Latest
Portrait of a Lady
Portrait of a Lady
Your thighs are appletrees
whose blossoms touch the sky.
Which sky? The sky
where Watteau hung a lady’s
slipper. Your knees
are a southern breeze — or
a gust of snow. Agh! what
sort of man was Fragonard?
– As if that answered
anything. — Ah, yes. Below
the knees, since the tune
drops that way, it is
one of those white summer days,
the tall grass of your ankles
flickers upon the shore –
Which shore? –
the sand clings to my lips –
Which shore?
Agh, petals maybe. How
should I know?
Which shore? Which shore?
– the petals from some hidden
appletree — Which shore?
I said petals from an appletree.
William Carlos Williams
BAT FOR LASHES-”Lilies” Lyrics
“Lilies”
Again tonight I sang a song, a prayer if you will
Fell to the floor on blackened knees, and all the trees fell still
Press my hands between my thighs, and poured it in some milk
Begged the thunder bolts to strike and mark me as alive
All the lilies on the hill
All the lilies on the hill
All the lilies on the hill
Scented the light
And so I finished up my prayer, rose slowly and I stared
But I was empty as a grave and ghost less was the end
Laid back to bed and dove my eyes and searched those further skies
Again begged the thunder bolt to strike to mark me or else I will die
All the lilies on the hill
All the lilies on the hill
All the lilies on the hill
Scented the night
And then a second before I sleep
And then a second before I sleep
Did I believe what I did see?
Did I believe what came to me?
Appeared a figure of a man, waving upon the hill
To the window I ran and saw what he had sent
Children of a private world, to be conceived in milk
Hundred marching to my door of bringing dreams to drink
Thank God I’m alive!
Thank God I’m alive!
All the lilies on the hill
All the lilies on the hill
All the lilies on the hill
Scented the night
Broken Love
Broken Love
MY Spectre around me night and day
Like a wild beast guards my way;
My Emanation far within
Weeps incessantly for my sin.
‘A fathomless and boundless deep,
There we wander, there we weep;
On the hungry craving wind
My Spectre follows thee behind.
‘He scents thy footsteps in the snow
Wheresoever thou dost go,
Thro’ the wintry hail and rain.
When wilt thou return again?
’Dost thou not in pride and scorn
Fill with tempests all my morn,
And with jealousies and fears
Fill my pleasant nights with tears?
‘Seven of my sweet loves thy knife
Has bereavèd of their life.
Their marble tombs I built with tears,
And with cold and shuddering fears.
‘Seven more loves weep night and day
Round the tombs where my loves lay,
And seven more loves attend each night
Around my couch with torches bright.
‘And seven more loves in my bed
Crown with wine my mournful head,
Pitying and forgiving all
Thy transgressions great and small.
‘When wilt thou return and view
My loves, and them to life renew?
When wilt thou return and live?
When wilt thou pity as I forgive?’
‘O’er my sins thou sit and moan:
Hast thou no sins of thy own?
O’er my sins thou sit and weep,
And lull thy own sins fast asleep.
‘What transgressions I commit
Are for thy transgressions fit.
They thy harlots, thou their slave;
And my bed becomes their grave.
‘Never, never, I return:
Still for victory I burn.
Living, thee alone I’ll have;
And when dead I’ll be thy grave.
‘Thro’ the Heaven and Earth and Hell
Thou shalt never, quell:
I will fly and thou pursue:
Night and morn the flight renew.’
‘Poor, pale, pitiable form
That I follow in a storm;
Iron tears and groans of lead
Bind around my aching head.
‘Till I turn from Female love
And root up the Infernal Grove,
I shall never worthy be
To step into Eternity.
‘And, to end thy cruel mocks,
Annihilate thee on the rocks,
And another form create
To be subservient to my fate.
‘Let us agree to give up love,
And root up the Infernal Grove;
Then shall we return and see
The worlds of happy Eternity.
‘And throughout all Eternity
I forgive you, you forgive me.
As our dear Redeemer said:
“This the Wine, and this the Bread.”’
