Hostes alienigeni me abduxerunt. Qui annus est?*
* I was kidnapped by aliens. What year is it?Nah! Neither was I kidnapped nor did I spoil a walk by breaking this or that extremity on icy path(s).
Just extremely busy with not blogging I was for a couple of days. And as you can easily see from above's title, still I would not let a tiny T spoil an absolutely amazing avantgardistic alliteration.
Apropos 'Laughing Lhursday': Visiting Stan, the master of Sentence First, the corners of your mouth will start quite a few expeditions to your ear-lobes.
Take your time, but don't miss coming back for Knatolee's hilarious hen-haiku(s) and ...
... Webwisewoman who caused me a bockety laughter.
The peace of the night.
“ ‘Gao Zhisheng! You mother****er! Your date with death is today! Brothers! Let’s show the bastard how brutal we can get. Kill the bastard.’ A leader of the group screamed. Then, four men with electric batons started to beat my head and body with ferocity. Nothing but the noise of the beating and my moaning could be heard in the room. I was beaten so severely that my whole body began shaking uncontrollably on the floor.
But one example. But one example. How many journalists have been murdered in Mexico since 2000? But one example. But some examples.But one ... day ...Forget it!!
There won't be the day that a (wo)man will not be bullied, imprisoned, tortured or killed by those who have not much more than their power. Tell my ashes if I were wrong.
keeps ...
... the hunger away.
Home warm home
The heirs of today's birthday child who once finished his masterpiece in Triest will feel a bit triste when thinking of next year as then they can't suck any more honey / money from their ancestors' genius - in January 2011 the copyright expires.How cometh I am looking forward to January 13th? :)
I do not sleep at night nor go out by day, I am sad because the world has disappeared, nor is there food nor bank left, nor open grounds nor fields. Nor will I be enticed out of my house by any girl's invitation while this plague continues, this cloak of white feathers sticking close to dragon's scales, but tell her that I do not want my coat made white like a miller's garment. After New Year one must go wrapped in fur, and during January God makes us start the year as hermits.
Now God has whitewashed the dark earth all around till there is no undergrowth without its white garment, no coppins that's not covered with a sheet: fine flour has been milled on every stump, heavenly flour like April blossoms. A cold veil lies over the woods and the young trees, a load of chalk bows down the trees; ghostly wheaten flour which falls till a white coat of mail covers all the fields of the plain. The soil of the ploughed fields is covered with a cold grit, lying like a thick coat of tallow on the earth's skin, and a shower of frozen foam falls in fleeces big as a man's fist. Across North Wales the snow-flakes wander like a swarm of white bees. Why does God throw down this mass of feathers like the down of his own geese, till here below the drifts sway and billow over the heather like swollen bellies big as heaps of chaff and covered with ermine? The dust piles in a drift where we sang along the pleasant paths.
This garment of snow holds us in grip while it remains cementing together the hills, valleys and ditches und a steel coat fit to break the earth, fixing all into a vast monument greater than the graveyard of the sea. What a great fall lies on my country, a white wall stretching from one sea to another! Who dares fight its rude power? A leaden cloak lies on us. When will the rain come?
Dafydd ap Gwilym
