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Das Leben, das ich selbst gewählt


Eh `ich in dieses Erdenleben kam,
ward mir gezeigt, wie ich es leben würde:
Da war die Kümmernis, da war der Gram,
da war das Elend und die Lebensbürde.
Da war das Laster, das mich packen sollte,
da war der Irrtum, der gefangen nahm.
Da war der schnelle Zorn, in dem ich grollte,
da waren Hass und Hochmut, Stolz und Scham.

Doch waren auch die Freuden jener Tage,
die voller Licht und schöner Träume sind,
wo Klage nicht mehr ist und nicht mehr Plage
und überall der Quell der Gaben rinnt.
Wo Liebe dem, der noch im Erdenkleid gebunden,
die Seligkeit des Losgelösten schenkt.
Wo Mensch, der Menschenpein entwunden,
als ausgewählter hoher Geist er denkt.

Mir ward gezeigt das Schlechte und das Gute,
mir ward gezeigt die Fülle meiner Mängel.
Mir ward gezeigt die Wunde, draus ich blute,
mir ward gezeigt die Helfertat der Engel.
Und als ich so mein künftig Leben schaute,
da hört`ein Wesen ich die Frage tun,
ob dies zu leben ich getraute,
denn der Entscheidung Stunde schlüge nun.

Und ich ermaß noch einmal alles Schlimme:
"Dies ist das Leben, das ich leben will!"
gab ich zur Antwort mit entschlossner Stimme
und nahm auf mich mein neues Schicksal still.

So ward geboren ich in diese Welt,
so war`s , als ich ins neue Leben trat.
Ich klage nicht, wenn`s oft mir nicht gefällt,
denn ungeboren habe ich es bejaht.

Hermann Hesse

My lady's Presence Makes The Roses Red
by Henry Constable


My lady's presence makes the roses red,
Because to see her lips they blush for shame.
The lily's leaves, for envy, pale became,
And her white hands in them this envy bred.
The marigold the leaves abroad doth spread,
Because the sun's and her power is the same.
The violet of purple colour came.
Dyed in the blood she made my heart to shed.
In brief: all flowers from her their virtue take;
From her sweet breath their sweet smells do proceed;
The living heat which her eyebeams doth make
Warmeth the ground and quickeneth the seed.
The rain, wherewith she watereth the flowers,
Falls from mine eyes, which she dissolves in showers.


Tsel <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/smile.gif" alt="" />

T.S. Eliot

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question . . .
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair--
[They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!"]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin--
[They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!"]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:--
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all--
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all--
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? . . .

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

. . . . .

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet--and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"--
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: "That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all."

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the
floor--
And this, and so much more?--
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."

. . . . .

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous--
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old . . .I grow old . . .
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

Echo
By Christina Georgina Rossetti

Come to me in the silence of the night;
Come in the speaking silence of a dream;
Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright
As sunlight on a stream;
Come back in tears,
O memory of hope, love of finished years.

O dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitter-sweet,
Whose wakening should have been in Paradise,
Where souls brim-full of love abide and meet;
Where thirsting longing eyes
Watch the slow door
That opening, letting in, lets out no more.

Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live
My very life again though cold in death;
Come back to me in dreams, that I may give
Pulse for pulse, breath for breath:
Speak low, lean low,
As long ago, my love, how long ago.


Tsel <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/smile.gif" alt="" />

I'd call this poem "Mother Earth". <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/winkwink.gif" alt="" />

Yes, it could be. <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/smile.gif" alt="" />
Henry Constable had a gift for poetically using
just the right words.
I wish he wrote more than he did.
Here is another of his poems.
It's a bit long, but very beautiful nonetheless.


The Shepherd's Venus and Adonis
by Henry Constable

Venus fair did ride,
Silver doves they drew her
By the pleasant lawns,
Ere the sun did rise;
Vesta's beauty rich
Opened wide to view her,
Philomel records
Pleasing harmonies;
Every bird of spring
Cheerfuly did sing,
Paphos' goddess they salute.
Now love's queen so fair
Had of mirth no care,
For her son had made her mute.
In her breast so tender
He a shaft did enter,
When her eyes beheld a boy,
Adonis was he named,
By his mother shamed,
Yet he now is Venus' joy.

