Wislawa Szymborska

Nothing can ever happen twice.
In consequence, the sorry fact is
that we arrive here improvised
and leave without the chance to practice.

Even if there is no one dumber,
if you're the planet's biggest dunce,
you can't repeat the class in summer:
this course is only offered once.

No day copies yesterday,
no two nights will teach what bliss is
in precisely the same way,
with precisely the same kisses.

One day, perhaps some idle tongue
mentions your name by accident:
I feel as if a rose were flung
into the room, all hue and scent.

The next day, though you're here with me,
I can't help looking at the clock:
A rose? A rose? What could that be?
Is it a flower or a rock?

Why do we treat the fleeting day
with so much needless fear and sorrow?
It's in its nature not to say
Today is always gone tomorrow

With smiles and kisses, we prefer
to seek accord beneath our star,
although we're different (we concur)
just as two drops of water are.

Catch-22

Soul to Squeeze

I've got a bad disease
But from my brain is where I bleed.
Insanity it seems
Has got me by my soul to squeeze.

Well all the love from thee
With all the dying trees I scream.
The angels in my dreams (yeah)
Have turned to demons of greed that's mean.

Where I go I just don't know
I got to got to gotta take it slow.
When I find my piece of mind
I'm gonna give you some of my good time.

Today love smiled on me.
It took away my face say please
All that you had to free
You gotta let it be oh yeah.

Where I go I just don't know
I got to got to gotta take it slow.
When I find my piece of mind
I'm gonna give you some of my good time.

Oh, so polite indeed
Well I got everything I need.
Oh make my days a breeze
And take away my self destruction.

It's bitter baby,
And it's very sweet.
I'm on a rollercoaster,
but I'm on my feet.
Take me to the river,
Let me on your shore.
I'll be coming back baby,
I'll be coming back for more.

Doo doo doo doo dingle zing a dong bone
Ba-di ba-da ba-zumba crunga cong gone bad

I could not forget
But I will not endeavor
Simple pleasures aren't as special
But I wont regret it never.

Where I go I just don't know
I got to got to gotta take it slow.
When I find my piece of mind
I'm gonna give you some of my good time.

Where I go I just don't know
I might end up somewhere in Mexico.
When I find my piece of mind
I'm gonna keep you for the end of time.

'twas the night before sungod

Insomnia strikes again. I can't decide if i cant sleep because of sungod, or rather because of nationals as it inches closer and closer. Game 1 vs stanford. Bright and early next friday. I can already picture chasing a scardato cutting deep for a tom james huck. I can hear will chen calling his lines. I can see Colin marking up on me. I am so restless.

School has been very busy and I am considering tapering the degree of craziness tomorrow. In truth, I just have so much I have to do. I just finished a report I have to turn in for a research scholarship I received last summer. I should be learning my vocabulary for my german class I have this morning. Yet, I find myself nostalgic of how sungod used to be like and what I used to do each year. Freshmen year, I awoke at 8:00 to a Gred and a Zaius heckling in the common room of my dormitory. They made me shotgun and got me high in the stairwell of Argo. I still made it to 9:00 Humanities. I remember a great sober concert with cypress hill smoking on stage. Sophomore year, I spent the entire night constructing the Kiss Kiss Beng Beng junkyard car, woke up and got drunk/high at 7, went to 8:00 ochem, raced the vehicle down peterson hill, passed out, woke up, drank more, went to class with someone, passed out, woke up, and drank more, got high, and found myself the next morning with 19 black tally marks on my arm (which was less than the person I was trying to match drink for drink). Third year consisted of laying out for frisbees at the slip and slide establishment at Sungod lawn, a bottle of port, smoking at the rooftop of Mandler hall, and a close 911 emergency call.

Pool D: Virginia (4), Stanford (5), Michigan (9), California-San Diego(16) and Minnesota (20)

Vs. Stanford.
We met at Sean Ryan back during Fall quarter and I remember actually playing quite well against them. Our squad was Biel-less and consisted of numerous fish whom I haven't seen since the start of the season. That game, I recall a Dibsy playing the entire game. Personally, I got burned by Steve twice when I guarded him, including one where I managed to catch up, only to be skied in the endzone. I remember helping Cork get a D with sweet upline defense. I also caused Colin to twist his ankle when i was trying to squirrel open in the backfield. We had kept up with Stanford and had a 2 break lead, 1 point away from half and I remember them sacking up, getting their breaks back, and eventually taking half. They never trailed the rest of the game. Strangely, I also remember a drunk Dollar passed out on the sideline. Also of note, Roget was on the sidelines, with his emo moptop hair. I think the final score was 11-13 or something along those lines. After the game/tournament, I remember I was extremely impressed by the work ethic and discipline of Bloodthirsty and realizing how badly our team needed that. Enter Kevin Stuart.

