aflaminghalo: (Default)
I love this. One of the posters on an exercise site I like made a play on the Marines Creed.

This is my body. 
There are many like it, but this one is mine. 
My body is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master 
my life. 
My body, without me, is useless. Without my body, I am useless. 
I must move my body true. I must run faster and be stronger than my enemy 
that is trying to overcome me. I must conquer it before it conquers me. I
 My body and myself know that what counts in this life is not the size of 
our clothes, the shape of our figure, nor societies standard of beauty. We
 know that it is the experiences that count. We will live…
 My body is living, as a part of me, and through it I experience life. Thus,
I will learn it as a friend. I will learn its weaknesses, its strengths,
 its parts, its movements, and its possibilities. I will ever guard it
 against the ravages of judgment and damage as I will ever guard my soul and
 my heart against damage. I will keep my body clean and ready. I will accept 
it as it is and as a part of me. I will… 
Before the world, I swear this creed. My body and I are the defenders of my 
 We are the masters of our obstacles. 
We are the saviors of my life. 
So be it, until victory is mine and there are no regrets, but a life well
aflaminghalo: (Default)
If you judge the merits of a sequence by their final outcome, Fat had just gone through the best period of his life; he emerged from North Ward as strong as he would ever get. After all, no man is infinitely strong; for every creature that runs, flies, hops or crawls there is a terminal nemesis which he will not circumvent, which will finally do him in. But Dr Stone had added the missing element to Fat, the element taken away, by Gloria Knudson, who wished to take as many people with her as she could; self confidence. 'You are the authority,' Stone had said, and that sufficed.
I've always told people that for each person there is a sentence - a series of words - which has the power to destroy him. When Fat told me about Leon Stone I realized (this came years after the first realization) that another sentence exists, another series of words, which will heal the person. If you're lucky you will get the second; but you can be certain of getting the first: that's the way it works.

-Valis, Philip K Dick.
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Farewell to you and the youth I have spent with you.
It was but yesterday we met in a dream.
You have sung to me in my loneliness, and I of your longings have built a tower in the sky.
But now our sleep has fled and our dream is over, and it is no longer dawn.
The noontide is upon us and our half waking has turned to fuller day, and we must part.
If in the twilight of memory we should meet once more, we shall speak again together and you shall sing to me a deeper song.
And if our hands should meet in another dream we shall build another tower in the sky.

-Khalil Gibran, The Prophet
aflaminghalo: (prufrock)
“Somewhere someone is thinking of you. Someone is calling you an angel. This person is using celestial colors to paint your image. Someone is making you into a vision so beautiful that it can only live in the mind. Someone is thinking of the way your breath escapes your lips when you are touched. How your eyes close and your jaw tightens with concentration as you give pleasure a home. These thoughts are saving a life somewhere right now. In some airless apartment on a dark, urine stained, whore lined street, someone is calling out to you silently and you are answering without even being there. So crystalline. So pure. Such life saving power when you smile. You will never know how you have cauterized my wounds. So sad that we will never touch. How it hurts me to know that I will never be able to give you everything I have.

aflaminghalo: (Default)
James T Kirk was not the greatest character ever written in scifi and the thought that he will go on and on while generations wither and die is fairly appalling.

care of [ profile] lucius_t at the [ profile] theinferior4 blog.

~dies of lolz~
aflaminghalo: (Default)
I want to unfold.
I don’t want to stay folded anywhere,
because where I am folded,
there I am a lie.
And I want my grasp of things
true before you. I want to describe myself
like a painting that I looked at closely for a long time,
like a saying that I finally understood,
like the pitcher I use every day,
like the face of my mother,
like a ship
that took me safely through the wildest storm of all.

- Rilke
aflaminghalo: (kind of music)
Margaret greeted her lord with peculiar tenderness on the morrow. Mature as he was, she might yet be able to help him to the building of the rainbow bridge that should connect the prose in us with the passion. Without it we are meaningless fragments, half monks, half beasts, unconnected arches that have never joined into a man. With it love is born, and alights on the highest curve, glowing against the grey, sober against the fire. Happy the man who sees from either aspect the glory of these outspread wings. The roads of his soul lie clear, and he and his friends shall find easy-going.

