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Re: Three AM

PostPosted: Sun Nov 22, 2020 3:10 am
by derleydoo
Say it clearly Grandma

I heard it sed
I'm shore I red
Abcd – mere letters in a row, I’m thinking someone so “well read”
I’m thinking they would
Don’t misuse – miss abuse – J’accuse
Paradoxical Euphemisms – In order to
Ordination of the Knights Templar
What purpose – What
A porpoise
Show some poise – some dignity
A fish on a bike
With a bag full of hidden meenings.
And sladep that go round and round and round
Til the fog lifts and the sun appears for several years
Understanding rains


Re: Three AM

PostPosted: Sun Nov 22, 2020 4:00 pm
by derleydoo
The Consolation of Philosophy - Boethius

While I was thus mutely pondering within myself, and recording my sorrowful complainings with my pen, it seemed to me that there appeared above my head a woman of a countenance exceeding venerable. Her eyes were bright as fire, and of a more than human keenness; her complexion was lively, her vigour showed no trace of enfeeblement; and yet her years were right full, and she plainly seemed not of our age and time. Her stature was difficult to judge. At one moment it exceeded not the common height, at another her forehead seemed to strike the sky; and whenever she raised her head higher, she began to pierce within the very heavens, and to baffle the eyes of them that looked upon her. Her garments were of an imperishable fabric, wrought with the finest threads and of the most delicate workmanship; and these, as her own lips afterwards assured me, she had herself woven with her own hands. The beauty of this vesture had been somewhat tarnished by age and neglect, and wore that dingy look which marble contracts from exposure. On the lower-most edge was inwoven the Greek letter Π [Greek: P], on the topmost the letter θ [Greek: Th],[A] and between the two were to be seen steps, like a staircase, from the lower to the upper letter. This robe, moreover, had been torn by the hands of violent persons, who had each snatched away what he could clutch. Her right hand held a note-book; in her left she bore a staff.

And when she saw the Muses of Poetry standing by my bedside, dictating the words of my lamentations, she was moved awhile to wrath, and her eyes flashed sternly. 'Who,' said she, 'has allowed yon play-acting wantons to approach this sick man—these who, so far from giving medicine to heal his malady, even feed it with sweet poison? These it is who kill the rich crop of reason with the barren thorns of passion, who accustom men's minds to disease, instead of setting them free. Now, were it some common man whom your allurements were seducing, as is usually your way, I should be less indignant. On such a one I should not have spent my pains for naught. But this is one nurtured in the Eleatic and Academic philosophies. Nay, get ye gone, ye sirens, whose sweetness lasteth not; leave him for my muses to tend and heal!' At these words of upbraiding, the whole band, in deepened sadness, with downcast eyes, and blushes that confessed their shame, dolefully left the chamber.

IF - Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

Re: Three AM

PostPosted: Sun Nov 22, 2020 7:16 pm
by Meno_
Some one thinking of his dad, some his son.

Thinkin, thinging of thought.
What's it all about that thought.

Right now of 'sons, and lovers.'( cross cross ref: pedro& biggy but they are not as vigilant)

If I failed to dig up something from Biggy's anthology, so far from it's nemesis ontology ; ill paraphrase some, about something other from DH, but allusions to other then trying to figure out the social landscape, swirling around propped out characters, came to nought , phenominally that is

I failed to dig up excerpts only to descend to the lower levels of Boetthius, whereby a very Oedipal reconstruction appears of later evolved tragic consequences which arise in the ironic reconstruction of the passage of manhood from birth of that tragic marble laden tragedy to it's romanesque evolution beginning with the .aristetolian version of unmasking that persona.

Re: Three AM

PostPosted: Sun Nov 22, 2020 7:56 pm
by Meno_
Boethius was preempted by Andronius Rhodes, and by Arabian thinkers . But later actions were reversely simulated by Alexander the Great, Aristoteles'student.

I was digging in, down, while coming across. It again only after the late middle ages and most significantly premised , as an eschotological irony way after that, the Enlightenment. Since then , the dissolute can take comfort in the earliest manifestations.

Re: Three AM

PostPosted: Sun Nov 22, 2020 8:59 pm
by Meno_
Meno_ wrote:Boethius was preempted by Andronius Rhodes, and by Arabian thinkers, such as Avaroes, . But later actions were reversely simulated by Alexander the Great, Aristoteles'student.

I was digging in, down, while coming across. It again only after the late middle ages and most significantly premised , as an eschotological irony way after that, the Enlightenment. Since then , the dissolute can take comfort in the earliest manifestations.

Softy , derely, for the doubled post
Will erase later.

