of the seven deadly sins, the eighth and worst by far is emotional blackmail ... the diligent practise of this subtle and ancient art creates a constantly evolving darwinistic moral vacuum in which the brightest new manipulative ideas and stratagems flourish ... and which only you, or i, can fill !
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Saturday, February 07, 2009
what a come back
Thursday, February 05, 2009
shakespeare's seventy-third sonnet
That time of year thou may’st in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed, whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
Sunday, February 01, 2009
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
morning has broken ... elsewhere
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
bird talk
As I drove in to Ockenden Manor at Cuckfield on a dark day there was a commotion of a dozen blackbirds around the lovely high-walled lawn. They had gathered to harass a stranger, but seemed rather hesitant in the face of his/her own ebullient aggression. The only difference between them and him/her was colour … instead of being feathered purely in black, he/she was spectacularly piebald. I’d never seen a pied blackbird and was first startled and then enchanted. Sadly, my camera is away for repairs and I can only show you these vague images captured through a smaller lens … but you get the picture.
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