it was cloudy outside. Guys, even busted ones, start to look sort of attractive, and you want to feel all lovey and shit. Good feeling. Kind of dangerous, because you never know what kind of trouble it'll get you into. Makes good stories for later though... Twitterpated is different from infatuated though, so don't get it twisted. Infatuated is three shades lighter than obsession, but twitterpated is not like that. It's kind of like a brief crush, but you can be twitterpated in anything, not just people. It's like the warm feeling you get when you drink hot chocolate, or the refreshing feeling you get when you drink iced tea for the first time in cold or warm weather. That ahhhh feeling. The feeling that the world is indeed a good place, and shit happens, but you can move past it. The soft smile you feel when you see new flowers coming up, the giddy feeling you get when you're excited about something. All that is twitterpated lol. Ahhhh...everyone do it with me...take a deep breath, think about something that makes you smile and go Ahhhhhh. (not like a scream but like a satisfied sigh.)

Through primrose tufts,
in that sweet bower,
The periwinkle trail'd its wreaths;
And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopp'd and play'd,
Their thoughts I cannot measure,—
But the least motion which they made
It seem'd a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

(William Wordsworth, Written in Early Spring)

Today's Thought

"Well behaved women rarely make history."

-Laurel Thatcher Ulrich

Happy Saint Patrick's Day

In honor of my people, here's an Irish Toast.

May your glass be ever full.
May the roof over your head always be strong.
And may you be in heaven half an hour before the devil knows your dead.

or...my personal favorite...

May those who love us love us.
And those that don’t love us,
May God turn their hearts.
And if He doesn’t turn their hearts,
May he turn their ankles,
So we’ll know them by their limping.

Even years later
after reading a story
I need you

Even years later
after thinking
it's all died
I need you

Even years later
tears stream down
my lonely face
mourning a loss
even years later.

Loved but alone
I need you

Even years later
after life gone on
I need you

Even years later
I ask myself
why

Even months later
since I last
spoke to you
I need you

Even years later
after finally getting over
you?
I need you

Even years later
my soulmate eludes me
Even years later
after my heart
has healed?
I miss you.

The nights I couldn't sleep
The verses I couldn't write
The words I couldn't say
The longing that couldn't stop
The ending that couldn't be
The love that never died

Even years later,
But why?

sick

I've been sick for a few days now, and have decided when I'm rich I'm going to have special sick nurses to tend to me.



Wanted:

Male between 26-35

must have nursing experience and be able to back it up, playing a male nurse in x-rated movies does not count, but could be useful

must know that I am always right, and even more right when I'm sick

must be willing to cater to my every need, no matter how absurd or plain degrading

must have a body that knows the gym (this does not mean it knows what a gym is, but regularly trains in one)

must be able to keep me entertained

must like my music, and musicals (but must not be gay.)

must be ready to satisfy my apetites. (all of them)


Heh heh, many more requirements, but that's all my flu medicated mind will allow right now.


Oh yeah, Beware the ides of march

31 Dec 2001

So many thoughts, no words
So many emotions, no outlet
So many choices, no decision
So many people, no friends
So many roads, no signs.


Bear with me, I'm posting lots of stuff I wrote a while ago lol.

Growth

29/12/2001

The edges of my soul are pushing through my body
As if it's outgrown it.
The realization that I have outgrown
this phase of my life hits me full force
almost taking me down.
I feel the tneed to break free from
the confines of, of what?
Like a hermit crab I must
find myself a new home,
come to terms with this new me;
Seek roomer accomodations before I stifle.
When the hell did this happen?
Where do I go from here?
The future, my future is a swirling
mist of possibilities and mystery.
What am I to do? How do I move
safely from this me to the new one?
How long will I go with without protection
until I find my new shell? not shell,
maybe more like develop my new sanctuary.
I've shed my skin without knowing it.
When did I become this new person?
I no longer recognize my own reflection.
Only my eyes are familiar.
In between mes I don't know where to go.
With very little desire to go back,
and a little anxious about pushing forward.
Knowing I fucked up somewhere back there
and not wanting to do the same out there ahead.
Wanting a little guidance, at the same time
refusing all offers, determined to make it on my own.
Unhappy with everything that's been handed to me,
always given to me whether I wanted it or not.
Mostly not.
Being pushed into it all afraid to say no
then fucking it all up.
Trying to be someone I'm not,
although more than capable of succeeding, if I wanted to.
Unfairly and selfishly throwing it back at them
however unintentionally.
Feeling old beyond my years, not even a score of them
and simultaneously young, infantile.
Holding on to what I do know and
respecting the fact that there is much that I don't.
Eager to learn, but not sure what.

