while I have done things that I might regret, I do no forget that I am still alive. A blog by Ian Sheridan.
How do you tell your daughter how beautiful she is?
You tell her that she is the type of beauty that pull your heart out of your chest and puts it on your face to bask in the sunlight of her beauty. You tell her that she will never be in the dark because of the bright twinkle in her eyes. You tell her that you can bask in the glow of her wonderfully vibrant soul forever. You tell her that you love her.
- me
I was reading my friends blog and he wrote a review of the new release of Star Wars. It got me thinking… remembering.
Every time I think of the orgininal Star Wars I remember going to the city (manhattan for those of you that are not New Yorkers) to the … oh damn I forget the name of the theatre but it’s that famous one for movies in mid-town … Zeigfeld to see Star Wars. There were People in costums, there was specticle even before the lights went out. I was a little kid squirming in my seat waiting, eating too much of the popcorn, for the lights to go out. Looking up at my dad. The lights went out and I fell into a world that swallowed me whole. I still get chills.
Since then the “lightSaber” was a constant childhood weapon my brother, my pals, and I used to sword fight. When “Empire” came out it was Yoda’s voice, “Rubber am I, glue are you, affected me you have not”.
Man it’s fun going down memory lane. Till next time my fellow Jedi. cya!
Dream in the beutiful light of Manhattan in day of night while clear your cluttered mind of all the jetsom and flotsom of day to day to day living.
Come down to me with your bright halo of knowldge and see that it is but glass to look though and see better the light at the end of waking.
We are the god given the back broken. Come down to the heavy heavy ground and leap downward to break free of the ties of the heart.
Have joy in the knowing that knowing is not. Give unto me your violant seeming of tightly held illusions and I will pass back the same. We are the same.
As I grow and get to know the things and people around me I disconver the absolute bottomless ocean of wave after wave of energizing knowledge. When we see that life is not just ours we come to a place that everything is.
Take these little glimpses into my collection of words and knowings and carry them carefully into you.
“Babe I’m tied to a tree in a jungle of mystery, I’ve been tortured by a spinal surgeon and a jenuwine Iraqi.”
- Sawyer
When me an my wife heard this line… we were floored … what an awesome line!
Forever I will love you
Forever I will hold you
Forever I will scold you
Forever I will know you
Forever I will see you in my heart
Forever I will call you daughter
Thinking mortal thoughts brings me to realize again the treasures in my life and the trials I have yet to meet.
if I fall down
will you take the the crown
carry me home
bury me home… home
Why is it that I feel the guilt of the white man? I have never owned a man nor has any of my ancestors.
A black man has never been a possession of mine.
Why is it that I feel the guilt of the white man? Because I grew up in America the land of the Free and home of the Brave.
Free, Brave and Mad as hell black people surround me. Hate me. For what? The color of my skin. The wrongs done by my kin?
Why is it that I feel the guilt of the white man? I’m just the fucking cracker that does.
I’m white. I’m yellow. I’m afraid of the hate erupting on me. Will it G? I doubt it see.
We are one.
He is my son. I am his brother. We are one another.
Why is it that I feel the guilt of the white man?
It is interesting the changes that modern society sows on past masterpieces. I ran across this excerpt of a translation of Shakespeare’s 12th Night. This is extremely interesting. I find that the short hand that is used in cell phone messaging readable yet almost totally incomprehensible at times. I laugh at the cleverness and weep for the loss of language.
You can find the way that Shakespeare was translated at lingo2word.com. So translate your hart our and help our youth to discover the classics.
What are your thoughts?
drown my sorrows.
are there any morrows?
can my sight possibly see farther then that day that i cannot stand seeing. It’s all canned in my hart. this worry, this object of pain digging into my brain. Escape is fleeting, I deserve such a beating. distract my pain from attacking me.
closely you look into these words that are hooks, enjoying this sadness the pain from this crushing life. this blushing wife. this hanging head. dead dead dead.
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