Vs. Minnesota
Got owned by these guys 15-3 at centex. First game I show up for at Centex. See previous post about getting kicked off flight. Pumba breaks his nose. We suck and turn it over near our goal a few times. We also tried to force things in Zone O. Down 8-2 at the half. Stuarts pissed. We matched up well with this team but we just couldn't throw in the wind. This game was the worst loss of the season, until we lost to mama during the regional finals. And why? Wind. Wind. Wind.

Vs. Michigan.
Will Neff for Callahan? That guys a beast. I've played against Michigan at 2008 Centex. Don't remember much other than a bunch of white dudes with mustaches and Mohawks. I remember turning it over on a huck to Hutch. We lose 15-9 or something like that.

Vs. Virginia.
So...they won the AC region...leaving brodie and the gators at home. harhar.

from lola rennt

LITTLE GIDDING
(No. 4 of 'Four Quartets')

T.S. Eliot



I

Midwinter spring is its own season
Sempiternal though sodden towards sundown,
Suspended in time, between pole and tropic.
When the short day is brightest, with frost and fire,
The brief sun flames the ice, on pond and ditches,
In windless cold that is the heart's heat,
Reflecting in a watery mirror
A glare that is blindness in the early afternoon.
And glow more intense than blaze of branch, or brazier,
Stirs the dumb spirit: no wind, but pentecostal fire
In the dark time of the year. Between melting and freezing
The soul's sap quivers. There is no earth smell
Or smell of living thing. This is the spring time
But not in time's covenant. Now the hedgerow
Is blanched for an hour with transitory blossom
Of snow, a bloom more sudden
Than that of summer, neither budding nor fading,
Not in the scheme of generation.
Where is the summer, the unimaginable
Zero summer?

If you came this way,
Taking the route you would be likely to take
From the place you would be likely to come from,
If you came this way in may time, you would find the hedges
White again, in May, with voluptuary sweetness.
It would be the same at the end of the journey,
If you came at night like a broken king,
If you came by day not knowing what you came for,
It would be the same, when you leave the rough road
And turn behind the pig-sty to the dull facade
And the tombstone. And what you thought you came for
Is only a shell, a husk of meaning
From which the purpose breaks only when it is fulfilled
If at all. Either you had no purpose
Or the purpose is beyond the end you figured
And is altered in fulfilment. There are other places
Which also are the world's end, some at the sea jaws,
Or over a dark lake, in a desert or a city—
But this is the nearest, in place and time,
Now and in England.

If you came this way,
Taking any route, starting from anywhere,
At any time or at any season,
It would always be the same: you would have to put off
Sense and notion. You are not here to verify,
Instruct yourself, or inform curiosity
Or carry report. You are here to kneel
Where prayer has been valid. And prayer is more
Than an order of words, the conscious occupation
Of the praying mind, or the sound of the voice praying.
And what the dead had no speech for, when living,
They can tell you, being dead: the communication
Of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.
Here, the intersection of the timeless moment
Is England and nowhere. Never and always.



II

Ash on and old man's sleeve
Is all the ash the burnt roses leave.
Dust in the air suspended
Marks the place where a story ended.
Dust inbreathed was a house—
The walls, the wainscot and the mouse,
The death of hope and despair,
This is the death of air.

There are flood and drouth
Over the eyes and in the mouth,
Dead water and dead sand
Contending for the upper hand.
The parched eviscerate soil
Gapes at the vanity of toil,
Laughs without mirth.
This is the death of earth.

Water and fire succeed
The town, the pasture and the weed.
Water and fire deride
The sacrifice that we denied.
Water and fire shall rot
The marred foundations we forgot,
Of sanctuary and choir.
This is the death of water and fire.

