I was browsing through blogs and I found that this person I know had copied something I'd written on theirs.
They've totally ruined its form and humor. and copied without
understanding the flow. and substituted gender without realising how
jokes change according to it. no subtlety. no form. no understanding.
ohh i feel what a painter must feel when someone makes an horrid reproduction of their work. and the fact that they've copied it, too.
i'm pissed. so pissed. ooooh i'm pissed.

Falling in line with changing times and all

Watch this space for the why and the wherefore of the rather delayed move to the tarty new Blogger layout thingummybob

How I have felt that thing that's called 'to part',
and feel it still: a dark, invincible
cruel something by which what was joined so well
is once more shown, held out, and torn apart.

In what defenceless gaze at that I've stood,
which, as it, calling to me, let me go,
stayed there, as though it were all womanhood,
yet small and white and nothing more than, oh,

a waving, now already unrelated
to me, a slight, continuing wave, - scarce now
explainable: perhaps a plum-tree bough
some perching cuckoo's hastily vacated.

Rainer Maria Rilke
Parting

Sassoon, on a lazy sunday afternoon

Saturday, actually.


view album

And that is how it all began

Gaza

The tin roofs make it look like diamond dust from above. That and the density of population, in stark contrast to that just across the armistice line.