Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Pitch'n'Putt with Andrew'n'Calum




Postscriptum:
Oh sorry. Just notice: Correct title, wrong video. Or ...?


[...] full of nuts [...]



Part two

Happy 104th, Sam


Cascando
1
why not merely the despaired of
occasion of

wordshed

is it not better abort than be barren
the hours after you are gone are so leaden

they will always start dragging too soon

the grapples clawing blindly the bed of want

bringing up the bones the old loves

sockets filled once with eyes like yours

all always is it better too soon than never

the black want splashing their faces

saying again nine days never floated the loved

nor nine months

nor nine lives

2

saying again

if you do not teach me I shall not learn

saying again there is a last

even of last times

last times of begging

last times of loving

of knowing not knowing pretending

a last even of last times of saying

if you do not love me I shall not be loved

if I do not love you I shall not love

the churn of stale words in the heart again
love love love thud of the old plunger

pestling the unalterable

whey of words

terrified again

of not loving

of loving and not you

of being loved and not by you

of knowing not knowing pretending

pretending

I and all the others that will love you
if they love you

3

unless they love you


Samuel Beckett, *April 13th, 1906

Tuesday, April 06, 2010

Enduring what?

There might follow an update.

Don't know when, though, as I am trying to help a dear person to get better - or at least - yes, although we do not want to, we do have to face this possibility - to die without pain ... peacefully and with a little smile on her lips.

Why would I mention this?

I think it's a fitting counterpoint to what you can see and hear in the following videos full stop

The peace of the night.






The following video is a short version. For the original 38 minutes video released by wikileaks.org please visit their special project website www.collateralmurder.com.


Thursday, April 01, 2010

Ah, and by the way ...

... and just in case you didn't know, yet:
April, April!
Flann fooled you, folks.

McSeanagall's outing

Remembering that once in the past millennium when discovering all counties of Ireland [causing anyone's reflexes here?], during the first three weeks - probably due to my face being tanned by the Welsh sun - I got asked whether I were French or Italian; that after four weeks, though, people seemingly thought 'Well, neither he's English, Irish nor American, but perhaps Australian?; remembering that after three months I got asked which part of Ireland I was coming from, and that on the very last day when - just to say goodbye - entering a tea-house in Laragh where several times I had enjoyed tea & scones & good talks, the landlord just turned round and said 'Another two weeks, and you're a fucking Paddy, yourself', I think it's time to reveal ...

... once for ever ...

with an April 1st smile

that - in fact - I am a Scot.