In the uncertain hour before the morning
Near the ending of interminable night
At the recurrent end of the unending
After the dark dove with the flickering tongue
Had passed below the horizon of his homing
While the dead leaves still rattled on like tin
Over the asphalt where no other sound was
Between three districts whence the smoke arose
I met one walking, loitering and hurried
As if blown towards me like the metal leaves
Before the urban dawn wind unresisting.
And as I fixed upon the down-turned face
That pointed scrutiny with which we challenge
The first-met stranger in the waning dusk
I caught the sudden look of some dead master
Whom I had known, forgotten, half recalled
Both one and many; in the brown baked features
The eyes of a familiar compound ghost
Both intimate and unidentifiable.
So I assumed a double part, and cried
And heard another's voice cry: 'What! are you here?'
Although we were not. I was still the same,
Knowing myself yet being someone other—
And he a face still forming; yet the words sufficed
To compel the recognition they preceded.
And so, compliant to the common wind,
Too strange to each other for misunderstanding,
In concord at this intersection time
Of meeting nowhere, no before and after,
We trod the pavement in a dead patrol.
I said: 'The wonder that I feel is easy,
Yet ease is cause of wonder. Therefore speak:
I may not comprehend, may not remember.'
And he: 'I am not eager to rehearse
My thoughts and theory which you have forgotten.
These things have served their purpose: let them be.
So with your own, and pray they be forgiven
By others, as I pray you to forgive
Both bad and good. Last season's fruit is eaten
And the fullfed beast shall kick the empty pail.
For last year's words belong to last year's language
And next year's words await another voice.
But, as the passage now presents no hindrance
To the spirit unappeased and peregrine
Between two worlds become much like each other,
So I find words I never thought to speak
In streets I never thought I should revisit
When I left my body on a distant shore.
Since our concern was speech, and speech impelled us
To purify the dialect of the tribe
And urge the mind to aftersight and foresight,
Let me disclose the gifts reserved for age
To set a crown upon your lifetime's effort.
First, the cold friction of expiring sense
Without enchantment, offering no promise
But bitter tastelessness of shadow fruit
As body and soul begin to fall asunder.
Second, the conscious impotence of rage
At human folly, and the laceration
Of laughter at what ceases to amuse.
And last, the rending pain of re-enactment
Of all that you have done, and been; the shame
Of motives late revealed, and the awareness
Of things ill done and done to others' harm
Which once you took for exercise of virtue.
Then fools' approval stings, and honour stains.
From wrong to wrong the exasperated spirit
Proceeds, unless restored by that refining fire
Where you must move in measure, like a dancer.'
The day was breaking. In the disfigured street
He left me, with a kind of valediction,
And faded on the blowing of the horn.



III

There are three conditions which often look alike
Yet differ completely, flourish in the same hedgerow:
Attachment to self and to things and to persons, detachment
From self and from things and from persons; and, growing between them, indifference
Which resembles the others as death resembles life,
Being between two lives—unflowering, between
The live and the dead nettle. This is the use of memory:
For liberation—not less of love but expanding
Of love beyond desire, and so liberation
From the future as well as the past. Thus, love of a country
Begins as attachment to our own field of action
And comes to find that action of little importance
Though never indifferent. History may be servitude,
History may be freedom. See, now they vanish,
The faces and places, with the self which, as it could, loved them,
To become renewed, transfigured, in another pattern.

Sin is Behovely, but
All shall be well, and
All manner of thing shall be well.
If I think, again, of this place,
And of people, not wholly commendable,
Of no immediate kin or kindness,
But of some peculiar genius,
All touched by a common genius,
United in the strife which divided them;
If I think of a king at nightfall,
Of three men, and more, on the scaffold
And a few who died forgotten
In other places, here and abroad,
And of one who died blind and quiet
Why should we celebrate
These dead men more than the dying?
It is not to ring the bell backward
Nor is it an incantation
To summon the spectre of a Rose.
We cannot revive old factions
We cannot restore old policies
Or follow an antique drum.
These men, and those who opposed them
And those whom they opposed
Accept the constitution of silence
And are folded in a single party.
Whatever we inherit from the fortunate
We have taken from the defeated
What they had to leave us—a symbol:
A symbol perfected in death.
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
By the purification of the motive
In the ground of our beseeching.



IV

The dove descending breaks the air
With flame of incandescent terror
Of which the tongues declare
The one discharge from sin and error.
The only hope, or else despair
Lies in the choice of pyre of pyre—
To be redeemed from fire by fire.

Who then devised the torment? Love.
Love is the unfamiliar Name
Behind the hands that wove
The intolerable shirt of flame
Which human power cannot remove.
We only live, only suspire
Consumed by either fire or fire.



V

What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make and end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from. And every phrase
And sentence that is right (where every word is at home,
Taking its place to support the others,
The word neither diffident nor ostentatious,
An easy commerce of the old and the new,
The common word exact without vulgarity,
The formal word precise but not pedantic,
The complete consort dancing together)
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,
Every poem an epitaph. And any action
Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea's throat
Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.
We die with the dying:
See, they depart, and we go with them.
We are born with the dead:
See, they return, and bring us with them.
The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree
Are of equal duration. A people without history
Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern
Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails
On a winter's afternoon, in a secluded chapel
History is now and England.

