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Free
by: Alisha Sufit (1946- )


I thought of life
as though it were a space
with walls and floor
and ceiling,
sought to make it solid, fixed,
construct it well,
so I should have security of place.

Then I heard the small stars'
laughter pealing far away.
"Fall!" they cried,
"and fly,
for you cannot break your bones,
nor die.

There is no ground
upon which you can land.
It's all pure ether,
solid as the sand
that fills Egyptian deserts,
solid as the water in the sea.
Let go and fall
and then you will be free."

Today I went to the office, switched on the computer, logged on to twitter, intending to whine about how my teacher's milk tea gave me a horrible painful diarrhea last night, but I saw a few tweets about MJ passing away. I was shocked. Similar reaction to Heath Ledger's news last year I suppose.

Except, perhaps less upset. MJ definitely was far more talented of course, but he accomplished so much and he's the King of Pop and all that so it's not like his life was a waste. It was kinda a mess I suppose but nobody's perfect right? I was sad that he didn't manage to make a comeback before he passed away, to remind people of how talented he is. Sure, I sometimes make jokes about his pedophilia but only because I think those are just stupid rumours that morons made up. The guy was sued and acquitted ok? Just because these people have twisted minds doesn't mean the man is too. Their sick little twisted minds can't comprehend the innocence and purity of others'. And what he wants to do with his own face and skin is his own business too.

I saw this article which wrote, amongst other stuff, about how his father was basically a sadistic psycho who abused him and his siblings physically and mentally. (Supports my view that some people should not have children.) Can you really blame him for being so weird? With a father like that, fame from such a young age, all that talent and recognition...I think creative people have the license to be weird.. What's so great about you normal people? Did you sell millions of albums and own Neverland? Do you have millions of people mourning your departure?

Like Anita Mui and Leslie Cheung, I think passing away before falling (totally) from grace is not necessarily a bad thing. I'm sure they have loads of fans on the other side welcoming them. I hope to meet them all when I cross over. See you guys later!

Farrah Fawcett passed away too. I thought it was maybe a couple days before but I think it was on the same day. She had been battling cancer for some time so it wasn't so much of a shock. I'm not familiar with her anyway. I read an article about her passing and also watched a bit of her news on ET a few weeks ago.

Long-term partner Ryan, 68, had been planning to wed Farrah as soon as possible.

In an interview earlier this week He said: 'I've asked her to marry me, again, and she's agreed

Excuse me? This is "long-term" partner? Why did he have to wait till she was dying to marry her? If it wasn't important previously, why is it important now? People are weird..



Anyway, despite what people say about MJ's surgeries etc, I think he did look good. I joked to my colleague that at least he left before his face fell apart. I know it's rude but it's true though, right? Would you rather be prettier and have a shorter life, or be naturally not so pretty and have a normal length life? He loves the stage and attention so I think he'll choose the first one. Actually, so would I. =P Kill myself when things start falling apart..

Remember
by: Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)


Remember me when I am gone away,
gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
you tell me of the future that you planned;
Only remember me; you understand
it will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet, if you should forget me for a while
and afterwards, remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
a vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
better by far you should forget and smile
than that you should remember and be sad.

Sweet poem spotted

Saw this really sweet poem in a blog. The backstory is that the "chicken" and the "bee" used to go out but split up amicably. He had previously written a poem of her as a bee.

To my gorgeous beary chicken:

There once was a chicken who lived in a shoe
And he simply didn't know what to do
One grey cloudy day he felt really glum
Cos a girl chicken stopped him from touching her bum
So phoned up his friend, a small stripey bee
And said "Dudely dude! I'm sad! Woe is me!"
The bee said "Now, don't you worry my dear,
Dry your tears and don't cry, never worry, I'm here!
For soon the girl chicken will just leave your mind
And you'll be touching lots of other behinds!"
The chicken still wailed, banging fists on the floor
So the bee said quite sharply "Come on now! No more!"
She went to his shoe and rang on the bell
The chicken, he answered but he just looked like hell.
She took her bee arms with their stripes down the side
She stepped a bit closer and opened them wide
The chicken came in for a big squeezy hug
And was happy that he had stayed friends with this bug
He realised that one day he'd be smiley again
But come rain or shine, the bee'd still be his friend.

Love your friend

The bee.

Aww..

Reality's Dark Dream

by Samuel Taylor Coleridge


I know 'tis but a dream, yet felt more anguish
Than if 'twere truth. It has been often so:
Must I die under it? Is no one near?
Will no one hear these stifled groans and wake me?

"Do You Think I Know What I'm Doing?"

by Rumi
Translated by Coleman Barks


Do you think I know what I'm doing?
That for one breath or half-breath I belong to myself?
As much as a pen knows what it's writing,
or the ball can guess where it's going next.

Richard Cory

by Edwin Arlington Robinson


Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich, - yes, richer than a king, -
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

The Stranger

by Charles Baudelaire
Translated by Louise Varѐse


Tell me, enigmatical man, whom do you love best, your father, your mother, your sister, or your brother?
I have neither father, nor mother, nor sister, nor brother.
Your friends?
Now you use a word whose meaning I have never known.
Your country?
I do not know in what latitude it lies.
Beauty?
I could indeed love her, Goddess and Immortal.
Gold?
I hate it as you hate God.
Then, what do you love, extraordinary stranger?
I love the clouds ... the clouds that pass ... up there ... up there ... the wonderful clouds!

Poetry

I borrowed a poetry book for my student and I read a little of it. It's called I Just HOPE It's Lethal: Poems of Sadness, Madness, & Joy. Eh ok it might be a little depressing but my student is a little unfeeling so I need to knock some emotions into her. =P Anyway, will be putting some poems here that I...understand.

Poet unknown. But wise. =)

The Perfect Man

The perfect man is gentle
Never cruel or mean
He has a beautiful smile
And keeps his face so clean.

The perfect man likes children
And will raise them by your side
He will be a good father
As well as a good husband to his bride.

The perfect man loves cooking
Cleaning and vacuuming too
He'll do anything in his power
To convey his feelings of love for you.

The perfect man is sweet
Writing poetry from your name
He's a best friend to your mother
And kisses away your pain.

He has never made you cry
Or hurt you In any way
Oh, screw this stupid poem
The perfect man is gay

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Morning Poem
© By Danielle D. Curtis

Woke early one morning,
the earth lay cool and still,
when suddenly a tiny bird,
perched on my window sill,
it sang a song so lovely,
so carefree and so gay,
that slowly all my troubles,
began to slip away,
it sang of far off places,
of laughter and of fun,
it seemed his very song,
brought out the morning sun,
I pulled back the covers,
and crept slowly out of bed,
and gently shut the window,
and crushed his freaking head,
I'm not a morning person

Heh. A bit gross but really funny. Ha..