Him alone she met,
Ready bound for hunting;
Him she kindly greets,
And his journey stays;
Him she seeks to kiss,
No devices wanting,
Him her eyes still woo,
Him her tongue still prays.
He with blushing red
Hangeth down the head,
Not a kiss can he afford;
His face is turned away,
Silence said her nay,
Still she wooed him for a word.
Speak, she said, thou fairest,
Beauty thou impairest;
See me, I am pale and wan;
Lovers all adore me,
I for love implore thee.
Crystal tears with that ran down.

Him herewith she forced
To come sit down by her;
She his neck embraced,
Gazing in his face;
He, like one transformed,
Stirred no look to eye her.
Every herb did woo him,
Growing in that place;
Each bird with a ditty
Prayed him for pity
In behalf of beauty's queen;
Waters' gentle murmur
Craved him to love her,
Yet no liking could be seen,
Boy, she said, look on me,
Still I gaze upon thee,
Speak, I pray thee, my delight.
Coldly he replied,
And, in brief, denied
To bestow on her a sight.

I am now too young
To be won by beauty;
Tender are my years,
I am yet a bud.
Fair thou art, she said,
Then it is thy duty,
Wert thou but a blossom,
To effect my good.
Every beauteous flower
Boasteth of my power,
Birds and beasts my laws effect.
Myrrha, thy fair mother,
Most of any other
Did my lovely hests respect.
Be with me delighted,
Thou shall be requited,
Every nymph on thee shall tend;
All the gods shall love thee,
Man shall not reprove thee,
Love himself shall be thy friend.

Wend thee from me, Venus,
I am not disposed;
Thou wring'st me too hard,
Prithee, let me go;
Fie, what a pain it is
Thus to be enclosed;
If love begin with labor,
It will end in woe.
Kiss me, I will leave.
Here a kiss recieve.
A short kiss I do it find,
Wilt thou leave me so?
Yet thou shalt not go;
Breathe once more thy balmy wind,
It smelleth of the myrrh tree
That to the world did bring thee,
Never was perfume so sweet.
When she had thus spoken,
She gave him a token,
And their naked bosoms met.

Now, he said, let's go,
Hark, the hounds are crying,
Grisly boar is up,
Hunstmen follow fast.
At the name of boar
Venus seemed dying,
Deadly-colored pale,
Roses overcast.
Speak, said she, no more
Of following the boar;
Thou, unfit for such a chase,
Course the fearful hare,
Venison do not spare,
If thou wilt yield Venus grace.
Shun the boar, I pray thee,
Else I still will stay thee,
Herein he vowed to please her mind;
Then her arms enlarged,
Loath she him discharged,
Forth he went as swift as wind.

Thetis Phoebus' steeds
In the west retained;
Hunting sport was past,
Love her love did seek;
Sight of him too soon,
Gentle queen she gained.
On the ground he lay;
Blood had left his cheek,
For an orpëd swine
Smit him in the groin,
Deadly wound his death did bring.
Which when Venus found,
She fell in a swound,
And awaked, her hands did wring.
Nymphs and satyrs skipping
Came together tripping,
Echo every cry expressed.
Venus by her power
Turned him to a flower,
Which she weareth in her crest.


Tsel <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/smile.gif" alt="" />

Beautiful poem. I must keep this author in mind. <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/smile.gif" alt="" />

Currently I'm listening Enya ... <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/smile.gif" alt="" />

Lientjeleerdelotjelopenlangsdelangelindenlaan

tomenatatentomatentomatenatvrat

Rijjijofrijik

Now that's poetry .... well to me anyway ...

<img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/biggrin.gif" alt="" />

um...
like
hottentottententententoonstelling ?
<img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/winkwink.gif" alt="" />
But that one is just one word. <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/biggrin.gif" alt="" />

La Gitana:
by A.C.