It was hard-going in the roads of Mr. Wilcox's soul. From boyhood he had neglected them. "I am not a fellow who bothers about my own inside." Outwardly he was cheerful, reliable, and brave; but within, all had reverted to chaos, ruled, so far as it was ruled at all, by an incomplete asceticism. Whether as boy, husband, or widower, he had always the sneaking belief that bodily passion is bad, a belief that is desirable only when held passionately. Religion had confirmed him. The words that were read aloud on Sunday to him and to other respectable men were the words that had once kindled the souls of St. Catherine and St. Francis into a white-hot hatred of the carnal. He could not be as the saints and love the Infinite with a seraphic ardour, but he could be a little ashamed of loving a wife. Amabat, amare timebat. And it was here that Margaret hoped to help him.

It did not seem so difficult. She need trouble him with no gift of her own. She would only point out the salvation that was latent in his own soul, and in the soul of every man. Only connect! That was the whole of her sermon. Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its height. Live in fragments no longer. Only connect and the beast and the monk, robbed of the isolation that is life to either, will die.

E.M Forster, Howards End
aflaminghalo: (Default)
It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.

I cannot rest from travel; I will drink
life to the lees. All times I have enjoyed
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
that loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vexed the dim sea. I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known---cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honored of them all---
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades
Forever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end.
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains; but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

This is my son, my own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the scepter and the isle---
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfill
This labor, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and through soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centered in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail;
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me---
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads---you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honor and his toil.
Death closes all; but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends.
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
the sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be that we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are---
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

-Ulysses, Alfred, Lord Tennyson

I am so addicted to this poem at the moment, you have no idea.
aflaminghalo: (Default)
It was about eleven o'clock in in the morning, mid-October, with the sun not shining and a look of hard wet rain in the clearness of the foothills. I was wearing my powder-blue suit, with dark blue shirt, tie and display handkerchief, black brogues, black wool socks with dark blue clocks on them. I was neat, clean, shaved and sober, and I didn't care who knew it. I was everything the well-dressed private detective ought to be. I was calling on four million dollars.

The main hallway of the Sternwood place was two stories high. Over the entrance doors, which would have let in a troup of Indian elephants, there was a broad stained-glass panel showing a knight in dark armour rescuing a lady who was tied to a tree and didn't have any clothes on but some very long and convenient hair. The knight had pushed the visor of his helmet back to be sociable, and he was fiddling with the knots of the ropes that tied the lady to the tree and not getting anywhere. I stood there and thought that if I lived in the house, I would sooner or later have to climb up there and help him. He didn't seem to be really trying.

-The Big Sleep, Raymond Chandler.
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I knew I was doing something hard. Sometimes I was even happy. But another world was still with me, glowing and rippling like a dream of heaven deeper than the ocean. I could be studying or watching TV or unloading clothes from the washing machine when a memory would come like a heavy wave of dream rolling into life and threatening to break it open. During the day, life stood stolid, gray and oblivious. But at night, heaven came in the cracks.

-Mary Gaitskill, Veronica
aflaminghalo: (awesome:me)
"Work and boredom.- Looking for work in order to be paid: in civilized countries today almost all men are at one in doing that. For all of them work is a means and not an end in itself. Hence they are not very refined in their choice of work, if only it pays well. But there are, if only rarely, men who would rather perish than work without any pleasure in their work. They are choosy, hard to satisfy, and do not care for ample rewards, if the work itself is not the reward of rewards. Artists and contemplative men of all kinds belong to this rare breed, but so do even those men of leisure who spend their lives hunting, traveling, or in love affairs and adventures. All of these desire work and misery if only it is associated with pleasure, and the hardest, most difficult work if necessary. Otherwise, their idleness is resolute, even if it spells impoverishment, dishonor, and danger to life and limb. They do not fear boredom as much as work without pleasure: they actually require a lot of boredom if their work is to succeed. For thinkers and all sensitive spirits, boredom is that disagreeable "windless calm" of the soul that precedes a happy voyage and cheerful winds. They have to bear it and must wait for its effect on them. Precisely this is what lesser natures cannot achieve by any means. To ward off boredom at any cost is vulgar, no less than work without pleasure"
- Friedrich Nietzsche (The Gay Science (tr. W. Kaufmann) - Book I, 42)