Glad there is someone.
Thankful to have found someone like
me in the mass confusion, by chance
and almost not at all.
Who like a compass I can always come back to,

"If they be two, they are two so as stiff twin compasses are two; They sould, the fixed foot, makes no show To move, but doth if hte other do. And though it in the center sit, Yet with the other doth roam, It leans and harkens after it, and grows erect, as that comes home. So wilt though be to m e, who must LIke the other foot, obliquely run; Thy firmness makes me circle just, and makes me end where I begun." (John Donne)

One who also knows they have much to learn
and many skins to shed, before coming their true self.
Encouraging me to take the first step,
and though I may feel vunerable to predators
he is there like an invisible force field keeping them out.
knowing when I find my me
he will be there
ready to embrace whoever she is.
I will grow used to my new reflection
and the only sign that I have changed
will be my eyes.
No longer open, now guarded full of wisom,
able to mask the inner workings until
I look into the eyes of the other foot of the compass,
my other half my whole. Then the shutters are flung off
my soul's window thrust open
inviting calling longing welcoming
You into mine and I into yours
warm pools of green and brown
The invisible force field taking shape appearing in its
true form.
Strong arms around me
strong chest behind my head
hands intertwined in mine.
and I see what was on
the other side of the mist.
A mirror.
Reflecting us.
And my soul settles into its permanent home.

Happy

She knew if she loved him she could make him happy, but she didn't. Or she did, but it sank into itself like a hole and curled up content. Surrounded by the blur of her own movements, the thought of making him happy was very dear to her. She moved it from place to place, a surprise she never opened. She slept alone at night, soul of a naked priest in her sweet body. Small soft hands, a bread of desire rising in her stomach. When she lay down with the man she loved and didn't, the man opened and opened. Inside him an acrobat tumbled over death. And walked thin wires with nothing above or below. She cried, he was so beautiful in his scarlet tights and white face the size of a dime.

-jayne anne phillips

What everyone needs

Rambunctious frolic.

Misunderstood

"Any man who afflicts the human race with ideas must be prepared to see them misunderstood."

- H. L. Mencken

I don't know how it will be in the years to come. There are monstrous changes taking place in the world, forces shaping a future whose face we do not know. Some of these forces seem evil to us, perhaps not in themselves but because their tendency is to eliminate other things we hold good. It is true that two men can lift a bigger stone than one man. A group can build automobiles quicker and better than one man, and bread from a huge factory is cheaper and more uniform. When our food and clothing and housing are born in the complication of mass production, mass method is bound to get into our thinking and to eliminate all other thinking. In our time mass or collective production has entered our economics, our politics, and even our religion, so that some nations have substituted the idea collective for the idea God. This is the danger.
There is great tension in the world, tension toward a breaking point, and men are unhappy and confused.
At such a time it seems natural and good to ask myself these questions. What do I believe in? What must I fight for and what must I fight against?
Our species is the only creative species, and it has only one creative instrument, the individual mind and spirit of a man. There are no good collaborations. Once the miracle of creation has taken place, the group can build and extend it, but the group never invents anything. The preciousness lies in the lonely mind of a man.
Now the forces marshaled around the concept of the group have declared war of extermination on that preciousness, the mind of a man. By disparagement, by starvation, by repressions, forced direction, and the stunning hammerblows of conditioning, the free, roving mind is being pursued, roped, blunted, drugged. It is a sad suicidal course our species has taken.
And this I believe: that the free exploring mind of the individual human is the most valuable thing in the world.
And this I would fight for: the freedom of the mind to take any direction it wishes, undirected. And this I must fight against: any idea, religion, or government which limits or destroys the individual. This is what I am and what I am about. I can understand why a system built on a pattern must try to destroy the free mind, for that is the one thing which can by inspection destroy such a system. Surely all can understand this. I hate it and I will fight against it to preserve the one thing that seperates us from the uncreative beasts.