Your hair was full of roses in the dewfall as we danced,
The sorceress enchanting and the paladin entranced,
In the starlight as we wove us in a web of silk and steel
Immemorial as the marble in the halls of Boabdil,
In the pleasurance of the roses with the fountains and the yews
Where the snowy Sierra soothed us with the breezes and the dews!
In the starlight as we trembled from a laugh to a caress,
And the God came warm upon us in our pagan allegresse.
Was the Baile de la Bona too seductive? Did you feel
Through the silence and the softness all the tension of the steel?
For your hair was full of roses, and my flesh was full of thorns,
And the midnight came upon us worth a million crazy morns.
Ah! my Gipsy, my Gitana, my Saliya! were you fain
For the dance to turn to earnest? - O the sunny land of Spain!
My Gitana, my Saliya! more delicious than a dove!
With your hair aflame with roses and your lips alight with love!
Shall I see you, shall I kiss you once again? I wander far
From the sunny land of summer to the icy Polar Star.
I shall find you, I shall have you! I am coming back again
From the filth and fog to seek you in the sunny land of Spain.
I shall find you, my Gitana, my Saliya! as of old
With your hair aflame with roses and your body gay with gold.
I shall find you, I shall have you, in the summer and the south
With our passion in your body and our love upon your mouth -
With our wonder and our worship be the world aflame anew!
My Gitana, my Saliya! I am coming back to you!


Tsel <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/smile.gif" alt="" />

Silent Tears
By Justine B. Deitz


The pain is deep,
No blood,
No tears,
Where it hurts is deep inside,

Silent tears stream down my face,
With each tear the pain only grows deeper,
Down, down, down,
They just keep falling down,

My future is cloudy,
My past so happy,
At this fork in the road,
I don't know what direction to take,

Silent tears stream down my face,
I squeeze my eyes shut tight,
Hoping they will go away,
But it only makes more spill out,

I hope to fall asleep,
Then morning comes,
They're still there,
Accompanied by the pain,

Silent tears stream down my face,
I reluctantly go on with life,
But not a soul ever notices,
For my tears are so silent.

Tsel

A Dream
by Edgar Allan Poe

In visions of the dark night
I have dreamed of joy departed-
But a waking dream of life and light
Hath left me broken-hearted.

Ah! what is not a dream by day
To him whose eyes are cast
On things around him with a ray
Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream -that holy dream,
While all the world were chiding,
Hath cheered me as a lovely beam
A lonely spirit guiding.

What though that light, thro' storm and night,
So trembled from afar-
What could there be more purely bright
In Truth's day-star?

LE VAISSEAU D'OR

Ce fut un grand Vaisseau taillé dans l'or massif :
Ses mâts touchaient l'azur, sur des mers inconnues;
La Cyprine d'amour, cheveux épars, chairs nues,
S'étalait à sa proue, au soleil excessif.

Mais il vint une nuit frapper le grand écueil
Dans l'Océan trompeur où chantait la Sirène,
Et le naufrage horrible inclina sa carène
Aux profondeurs du Gouffre, immuable cercueil.

Ce fut un Vaisseau d'Or dont les flancs diaphanes
Révélaient des trésors que les marins profanes,
Dégoût, Haine et Névrose, entre eux ont disputés.

Que reste-il de lui dans la tempête brève ?
Qu'est devenu mon coeur, navire déserté ?
Hélas! Il a sombré dans l'abîme du Rêve !

(Émile Nelligan)

------------------

[This translation by P.F. Widdow, 1960]

The Golden Ship

There was a fine ship, carved from solid gold
With azure reaching masts, on seas unknown.
Spread-eagled Venus, naked, hair back thrown,
Stood at the prow. The sun blazed uncontrolled.

But on the treacherous ocean in the gloom
She struck the great reef where the Sirens chant.
Appalling shipwreck plunged her keel aslant
To the Gulf's depths, that unrelenting tomb.

She was a Golden Ship: but there showed through
Translucent sides treasures the blasphemous crew,
Hatred, Disgust and Madness, fought to share.

How much survives after the storm's brief race?
Where is my heart, that empty ship, oh where?
Alas, in Dream's abyss sunk without trace.

Poems from 28. June 2005

Expression of my momentary state of feelings.