I'd say it was random that I fell on this, but I don't believe in chance. Omen! Omen! I take it as an omen!
aflaminghalo: (Default)
Quote of the Day

Diana - "How can you soar like an eagle when you're surrounded by turkeys?"
aflaminghalo: (Default)
My Dad: Castro's stepped down.

My Sister: Is that the guy with Northern Rock?


I wish I could make this stuff up.
aflaminghalo: (cut you)
♣ Today I had my first meeting at the job center. Basically, the environment around me was made intolerable by my Father (who doesn't understand that 2007 is not 1970) so I went and signed on. So now I am getting job seekers and today was the first time I was called to account for my attempts at finding employment. The meeting (20 mins with a nice man) was fine. The waiting room depressed the hell out of me. I swear, I have never seen so many teen parents (and I have to say, not a single teenage mum was there without a teenage dad or equivalent thereof) or people in tracksuit bottoms. And I live in Warrington!

Either way, I felt the yoke of govermental interferance tightening about my neck. And I think you all know what my first reaction to that is. :(

If you're interested, I managed 15 whole days of uninterfered with unemployment. And naturally, on the day I got signed on, work rang up asking if I could work friday...

Finally (and I mean it was looong overdue) closed all my shAbbey accounts. I got £2 interest. As a reward for getting off my ass, Santa left a fiver for me in the street.

♣ Warrington Library has biographies of fucking Terry Wogan and Richard Wilson but do they have a Wilde? No. That would be suspiciously close to culture. ~grumph!~ Actually, they had a good couple on Yeats that I want to check out, but I had already picked up a tonne of books and physically couldn't have managed it. Got a Feynman book, a beginners Latin, Tipping The Velvet, one about the mystery of latitude and a good couple of WW1 books. About 3 were not the size and weight of bricks.

♣ Fresh from their holidays, my Dad surprised me with a gift! Yay! "I got you one of those Che Guevara t-shirts". I'm sure you're all thinking much along the same lines I was. Green t-shirt, stirring silhouette of aforementioned revolutionary... Nay. The front is a garishly air-brushed full colour rendering of the man with "Ernesto "Che" Guevara" and his dates emblazoned along the bottom. The back is the same, but in greyscale. Naturally, I love it. Or in front of my dad I do at least.

♣ This weekend, when not indulging my unholy love of Stephen Fry (seriously, I really think too much Jeeves and Wooster as a child is where my taste for big men and waistcoats comes from) I was indulging in some Wilde. Specifically, I've managed to read De Profundis about 5 times and only once in the proper manner. I keep getting so far in and then returning to the beginning convinced that I'm not reading it with the due care and attention it requires. Such a beautiful piece of writing.

♣ Has anyone on here done any Open University courses? There are a couple that I'm giving serious consideration to (especially in the context of working and the long term implications of such a state) but am wary of because it's been a while since I've been academic in any way.

♣ Tonight I have Bill Hicks - First Rock and Roll Comic on Radio2 and then Jude straight after. Why did I never find Chris Eccleston this hot when he was the Doctor and thus available to me every week? Still, I do now, and that's the important bit.

♣ That was a bit more than I thought I was going to write. Todays post was brought to you by the letter E, the number 5 and these words from my sponsor.

"Hard work is simply the refuge of people who have nothing whatever to do." - Wilde

fan geekery

Jul. 2nd, 2007 01:23 am
aflaminghalo: (Default)
That Dr Who meme.

When you see this post, quote from Doctor Who on your LJ.

Rose: Can't you change back?
The Doctor: Do you want me to?
Rose: Yeah.
The Doctor: Oh...
Rose: Well, can you?
The Doctor: No.