Insanely Mundane

The time
I spend
with you
Is insanely mundane

conversations monosyllabic

I get high,
I watch you,
and I smile...

Inside
I'm racing.
Trying to figure out
what moves to make
And the placement...

Of emotions is
too much
for you alone,
when you've got
your own shit to endure.

Misfortune's my displacement.

Walking around,
watching the world,
pass us (you) by.

In this dreamlike state,
I'm constantly awake...

I haven't slept for days

-Katrina

Training

Today I had to sit through 90 minutes of email ettiquette training.
Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. Why do I need email training? As if I didn't have enough sense in my head to know not to cuss out students, or be rude to those above me.
Why did I have to do this? Well, I could say that some idiot I work with suggested it would be good idea, but I won't say that. I'll just say some idiot robbed me of time that I can't get back.
On my death bed I will be thinking, that 90 minutes I wasted in fucking email training I could have been: running, laughing, reading, writing, walking, jumping, eating...basically living. What I did in there was not living. That was existing. I don't know which part was the worst: the make-shift name tags, UMUC notebooks, reading sample emails aloud, or the fact that the idiot!!! who was the reason we were all there in the first place had almost nothing to say. This (choose your own explitive) was there kind of sunk down in the chair. I refused to be lost in the email world of hierachies and horizontal/vertical communication. It was my fucking time, so I wrote out ideas for short stories that I could work out. I also wrote this really quickly....

Walls close in around me in a room I can't escape.
I've been imprisoned by a sycophant's idiocy,
minutes of my life I can't get back are being wasted listening to information I don't need.
Refuse to be robbed completely and rebel with my pen.
The time is my own, and now I make it stand still.

Right. Then I started thinking about stories I could write. I was also batting thoughts of murder around my mind, but nothing serious. The best part was that after this, I got an email from this individual that was so horrible I had to read it to my coworkers. Ok, first of all no greeting, vague subject line etc. Hello, I just wasted fucking 90 minutes of my life somewhere I didn't want to to be, because of something you thought was good idea, and you can't even apply what you supposedly just learned? Buggery bollocks, what was the fucking point? I was ready to kick this person in between the eyes. I think that would have made me feel better. But instead I chose to write, because everyone works with someone like this. And I do feel better now.

I was in my car on my way back from lunch listening to NPR. Yes. I listen to it. lol. There was this guy, Kevin Young, talking about a book he had written. Poetry book with a Noir theme. He read some of it on the radio, and I knew right away I wanted to buy it. The book is called
Black Maria. Then I went online to find out more about him, and found this one by him. I was so impressed I want everyone to know about him. This guy is fucking awesome!

Here's the poem I found, it's called (Stills)


(Stills)
by Kevin Young

We undress shy
as a gun.
*
The mailman’s son, I am
nor snow, nor night, nor gloom.
*
Her eyelashes long
& false as an alarm.
*
He say, she say,
foreplay, amscray.
*
Her cocktail dress pours
over my bare floor.
*
Her feather boa
hissing yes.
*
Without her I am incomplete—
prehensible, licit, couth.
*
Wisdom this tooth
aching I want removed.
(Stills)


With her, guilty
was my only plea.
*
When we kiss her leg kicks
up like a chorus line!
*
The next day what awaits: flat fizz,
an ache cured only by bitters.
*
Two eggs,
over queasy.
*
Chew fat. Spit
blood. Gargle peroxide. Repeat.
*
She’s pro
bono, a quid pro.
*
I’ve given, like gin,
her up, again.
*
Even my shadow
has me followed.

Copyright © Kevin Young

Word a Day

ebrious
(EE-bree-uhs)
adjective

1. Inclined to excessive drinking.
2. Tipsy.


"Yet far more terrible the line that flows
From ebrious passion to supine remorse."

Richard Monckton Milnes (1809-1885); The Fall of Alipius.

I like that quote a lot. I want to read this guy now. "From Ebrious passion to supine remorse" Wow. (Thanks Mr. Minette, lol)

"I'll write with my camera."

Pictures and poetry are the same-open to interpretation.
The colors, light and shadows come together to produce and image.
The words, stanzas and puntuation conjure up an image.
Interpretation different of each beholder allowing their own experiences
to breath life into the otherwise meaningless scene.