chamuda

This is me [mostly] uncensored.

I have contemplated for a while now the distinctions between the public me, the INTERNET public me, and the private me. The INTERNET public persona appears to be the one each of us has the most control over, but it seems that is fleeting now too with the further integration (read: invasion) of the electronic media fora into our daily lives.

Ironically as I pull back in the forum where I interact only with those I know in real life, I am now entering more media where I have an illusion of anonymity. It is an interesting edge to walk.

I welcome discussions on the above as well as most other things (although, I'm not allowed to speak on politics until the end of August 2013 when my current job ends).

Current Mood: thoughtful

I'm still around....although it's been ages (over a year, surely) since I've posted anything here. Partly it's because I only have a limited capacity for online life--no matter how busy my offline life is. I have begun to learn that there are just certain things that I'm not going to invest the time into. I haven't decided if this is one of those things (yet). It might be.

The other reason is that I have never felt like I really understand the way to effectively utilize this platform (and other similar platforms). (I completely missed the era of Live Journal and still don't really understand what it was--both in terms of culture and platform.)

Anyway, this is mostly me just popping in to say I'm still alive.

I hope all of you--out there in the ether--are doing well and surviving/thriving.

Cheers!

Here's another one of my childhood favorites by Shel Silverstein. It is forever relevant though.

Apologies for missing a few days....non-online life has a way of getting in the way.

Anyway, I thought I'd go with a classic -- it's a classic for a reason.

William Shakespeare
Sonnet 116

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

I'm heartsick about what's been happening in Boston and the environs this week. It has been made even more so for me because I have close family who live in Watertown, MA.

So, I thought I'd use this as an opportunity to share another of my grandfather's favorites.

Invictus
by William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

So, this is a poem I only found tonight, but it seemed appropriate given that marriage equality passed today in New Zealand. I'm feeling a bit nostalgic for the years that I lived there and just so chuffed about the vote. So, here's a poem about Aotearoa, land of the Long White Cloud.

Aotearoa

Assemble as one nation, beneath the southern skies
Towards the distant stars there is hope in our eyes
One land of many people, but our spirit has survived
Even in the face of adversity united we are one

For there are hopes that we hold common
Beneath the light of the southern sun
And as we unite as one nation
May our pride, always sing

Benevolent are our values
For we know are hearts are true
Never have we lingered beneath this haven blue
Through the void of pure elation, to our nation we are true

And it is written in our efforts and the little things we’ve done
We are a land of many people but together we are one
What light could hold a candle to the essence of our flame?
As there is hope among our hearts, as we look with gentle eyes

And as we look towards the future we will hold our heads with pride
One land of many people but our spirit still remains
Aotearoa our New Zealand, beacon be our gentle light
For there is a sense among our presence, as look towards the night

By Darryn John Murphy

So, I'm clearly on a Shel Silverstein kick, but it so strongly evokes happy childhood memories that I can't care. :-)

Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me Too
by Shel Silverstein

Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too
Went for a ride in a flying shoe.
"Hooray!"
"What fun!"
"It's time we flew!"
Said Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too.

Ickle was captain, and Pickle was crew
And Tickle served coffee and mulligan stew
As higher
And higher
And higher they flew,
Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too.

Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too,
Over the sun and beyond the blue.
"Hold on!"
"Stay in!"
"I hope we do!"
Cried Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too.

Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle too
Never returned to the world they knew,
And nobody
Knows what's
Happened to
Dear Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too.

This poem evokes such memories of my time visiting Kathmandu . . . enjoy! :-)

( Read more... )

So, here's another entry in what I've decided to call my grandfather series. The was another one of his favorites; one that we read together many times.

Crossing the Bar
by Alfred Lord Tennyson

( Read more... )

Because I'm feeling cheeky . . . .

A Caution to Everybody
by Ogden Nash

Consider the auk;
Becoming extinct because he forgot how to fly, and could only walk.
Consider man, who may well become extinct
Because he forgot how to walk and learned how to fly before he thinked.

Bonus:

(I don't know who originated/wrote it--but my aunt recited this ditty to me when I was 9 or 10. It is exactly the sort of thing that appeals to one of that age.)

Arty Farty had a party,

And all the shits were there.
Winky Dinky laid a stinky,
And they all went out for air.

So, this was one of my absolute favorites when I was a kid.

Now We Are Six
by A.A. Milne

When I was one I had just begun
When I was two I was nearly new

When I was three I was hardly me
When I was four I was not much more

When I was five I was just alive
But now I am six, I'm as clever as clever;

So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever.

(Unfortunately, I wasn't able to stay six for ever and ever. . . .)

So, I know this (and some others I'm likely to post) is well-known, but it reminds me of my grandfather. Right after his diagnosis of pancreatic cancer (it took so many months for it to be found), we (the family) spent time together, talking, making sure we all had the chance to say, "I love you." In the course of that, we read poems--one of his great loves. Given his impending death, it is hardly surprising that many of the poems discussed center around that subject. (Although, poets and their poems seem to spend much time there, so it's not a stretch to find a few poems on the subject.)

This is one of those poems.

THANATOPSIS

by: William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878)

O him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart;--
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around--
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air--
Comes a still voice--Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourish'd thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix for ever with the elements,
To be a brother to the insensible rock,
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.

Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world--with kings,
The powerful of the earth--the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribb'd and ancient as the sun,--the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods; rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, pour'd round all,
Old Ocean's grey and melancholy waste,--
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.--Take the wings
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon and hears no sound
Save his own dashings--yet the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep--the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest: and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glides away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man--
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side
By those who in their turn shall follow them.

So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged by his dungeon; but, sustain'd and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

The New Colossus
by Emma Lazarus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

This seemed appropriate to post today. ;-)

SICK
by Shel Silverstein

"I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more--that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut, my eyes are blue--
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke--
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb,
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my spine is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is . . . Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play!"

The Lockless Door
by Robert Frost

It went many years,
But at last came a knock,
And I thought of the door
With no lock to lock.

I blew out the light,
I tiptoed the floor,
And raised both hands
In prayer to the door.

But the knock came again.
My window was wide'
I climbed on the sill
And descended outside.

Back over the sill
I bad a "Come in"
To whatever the knock
At the door may have been.

So at a knock
I emptied my cage
To hide in the world
And alter with age.

Because it's finally in the 50s (and is not supposed to dip back to the 30s and below again until autumn), I thought I'd celebrate the start of SPRING! Plus, this poem always makes me smile . . . while I lie on my sofa imaging a host of dancing daffodils. :-)

Daffodils
by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

The Jabberwocky
Lewis Carroll

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

Clearly I was kidding.

(I posted this to my tumblr [

yourenotaloneinthis] already....so my apologies if you're seeing this twice.)

I first learned of Tyler Coulson when Above the Law published his departure memo in which he announced he was leaving his job as an associate in Big Law to walk across the U.S. with his dog.

I have been talking about traveling across the U.S. myself—although on bicycle rather than my two feet. I began keeping track of his progress via twitter and eventually his website.

His walk has long since finished, and he’s back home in Chicago. He hasn’t stopped posting though. A while back he started writing a tongue-and-cheek play entitled The Associate of Stratford-upon-Avon. It’s quite amusing (at least for lawyers, people working in the legal profession). If you’re interested, check it out here.

Today, he posted about law school reform—an incredibly necessary reform that has provoked much discussion but really no action. It’s thoughtful and thought-provoking. For those of you in law school or, more important, interested in law school, check it out.

Current Mood: meh!
Current Location: sofa
Current Music: whirling of my mind

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chamuda

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It's Poetry Month!! -- Shel Silverstein

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