Re: Three AM

PostPosted: Mon Nov 23, 2020 12:28 pm
by Meno_
3 25 am
Thinking what to say.. .

Re: Three AM

PostPosted: Mon Nov 23, 2020 12:41 pm
by derleydoo
Meno_ wrote:3 25 am
Thinking what to say.. .

Say to your self "Go to sleep - pleasant dreams". :)

Losing touch with Reality - we have to start somewhere?

PostPosted: Sun Dec 20, 2020 4:00 am
by derleydoo
Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Is that a trick question?
Come in.
Thank you. How are you? I hope I’m not disturbing you.
I am rather busy. Having said that, I was about to put the kettle on. Perhaps you could do that for me.
Not a problem.

Seven or eight minutes later.

What brings you to the office? If you don’t mind me saying, you’re looking a tad forlorn.
I don’t think I’m long for this world.
You’ve put sugar in my tea.
I thought you took sugar.
Not for a while now. Anyhow – why so forlorn?
Can I ask you a question?
I beg your pardon?
No matter. What do you want to ask?
How old were you when you first realised that your parents had spent the formative years of your life lying to you on a regular basis?
I don’t believe my parents have ever told me a lie.
Certainly not. Anyway, what brings you to the office?
Parents make lying acceptable.
Crikey, you are forlorn. Cheer up, sunshine, ‘tis the season to be jolly! Now then, drink your tea and piss off. I’m busy.
How much milk do you suppose Santa Claus drinks in one night?
Say what?
Christmas is a celebration of Christ’s birth.
It is indeed.
Jesus said: “I am the way, the truth, and the life.”
And what?
“No one comes to the Father except through Me.”
Why are you laughing? He didn’t mean Father Christmas.

To be continued.

My tooth came out and the Easter Bunny put some money under my pillow.

Re: Rudeness by Hugh and Milly T. Senior Partners at PCH&N

PostPosted: Sun Jan 10, 2021 3:34 am
by derleydoo

Aunque hablo con las lenguas de los hombres y de los ángeles y no tengo amor,
Me estoy convirtiendo en un latón sonoro o un platillo que suena.

Bien que je parle avec les langues des hommes et des anges et que je n’ai pas d’amour,
Je suis devenu comme des cuivres qui sonnent ou une cymbale cliquetis.

Iako govorim jezicima ljudi i anđela i nemam ljubavi,
Postajem kao zvučanje mesinga ili simbal.

Макар да говоря с езиците на човеците и на ангелите и не обичам,
Ставам като месинг или чинбал.


Selvom jeg taler med tunger af mænd og engle og har ikke kærlighed,
Jeg er blevet så klingende messing eller en klirrende bækken.

Iako govorim jezicima ljudi i anđela i ne volim,
Ja sam postao kao zvuk mesinga ili clanging cimbal.

I když mluvím jazyky lidí a andělů a nemám lásku,
Stávám se jako znějící mosaz nebo cinkající činel.

Hoewel ik spreek met de tongen van mensen en engelen en heb geen liefde,
Ik word zo klinkende koper of een kletterende bekken.

Vaikka puhunkin miesten ja enkelten kielillä, enkä rakasta,
Minusta on tullut kuin kuulostava messinki tai sätkynymbaali.

Αν και μιλάω με τις γλώσσες των ανθρώπων και των αγγέλων και δεν έχω αγάπη,
Είμαι γίνει ως ηχεί ορείχαλκο ή ένα κύμβαλα. ... ignrnc.htm

"For the more languages a man can speak,
His talent has but sprung the greater leak;
And, of the industry he has spent upon't,
Must full as much some other way discount.
The Hebrew, Chaldee, and the Syriac
Do, like their letters, set men's reason back,
And turn their wits that strive to understand it
(Like those that write the characters) left-handed.
Yet he that is but able to express
No sense at all in several languages,
Will pass for learneder than he that's known
To speak the strongest reason in his own."

Samuel Butler

"I'm going to go thread by thread and fucking humiliate every single person on this site, one by one. I'm glad I got banned off all my social media. Fucking bunch of cunts. I'm so fucking hard."

I am old. Times change. Smite. When I was younger, no one referred to anyone else as being a Cunt. I say no one... On the very very rare occasions when that particular label was used, you may be certain that a fight would very quickly erupt.

I think it extremely rude, and disrespectful, to refer to someone as a Cunt, particularly when you have neither met nor spoken to that person. I suppose I am a little old-fashioned.

Apparently, nowhere is it on record that Socrates said: "The only thing I know, is that I know nothing."
Well I know less! With that thought in mind, let the humiliation begin. Purge yourself of your pain, Sir.
Love you! :)

*The staff at PCH&N would like to thank Google translate.