Written in a sunny park, between around 18.30 and 19.00 (rough estimation).

Turn the pages

Turn the pages
My heart is fragmented to the soul
My core resists.

I feel torn in too many defense battles
I feel torn into my self.

Heart, can you hear me ?
I’m without any echo, without any sound.

I’m used to give all my hope
and keep no hope for myself.

I’m in the unpleasant fate
of a Healer who needs be healed himself.

I can’t work anymoree, because my spirit is broken.

So turn your pages,
close the book
and look no more at me.


Note : A variation reads “and to keep no hope for myself”.

"Turning the pages" is a theme found in the Alan Parson's Project ("Old and Wise" and elsewhere ) and in Fleetwood Mac ("Little Lies").


Torn

The sweet bitterness is creeping,
the scent of a wounded heart fills the room.

You cannot sense the blood of the bleeding heart
because your senses are numb.

I cry out for help - my spirit sends message -
but with no-one to hear
everything is in vain.

I’m only blossoming in the nightshade
where the bitterness of the sweet
bittersweet
scent flows freely away.
No-one to take me home.

I’m living - yet - in the darkness -
- where no-one can hear me or see me
- feel mercy -
no need to see my ugly self.

I feel torn, the blood fills the floor,
and when it’s dried,
my heart is empty.

So let me smell the sweet smell
of my long, slowly painful death
- until I’m gone.

But wait ! There’s the sunrise ahead ...


Notes :

This one is more difficult.

First, the variations :

The part beginning with “I’m living” and ending with “ugly self” was put into it after the text was completed or near completion. So this small part doesn’t exactly sound in the same style as the rest.
The word “numb” was in the original “nunb”, which sounded better, but was literally uncorrect (numb is the correct word for what I meant).
The line “scent flows freely away” hadn’t the “away” in the first place. Was added.
The fragment “- yet - ” basically means “still”.

Second : Inspirational sources.

Everyone knowing the album “The lamb lies down on Broadway” by Genesis will find familiar details. The overall picture is inspired by one of my favourite songs of that album “The Lamia”, in which also “the bitter harvest of a dying bloom” is depicted. This was in fact my overall theme of this poem : A plant with a blossom (flower) that dies, and sends out a last, bittersweet scent which also includes the hint to the flower’s death.

But - there is one last chance of hope : The sunrise. The saying “But wait !” is nearly exactly “taken from” the song “Dusk” by Genesis (from the album Trespass”). I wrote “taken from” , because I wasn’t sitting in the park with the lyrics of all Genesis albums within reach. <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/winkwink.gif" alt="" /> It is my style to often use fragments from other artists which I acknowledge and respect, in a similar way as modern musicians use samples from other artists in their music. To me, this is a symbolic way of saying “I like and acknowledge your work. I have respect for the great wealth of it and wish to show it to others (by using these fragments in this way)”.

The sunrise might wash away anything dark - like my often used picture of Darkness as a symbol for Depression. When the sunlight washes it away, redeems the person, healing might occur. Another theme is that of a vampire or other evil being that will disappear (turn into dust or so) when exposed to direct sunlight. The protagonist of the poem actually considers himself such an “evil being”, “evil” in the sense of “ugly, bad”. He has two choices in the sunlight : Be healed or turn into dust.

Okay, I guess this is a full-blown interpretation of that <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/winkwink.gif" alt="" /> ( I have never before ( I think) written an interpretation for my own works ! <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/eek.gif" alt="" /> ) , so I hope you understand this “poem” much more than before. <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/winkwink.gif" alt="" />

On with the show :

Break

Love is so far away ...
I feel lost, without a trace ...
shipwrecked, isolated,
taken away from beauty and wonderfullness.

My heart’s broken
- fragmented -
it needs the tender hand of a lover ...
- to bring all the pieces back into their place.

What a cruel irony of fate ! :
I wanted to be a Healer ... -
- now I need Healing myself.
I believe I have failed.
(They deserve me no more.)
I gave all my hope to the others away
- never got a piece help back.

I’m fighting against my drowning in emptiness ...

