We are all riven
Q: Is hypocrisy an innate human trait?
We are all riven
Q: Is hypocrisy an innate human trait?
no longer is
Saudade Severely Sears
Time Tormentingly Tests
Let there be no doubt about that.
soft voices die (to — J 💌)
Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory—
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heaped for the belovèd’s bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on
— Percy Bysshe Shelley
Our kiss, and then our kisses were beyond reason; they were really and truly utterly otherworldly
Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips.
And why, why in the name of the devil, of god and James Dean does this have to be the fucking way? Are we so bloody damn stupid, so flippant when all’s roses? Why the fucking hell can’t we appreciate the priceless things whilst they’re within our grasp; why the fuck must we lose something to be able to realise its true value? Rosie Lee, you have my Strawberry tart, it will be with you until the day it ceases to beat. Period. Full stop. End of. Immutably so.
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
“One Day I Wrote Her Name”
One day I wrote her name upon the strand,
But came the waves and washed it away:
Again I wrote it with a second hand,
But came the tide, and made my pains his prey.
“Vain man,” said she, “that dost in vain assay,
A mortal thing so to immortalize;
For I myself shall like to this decay,
And eke my name be wiped out likewise.”
“Not so,” (quod I) “let baser things devise
To die in dust, but you shall live by fame:
My verse your vertues rare shall eternize,
And in the heavens write your glorious name:
Where whenas death shall all the world subdue,
Our love shall live, and later life renew.”
— Edmund Spenser
Roman numerals are the numbers that were used in ancient Rome, which employed combinations of letters from the Latin alphabet:
I — 1
V — 5
X — 10
L — 50
C — 100
D — 500
M — 1,000
Numbers are represented by putting the symbols into various combinations in different orders. The symbols are then added together, for example:
— I + I + I, written as III, is 3.
— To write 11 we add X (10) and I (1) and write XI.
— For 22 we add X and X and I and I, so XXII.
Roman numerals are usually written in order, from largest to smallest and from left to right, but more than three identical symbols never appear in a row. Instead, a system of subtraction is used. When a smaller number appears in front of a larger one, that needs to be subtracted, so:
— IV is 4 (5 – 1)
— IX is 9 (10 – 1)
The subtraction system is used in six cases:
— I is placed before V and X so, IV is 4 and IX is 9.
— X is placed before L (50) and C (100) so, XL is 40 and XC is 90.
— C is placed before D (500) and M (1000) so, CD is 400 and CM is 900.
So, “LXXV” equates to: 75.
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st;
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
— William Shakespeare
See too: ‘sOnly a sOnnet
[ . & your perfect smile . ]
I burn beyond belief
I crave u desperately
You’re my opium & oxygen
(( the last fight killed me ))
(( I’m broken ))
(( I’m now a different person ))
But, i need u 2 no:
2 me u r u and, u R u
U 2 me r utterly irreplaceable
I live only 2 be with u
U R my One&Only
~ My Heat
~~ My Heart
~~~ My Happiness
~~~~ My Heaven-sent Heroine
Your honey IS MY heroin.
Please let us be kind
My heart’s in a bind
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind / And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
is so truly limitless
I‘d read about love on many an occasion
Love, they said, could kill without any exertion
Until last month this was abstract exposition
Inconsolable now; I’m “dead on the inside”
Love so pristine, which I’ve now rendered denied
Unless I can make mends, pure heartache will preside
Irreplaceable: You are a unique snowflake
Love so pure flowed between us; let’s not forsake
U R the only one, of this, make no mistake.
I was dogged by that star.
Now I’m blue as the moon.
Just another number…
(To JS/07 M 378
This Marble Monument
Is Erected by the State)
He was found by the Bureau of Statistics to be
One against whom there was no official complaint,
And all the reports on his conduct agree
That, in the modern sense of an old-fashioned word, he was a saint,
For in everything he did he served the Greater Community.
Except for the War till the day he retired
He worked in a factory and never got fired,
But satisfied his employers, Fudge Motors Inc.
Yet he wasn’t a scab or odd in his views,
For his Union reports that he paid his dues,
(Our report on his Union shows it was sound)
And our Social Psychology workers found
That he was popular with his mates and liked a drink.
The Press are convinced that he bought a paper every day
And that his reactions to advertisements were normal in every way.
Policies taken out in his name prove that he was fully insured,
And his Health-card shows he was once in a hospital but left it cured.
Both Producers Research and High-Grade Living declare
He was fully sensible to the advantages of the Installment Plan
And had everything necessary to the Modern Man,
A phonograph, a radio, a car and a frigidaire.
Our researchers into Public Opinion are content
That he held the proper opinions for the time of year;
When there was peace, he was for peace: when there was war, he went.
He was married and added five children to the population,
Which our Eugenist says was the right number for a parent of his generation.
And our teachers report that he never interfered with their education.
Was he free? Was he happy? The question is absurd:
Had anything been wrong, we should certainly have heard.
— W. H. Auden