-10 and Rose.

And how badly was I crying at the end of Dr Who on saturday. I blame Hot Fuzz for radically altering my death scene filters and the fact I watched the Doomsday repeat before it. That one always makes me cry in a way that is completely divorced from dignity.

Oh Christmas, Christmas, Christmas. You cannot come too soon.
aflaminghalo: (starry dark knight)
Q: I am interested in so many things, and I have a terrible fear because my mother keeps telling me that I'm just going to be exploring the rest of my life and never get anything done. But I find it really hard to set my ways and say, "Well, do I want to do this, or should I try to exploit that, or should I escape and completely do one thing?"

A. Nin: One word I would banish from the dictionary is "escape." Just banish that and you'll be fine. Because that word has been misused regarding anybody who wanted to move away from a certain spot and wanted to grow. He was an escapist. You know if you forget that word you will have a much easier time. Also you're in the prime, the beginning of your life; you should experiment with everything, try everything.... We are taught all these dichotomies, and I only learned later that they could work in harmony. We have created false dichotomies; we create false ambivalences, and very painful one's sometimes -the feeling that we have to choose. But I think at one point we finally realize, sometimes subconsciously, whether or not we are really fitted for what we try and if it's what we want to do.

You have a right to experiment with your life. You will make mistakes. And they are right too. No, I think there was too rigid a pattern. You came out of an education and are supposed to know your vocation. Your vocation is fixed, and maybe ten years later you find you are not a teacher anymore or you're not a painter anymore. It may happen. It has happened. I mean Gauguin decided at a certain point he wasn't a banker anymore; he was a painter. And so he walked away from banking. I think we have a right to change course. But society is the one that keeps demanding that we fit in and not disturb things. They would like you to fit in right away so that things work now.

-"A woman speaks: the lectures, seminars, and interviews of Anaïs Nin"
aflaminghalo: (shortcut)
a meme
from [ profile] gabesaunt

- Ask me to take a picture of any aspect of my life that you're interested in or curious about - it can be anything from the house I live in to my favorite book. Leave your choice here as a comment, and I will post the pictures as a later entry when I have a chance to do so. Feel free to make your requests as mundane or creative as you like.

and a quote

For one human being to love another; that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation.
-Ranier Maria Rilke.

soon I shall fulfill my destiny as possessor of hot fuzz mood theme! as soon as I can figure out how to upload it that is. damn my limited technicalness!!
aflaminghalo: (Default)
"Girls can wear jeans and cut their hair short and wear shirts and boots because it's okay to be a boy; for girls it's like promotion. But for a boy to look like a girl is degrading, according to you, because secretly you believe that being a girl is degrading."

-Iain McEwan, The Cement Garden.
aflaminghalo: (starry dark knight)
"So what I want to know is, when I'm asleep, do I really remember how to fly? And forget how when I wake up? Or am I just dreaming I can fly?"

"When you dream, sometimes you remember. When you wake, you always forget."

"But that's not fair..."


- Dream and Chloe, Sandman #43: Brief Lives
- Neil Gaiman.

I never have flying dreams.

I have dreams where I know I can fly if I just trusted myself enough to take my other foot off the ground.

I never do.

I once had Dream turn up in one of my dreams. There was an ugly swirling vortice that became darker and darker and swarmed into Morpheus. He looked right at me, asked "Yes?" and scared the bejeezus out of me so well I woke up.
aflaminghalo: (Default)
"Being born a woman is my awful tragedy. From the moment I was conceived I was doomed to sprout breasts and ovaries rather than penis and scrotum; to have my whole circle of action, thought and feeling rigidly circumscribed by my inescapable feminity. Yes, my consuming desire to mingle with road crews, sailors and soldiers, bar room regulars- to be a part of a scene, anonomous, listening, recording - all is spoiled by the fact that I am a girl, a female always in danger of assault and battery. My consuming interest in men and their lives is often misconstrued as a desire to seduce them, or as an invitation to intimacy. Yet, God, I want to talk to everybody I can as deeply as I can. I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night..." -Sylvia Plath
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