- visit me in Drowning Street No. 10.

[fade]
so far away ...
so far away ...
so far away ...
[fade / repeat]


Notes :

First : Variations.

“(They deserve me no more.)” can be omitted.
[By the way, where does the word “omit” come from ?]
The line “-never got a piece help back” can be changed into : “Never got a piece back of my help.”
Even the word “help” can be omitted.

Second : For the performer :

The lines between [fade] and [fade/repeat] should be trwted like lines in a fading song, while they (the three lines) are repeated during fading. As a block.

Third : Inspirational Sources.

Again : Genesis. The “fighting against” is a fragment that appears with a similar message in “The eleventh earl of mar”. The word “shipwrecked” comes from the song “shipwrecked”, which describes imho fairly well the state of being ... well, shipwrecked. <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/winkwink.gif" alt="" /> I mean isolated, outcast, lonely, all these emotions.

The last line “- visit me in Drowning Street No. 10” is in its “texture” a hint to a section in “Dancing with the moonlit knight” :

“Paper late !” cries a voice in the crowd.
“Old man dies !” the note he left was signed
“Old Father Thames” - it seems he’s drowned;
selling england by the pound.

I tried to use it in the same “ductus” like in this song and in “Aisle of plenty”, both on the album “Selling england by the pound”.


Last, two simple experiments (word-games) :


Break II [Fragmented]

Heartbreak
Breakdown
Teardown
Downfall
Falldown
.

Diedown
Dropdown
Drowndown
(Darktown)
No-one.


Break III [Fragmented to none]


Break my Eyes,
Break my Skin,
Break my Voice,
Break my Bones,
Break my Will,
Break my Heart,
Break my Spirit,
Break my Soul,
Break my Self,

Then there’s nothing left of me anymore.


Notes to Break II :

The second part (beginning with “diedown”) was added a few minutes later. So You could - if you wish to do so - read the “poem” as only consisting of the first part. <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/winkwink.gif" alt="" />

The part “[Fragmented]” was *originally* meant as a description of the whole “poem” itself . It’s literally fragmented into single words, and not even fully formed out. Later, I got the idea to treat the “[Fragmented]” as a kind of sub-title. <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/winkwink.gif" alt="" />

So I actually wrote “[Fragmrnted to none]” as a kind of sub-title to “Break III”.

As I found out during writing of “Break III”, it reminded me of a theme found in Mike Oldfield’s song “gimme back” : A human consists of various parts of the body ...


These experiments have no deeper meaning - except what you see. <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/winkwink.gif" alt="" />


Finally, as you can see, I often toss fragments and words and experiments around. Nearly *every* poem is unique to me, because it’s an experiment. That isn’t not so much true for my short stories, simply because they need more work. <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/winkwink.gif" alt="" />

I tend to rather write poems when I’m feeling sick (depressive) but when I feel good, I rather write stories. They’re much more fun to me ! <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/smile.gif" alt="" /> <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/winkwink.gif" alt="" />


Alrik.

Yeah, if that was the expression of your momentary state of feelings at that time you couldn't have been that happy. The healer who needs healing...

Übereil

Sounds funny... this is so good that I could hardly imagine that you were depressed... I like them. I like them a lot. IMHO in the most difficult times, in unhappiness and sadness some people are more creative...
Very good Al. Really.

I even consider the last two as funny myself. <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/winkwink.gif" alt="" />

Al, as usual your writing is superb & always shines even when u are down. <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/smile.gif" alt="" />

it's been a long while since anyone last contribute to this thread. anyway, for me i have no place to put my pathetic piece so here it is, my humble tribute to Larian;

if ever there is safety in the sea of information
my anchor rests in harbour Larian
if ever there is home amidst the jungles of network
my hat lays in village Larian
if ever warmth is to be found among the cold interactions
my heart glows in the hearth of Larian

among friends, sharing joys & woes,
as time paces, as people come & go
should we ever meet, yet not recognise
just to be sure, to all, be kind, be nice

<img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/smile.gif" alt="" />

Nice, janggut! <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/smile.gif" alt="" /> I love it! <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/up.gif" alt="" />