Insignificance
I am going through bouts of extreme emotions. I am either extremely ecstatic (read - marigolds in my mouth) or I am extremely suicidal (read - shotgun in my mouth) to the point that I am this close to doing myself in. Do I need help? Do I need to see a shrink? If so, please provide me with phone numbers and email addresses preferably in the gulf region. I am kinda broke to travel to Cambodia right now. F1, F1, F1. Sinking ship talking. Its that signature thing I am doing 75% of the time. And now the sun has shrunk. There is very little reception and there is extreme euphoria in my poor dyslexic heart.
On a brighter note, JP has written back on Amos and Apple saying "Amos and Apple are like Death and Debauch in the poem by Baudelaire, the two kindly sisters who will lead me to my end." This guy needs to either be in a book or write a book. He should be inside a glass case in a very expensive museum. Little Elton (internal joke).
On a brighter note, JP has written back on Amos and Apple saying "Amos and Apple are like Death and Debauch in the poem by Baudelaire, the two kindly sisters who will lead me to my end." This guy needs to either be in a book or write a book. He should be inside a glass case in a very expensive museum. Little Elton (internal joke).
posted by 100hands at Monday, April 11, 2005
4 Comments:
I'd say he needs to write a book.
Take care of yourself gentle giant. There are alot of people who love you, very much.
Here is the poem I meant: The Two Good Sisters
Debauchery and Death are two lovable girls,
Lavish with their kisses and rich with health,
Whose ever-virgin loins, draped with tattered clothes and
Burdened with constant work, have never given birth.
To the sinister poet, foe of families,
Poorly paid courtier, favorite of hell,
Graves and brothels show beneath their bowers
A bed in which remorse has never slept.
The bier and the alcove, fertile in blasphemies
Like two good sisters, offer to us in turn
Terrible pleasures and frightful sweetness.
When will you bury me, Debauch with the filthy arms?
Death, her rival in charms, when will you come
To graft black cypress on her infected myrtle?
— Charles Baudelaire
More here: http://www.fleursdumal.org/index.php
Itna to hua ae dil
Ek shakhs ke jaane se
Bicharey hue miltein hain
Kuch dost puraane se.
~Talat Aziz
Ek shakhs? hahaha.. Thanks ra, dv! A song with SHARKS in it. (Internal Joke).
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