user since
Tue Mar 9 2004 at 07:20:39 (13.9 years ago )
last seen
Mon Aug 28 2006 at 22:33:39 (11.4 years ago )
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mission drive within everything
2Bcome the nucleotide again
specialties
performance art > perfart > pfart > fart
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Always kill them _before_ you eat them
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Strong drink and a craving to fondle wood led to thing after thing that cool April night. It was not that he was horny or lonely, more that, like Gepetto before him, he saw something in that log which other men had not seen. And it was this realization that made his own little twig grow into a mighty oak.
    E2 sucks. It drools. It slobbers. Any 4th level jerk who wants to can delete anything at any time, while newbies get staked out on anthills for the amusement of all. Someone who's written 450 wu's on decorated shed and apple turnover (wow - a lot of research there!) gets to keep a piece of shit article on Pussy snorkels (and, unbelievably, get chinged for it) while sending out Klaproth (yeah, I invoke you, you leprous piece of code) to do the goods on some newbie's best effort. I think it was Robert Heinlein (and if it wasn't, it shold have been) who said that 90 percent of everything is shit. I'd say that applies to Everything, too.

      FERN HILL

      Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
      About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
      The night above the dingle starry,
      Time let me hail and climb
      Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
      And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
      And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
      Trail with daisies and barley
      Down the rivers of the windfall light.

      And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
      About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
      In the sun that is young once only,
      Time let me play and be
      Golden in the mercy of his means,
      And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
      Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
      And the sabbath rang slowly
      In the pebbles of the holy streams.

      All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
      Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
      And playing, lovely and watery
      And fire green as grass.
      And nightly under the simple stars
      As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
      All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
      Flying with the ricks, and the horses
      Flashing into the dark.

      And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
      With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
      Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
      The sky gathered again
      And the sun grew round that very day.
      So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
      In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
      Out of the whinnying green stable
      On to the fields of praise.

      And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
      Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
      In the sun born over and over,
      I ran my heedless ways,
      My wishes raced through the house high hay
      And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
      In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
      Before the children green and golden
      Follow him out of grace.

      Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
      Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
      In the moon that is always rising,
      Nor that riding to sleep
      I should hear him fly with the high fields
      And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
      Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
      Time held me green and dying
      Though I sang in my chains like the sea. Dylan Thomas Page