Kaspar Hauser
"I want to be a soldier as my father was"

Je suis venu, calme orphelin

A poem inspired by Kaspar Hauser
by Paul Verlaine (1844-1896).

Gaspard Hauser chante :
Je suis venu, calme orphelin,
Riche de mes seuls yeux tranquilles,
Vers les hommes des grandes villes :
Ils ne m'ont pas trouvé malin.
A vingt ans un trouble nouveau
Sous le nom d'amoureuses flammes
M'a fait trouver belles les femmes :
Elles ne m'ont pas trouvé beau.
Bien que sans patrie et sans roi
Et très brave ne l'étant guère,
J'ai voulu mourir à la guerre :
La mort n'a pas voulu de moi.
Suis-je né trop tôt ou trop tard ?
Qu'est-ce que je fais en ce monde ?
O vous tous, ma peine est profonde :
Priez pour le pauvre Gaspard !

I hate it when people go away.
I wish everyone would just stay here,

so I could see them all the time and not miss them so much.

Advanced Global Personality Test Results Extraversion |||||| 23% Stability |||||||||||| 50% Orderliness |||||| 23% Accommodation |||||||||||||||||||| 90% Intellectual |||||||||||||| 60% Interdependence |||||||||||| 50% Mystical |||||||||||||||||||| 90% Materialism || 10% Narcissism || 10% Adventurousness || 10% Work ethic |||| 20% Conflictseeking || 10% Need to dominate || 10% Romantic || 10% Avoidant |||||||||||||||| 70% Anti-authority |||||||||||||| 60% Wealth |||||||||| 40% Dependency |||||||||||||| 60% Change averse |||||||||||||||| 70% Cautiousness |||| 20% Individuality |||||||||||| 50% Sexuality |||||||||||| 50% Peter pancomplex |||||||||||||||||| 80% Histrionic || 10% Vanity || 10% Artistic |||||||||||||||||||| 90% Hedonism || 10% Physicalfitness |||| 20% Religious |||||||||||||||| 70% Paranoia || 10% Hypersensitivity |||||||||||| 50% Indie || 10%

Take Free Advanced Global Personality Test
personality test by similarminds.com

Stability results were medium which suggests you are moderately relaxed,
calm, secure, and optimistic.
Orderliness results were low which suggests you are overly flexible,
improvised, and fun seeking at the expense too often of reliability,
work ethic, and long term accomplishment.
Extraversion results were low which suggests you are very reclusive,
quiet, unassertive, and secretive.

trait snapshot:
introverted, secretive, messy, depressed, does not like leadership,
somewhat nihilistic, observer, does not make friends easily,
unassertive, feels invisible, feels undesirable, hates large parties,
does not like to stand out, leisurely, suspicious, submissive,
abstract, unpredictable, intellectual, likes rain,
likes the unknown, negative, weird, not a risk taker,
unadventurous, avoidant, strange

The eyes are tired,
yet the sleep will not come
the mind does not wish it
it has packed up and gone
to a land beyond the southern seas
where the silver moonlight shone

feather hunting

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my eyes and all is born again.
— Sylvia Plath


You really shouldn’t say ‘I love you’ unless you mean it.
But if you mean it, you should say it a lot.
People forget
— Jessica, age 8, on love.

from Arvin to Capote
I love this.

sometimes I just wanna eat the world and make a new one from scratch

Can't shake this feeling.

I'm making fairy wings out of an old umbrella.

"I do wander everywhere, swifter than the moon's sphere;
and I serve the Fairy Queen, To dew her orbs upon the green"- William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream

I feel awful.
Really, really terrible.

I was eating at a restaurant and I found myself chewing on a piece of meat,
which I immediately spat out.
After checking my meal I found a few more peices in there,
but I think I may have accidentally eaten some.
I have this disgusting taste of cow in my mouth,
and I can still feel it like acid in my throat even after brushing my teeth and sculling half a litre of water.

