Tuesday, May 27, 2003
Monday, May 26, 2003
How To Figure Out Where Bathing Suits Are From
geddit?
oh man .... (Or want to understand), I hate days where one does not feel is going on that no one understands sau. either you feel like an insensitive elephant in a china shop, or you have to admit to himself that one obviously has an extreme communication problem.
and again I do not know what will be worse of two ... is it normal that one is condemned to the same days at such indecision in respect to self-rating? logically it would be. only: since when I am logically
oh man .... (Or want to understand), I hate days where one does not feel is going on that no one understands sau. either you feel like an insensitive elephant in a china shop, or you have to admit to himself that one obviously has an extreme communication problem.
and again I do not know what will be worse of two ... is it normal that one is condemned to the same days at such indecision in respect to self-rating? logically it would be. only: since when I am logically
Sunday, May 25, 2003
Midpriced Surround Sound
poem of the day
Breathes there the man with soul so dead Who never to himself hath
said,
This is my own, my native land (?)! Whose heart hath ne'er within
him burn’d
As home his footsteps he hath turn’d
From wandering on a foreign strand?
If such there breathe, go, mark him well!
For him no minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim,
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour’d, and unsung.
Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832)
Breathes there the man with soul so dead Who never to himself hath
said,
This is my own, my native land (?)! Whose heart hath ne'er within
him burn’d
As home his footsteps he hath turn’d
From wandering on a foreign strand?
If such there breathe, go, mark him well!
For him no minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim,
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour’d, and unsung.
Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832)
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