With the drawing of this Love and the voice of this
Calling

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, unremembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always—
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.

Cancer comic!

Please don't get cancer before I do!

Oh the holiday season is already over. =/ I already miss the feeling so much.

In german class this quarter, prejudice has been a common theme. Africans and immigrants from Turkey in particular, and what prejudices germans have against them. As you understand more and more characters, prejudices are erased and part of my deal is that I don't read enough, or watch enough TV/movies where I am exposed to characters. Whether they be real or not, they still leave that imprint in your head. You identify yourself, but i think there will always be comparing. That's my problem, where I can't help but compare and wish to be better off than others. There was a nice little spiel on a yearbook about that and it was elegantly written by some high school year book editors. Its the identifying part that's hard. I can't really identify myself, and I'm still searching.

Bliss, by Muse

everything about you is how i wanna be
your freedom comes naturally
everything about you resonates happiness
now i won't settle for less

give me all the peace and joy in your mind

everything you pains my envying
your soul can't hate anything
everything about you is so easy to love
they're watching you from above

give me all the peace and joy in your mind
i want the peace and joy in your mind
give me the peace and joy in your mind

everything about you resonates happiness
now i won't settle for less

give me all the peace and joy in your mind
i want the peace and joy in your mind
give me the peace and joy in your mind


Game 2 was sketch. Jazz are playing very physical and I fear that a crucial Laker may get injured. Too bad Turkish Delight is sitting with an hurt hamstring. And sorry Farmar, but Shannon Brown is way better than you, but I still like you too. I like how we start out amazingly shooting 80% or so, build a huge lead, then suck for the third quarter, and then finally squeeze it out in the forth. Prediction, Jazz send the game to overtime on a D-will 3 pointer but unfortunately Kobe shits on Ronnie Brewer in OT. Oh yea, and whats the deal about Bynum hitting up Rihanna?



ich mag großen Hahn is german for i like big cock.

uh oh.

I left geisel and then locked myself out of the car, with my phone and keys inside the trunk. FML. Goddammit, how useless I am w/o a phone. Librarian doesnt let me borrow their phone and the pay phones outside arent working. And jeez, its so hard to find pay phones! Fuck. Stalling 7...8...9...

Floating in Geisel and succeeding at not writing my german essay due in 9 hours.

The National - Green Gloves

Falling out of touch with all my
friends are somewhere getting wasted,
hope they’re staying glued together,
I have arms for them.

Take another sip of them,
it floats around and takes me over
like a little drop of ink in a glass of water

Get inside their clothes
with my green gloves
watch their videos, in their chairs.
Get inside their beds
with my green gloves
Get inside their heads, love their loves.

Cinderella through the room
I glide and swan cause I’m the best slow dancer
in the universe

Falling out of touch with all my
friends are somewhere getting wasted,
hope they’re staying glued together,
I have arms for them.


Get inside their clothes
with my green gloves
watch their videos, in their chairs.
Get inside their beds
with my green gloves
Get inside their heads, love their loves.

Now I hardly know them
and I’ll take my time
I’ll carry them over, and I’ll make them mine.

Get inside their clothes
with my green gloves
watch their videos, in their chairs.
Get inside their beds
with my green gloves
Get inside their heads, love their loves.

---
Post binge. Actually just a refusal to work. Mmm great song by the national. My car radio got fixed and I listened to the radio for the first time and heard Evanescence's My Immortal. God that songs legendary old school. I used listen to that band a lot back in gymnasium. Freaky shit dude.

Just got scooped last Friday by some "real" scientists from maryland. Very disappointing. :*( I'm a very passive person and my boss emailed me saying, "Being passive is a clear sign of a second rate mind." AH, fail!

On a lighter note, ice won sectionals this past weekend. Frisbee...the bane of my existence. Regionals in two weekends. Goddamit, I got stalled during the fish point after being left out to dry on the low side on our goal line. On Saturday, good confident coppa was on the field, running dominator and tearing shit up. I only had 2 turns while touching the disc a lot for the doffense (one was the damn stall where hyzer ditched me and left me without my gravy). On Sunday, scared, "save me nero!", "get a D and turn it over right away!", "'wheres your head? are you ok?'asks stuart" Coppa was present. I turned 50% of the touches i got, which was sadly like 5 out of only like 10 touches. My defense was fine, but goddamn offense was terrible. What a difference confidence and distractions can make!