I really just don't want to eat eggs and milk or any of that anymore.
It makes me feel physically sick just thinking about it.
I mean, I don't eat it.

But I haven't told anyone I don't.
I don't know why, but I should.
It won't stop me feeling like shit now though.

This is my squirrel.
His name is Edmund and he likes eating maple syrup and Juniper berries and dancing in the rain on hot summer nights.
He would very much like to meet you, if you would be so kind to allow it.

"I wonder... if the horse goes down to sleep, will it choke on the fog?"

"in the 1850s and 1860s,
there was a widespread craze for an eccentric type of tableau in which dead animals were arranged into anthropomorphic settings"

I don't know whether to be disgusted or amazed...
The concept of forcing dead creatures into such mundane human actions as carrying umbrellas,
or learning arithmetic is, in itself, a revolting concept,
but the exhibits do have their own strange beauty.
It's almost as though, by doing so,
the Victorians were embracing death,
and showing their lack of fear as to what is the inevitable.

Which I think is kind of nice,
not that I'm about to go and buy a stuffed cat sporting a pair of trousers anytime soon.

"Longtail teaching the young rabbits arithmetic"

"Kittens at Tea-Miss Paulina singing"

"Reynard Tableaux"

They kind of remind me of Jan Svankmajer's movies.

More here:
http://www.acaseofcuriosities.com/pages/01_3_00ploucquet.html

There should be a camera to capture invisible things;
thoughts, feelings, intentions, the warmth of an emerging spring

"Second to the right, and straight on till morning."
That, Peter had told Wendy, was the way to the Neverland.

There is a garden where lilies
And roses are side by side;
And all day between them in silence
The silken butterflies glide.

I will not enter the garden,
Tho' I know the road thereto;
And morn by morn to the gateway
I see the children go.

They bring back light on their faces;
But they cannot bring back to me
What the lilies say to the roses,
Or the songs of the butterflies be.
-F.T. Palgrave, Eutopia

I really want to go to France for an extensive period of time so I can talk in French all day, everyday.
I haven't been doing enough French study lately, and by that I mean I haven't been doing any at all.
I bought a 700 page biography on Marie Antoinette written entirely in French,
which I promised myself I would read.
So far, I've read 5 pages.
That, in itself, was a feat which took me an hour to complete.
I'm going to be optimistic and say it's because I'm tired.

Maintenant, je vais écrire en français parce que j'ai à le pratiquer.
J'ai de Peter Rabbit (Pierre Lapin) en français, peut-être que ça serait plus facile.
En tout cas, les lapins sont mignons-en particulier dans les pantalons!

Yes, I do quite regularly get carried off to the land of talking mushrooms and cloaked figures, it's become the norm.

Ink pens are by far my favourite artistic medium-
I carry one around with me at all times.

Mr. Fox: [sighs] Who am I, Kylie?
Kylie: Who how? What now?
Mr. Fox: Why a fox? Why not a horse, or a beetle, or a bald eagle?
I'm saying this more as, like, existentialism, you know?
Who am I? And how can a fox ever be happy without, you'll forgive the expression, a chicken in its teeth?
Kylie: I don't know what you're talking about, but it sounds illegal.

Fantastic Mr Fox is the best movie I've seen in a long time.

Humphrey Bogart and Audrey Hepburn in the same photo?!
I think I may start hyperventilating.

Started writing again.
I don't know why I get into these long, extensive ruts during which I achieve absolutely nothing- I forget how great I feel when I'm regularly writing.
It does turn me into this anti-social sleep-deprived caffeine-whore, but this is far preferable to being mentally dormant for months at a time.

I have come to the conclusion that I am just a lazy, lazy person.
For this reason, I have made a pact with myself to spend some time alone each day, writing.
All form of writing, other than blogging, on the computer has been banned-
there are too many possible distractions (msn, facebook and the like) to take my mind off my writing.
There is something somewhat magical about the way a pen slides across paper, a direct flow of idea from the mind to the page.
It is a beautiful thing;
something that is almost entirely lost when writing on the computer.