William Blake
Ayn Rand
Call me crazy,but I find GOP’s godmother figure quiet intriguing…..Atlas Shrugs,well, gives you prescriptive…
Ayn Rand
“My philosophy, in essence, is the concept of man as a heroic being, with his own happiness as the moral purpose of his life, with productive achievement as his noblest activity, and reason as his only absolute.”
Change of Directions!
Just a post about the future of this weblog!
The contents will encompass many things,All that interests me,also It might be a good time to post a NSFW alert as well,not that I am taking my weblog in a special direction just that it will be about everything, and I will not care if my content are safe for work or not!
Journey to the End of Night
| Journey to the End of Night | |
|---|---|
| Author(s) | Louis-Ferdinand Céline |
| Original title | Voyage au bout de la nuit |
| Translator | John H. P. Marks(1934), Ralph Manheim(1988) |
| Country | France |
| Language | French |
| Publication date | 1932 |
I can relate to this book so very much….I really did enjoy reading it….through & through
here is one of my most favorite quotes,describing how i feel better than anything….
One fine day you decide to talk less and less about the things you care most about, and when you have to say something, it costs you an effort . . . You’re good and sick of hearing yourself talk . . . you abridge . . . You give up … For thirty years you’ve been talking . . . You don’t care about being right anymore. You even lose your desire to keep hold of the small place you’d reserved yourself among the pleasures of life . . . You’re fed up … From that time on you’re content to eat a little something, cadge a little warmth, and sleep as much as possible on the road to nowhere. To rekindle your interest, you’d have to think up some new grimaces to put on in the presence of others . . . But you no longer have the strength to renew your repertory. You stammer. Sure, you still look for excuses for hanging around with the boys, but death is there too, stinking, right beside you, it’s there the whole time, less mysterious than a game of poker. The only thing you continue to value is petty regrets, like not finding time to run out to Bois-Colombes to see your uncle while he was still alive, the one whose little song died forever one afternoon in February. That horrible little regret is all we have left of life, we’ve vomited up the rest along the way, with a good deal of effort and misery. We’re nothing now but an old lamppost with memories on a street where hardly anyone passes anymore.
Journey to the End of the Night,Louis-Ferdinand Céline
I Knew a Woman
I knew a woman, lovely in her bones
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one
The shapes a bright container can contain
Of her choice virtues only gods should speak
Or English poets who grew up on Greek
(I’d have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek)
How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin
She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and Stand
She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin
I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand
She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake
Coming behind her for her pretty sake
(But what prodigious mowing we did make)
Love likes a gander, and adores a goose
Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize
She played it quick, she played it light and loose
My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees
Her several parts could keep a pure repose
Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose
(She moved in circles, and those circles moved)
Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay
I’m martyr to a motion not my own
What’s freedom for? To know eternity
I swear she cast a shadow white as stone
But who would count eternity in days
These old bones live to learn her wanton ways
(I measure time by how a body sways)
by Theodore Roethke
Monika Pietrasinska
Sweet jesus mother of god.
I almost had a heart attack when i saw a picture of this lovely lady,I can not believe she was not on my radar before
Eastern European chicks are killing it.She is a polish beauty with insane and droll inducing curves and measurments to kill for.
It is impossible to find the right words to describe this girl.I am having difficulty talking…well typing as you are reading this!
Here is a small bio and a couple of my favorite pics where this drop dead gorgeous lady bares it all,well…almost all!lol
| Personal | |
| Also known as: | Monika Pietrasińska |
| Born: | December 2, 1987 (age 24) Lublin, Poland |
| Ethnicity: | Caucasian |
| Nationality: | Polish |
| Body | |
| Measurements: | 36D-24-36 |
| Bra/cup size: | 36D (80D) |
| Boobs: | Natural |
| Height: | 5 ft 8 in (1.73 m) |
| Weight: | 117 lb (53 kg) |
| Body type: | Slim |
| Eye color: | Blue |
| Hair: | Brown |
| Pubic hair: | Shaved(lol!had to post it) |
Monika Pietrasinska Profile:
Name: Monika Pietrasinska
Born: December 2, 1987
Birth location: Poland
Occupation: Professional Model
Monika Pietrasinska was born on Dec 02 1987, (Zodiac sign: Sagittarius). Monika Pietrasinska a popular Models from Warsaw, Poland.