There's a job opening as a waitress in a cafe in the local shopping centre.
I should really finish my poor, neglected resume and apply.
Something else to put on the to-do list, I suppose.

I just came across a picture of Audrey Hepburn's grave.
It made me incredibly, inexplicably sad seeing it- I knew she was dead, but seeing that image really hit it home.
She isn't going to be in any more black and white romantic comedies.
She will never work for UNICEF again.
Come to think of it, she'll never do anything again.

Sudden thought:
You know you're getting older when women reprimanding their children stop referring to you as "the girl" and start calling you "the lady".
An example of this I heard today:
"Sweetie move out of the lady's way."

I wonder at what exact moment I became "the lady".
Is this a moment which one can pinpoint?
If so, when?

Furthermore, it is cold and I require nourishment in the form of boiling hot tea.

lovely words:
ethereal, thistle, cornucopia, ointment, serendipity, soliloquy

Science ruins everything.
Can't we just look at the stars and appreciate them for what they are, rather than pick them apart with scientific tests and theories?
Looking up at the skies above and not knowing where they are or how they came to be is what makes your head spin with wonder, not reading about them in a dusty textbook.

I had this idea, that everyone who has ever lived and ever will live has their own personal star in the sky. I wonder what mine would look like.

I have a thing about hands and feet.
I like that they're never ugly- you see ugly people, but never ugly hands or feet.
It's almost as if a person's inner virtues; their hopes, their dreams, the beauty and lightness of their soul is shown through their outermost extremities.
Whether rickety, pudgy, veiny or otherwise, hands and feet of all varieties seem to shine with a radiance all their own.
You can tell so much about a person from their hands.
If, one day, for some inexplicable reason beyond human control, the faces of every person on earth were suddenly wiped from existence, I think we'd be able to get along just fine, just by looking at their hands.

"I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, Sir, because I'm not myself you see."


Things my cousins have said to me over the past two days:

"Do you wear boob things? Has a boy ever called you sexy? Do boys want to have sex with you?"

"You dress like an old woman. What are you, Harry High-Pants?"

"Jesus killed all the dinosaurs." "Wasn't that Sarah Palin?"

"Did you know scientists have proven that unicorns exist?"

"Look at this picture. Kate actually has neat hair!" "Oh my god what the hell is this?!"

Such a fountain of wisdom, they are.

older brother, restless soul, lie down
lie for a while with your ear against the earth
and you'll hear your sister sleep talking
say "your hair is long but not long enough to reach
home to me
but your beard
someday might be"

and she'll wake up in a cold sweat on the floor
next to a family portrait drawn when you were four
and beside a jar of two cent coins that are no good no more
she'll lay it aside

older father, weary soul, you'll drive
back to the home you made on the mountainside
with that ugly, terrible thing
those papers for divorce
and a lonely ring
a lonely ring
sit on your porch
and pluck your strings

and you'll find somebody you can blame
and you'll follow the creek that runs out into the sea
and you'll find the peace of the Lord.

grandfather, gentle soul, you'll fly
over your life once more before you die
since our grandma passed away
you've waited for forever and a day
just to die
and someday soon
you will die

it was the only woman you ever loved
that got burnt by the sun too often when she was young
and the cancer spread and it ran into her body and her blood
and there's nothing you can do about it now

This song is so relevant to everything.

Blood- The Middle East

Ahh... I'm in love.

What I did today:
-Slept
-Drank tea
-Watched the Cat Returns
-Texted people
-Watched Futurama
-Listened to Animal Collective and Sigur Ros

LOVE LOVE LOVE.

William Blake - Auguries of Innocence

To see a world in a grain of sand, 

And a heaven in a wild flower,

 Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,

 And eternity in an hour.  



A robin redbreast in a cage 

Puts all heaven in a rage.  



A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons 

Shudders hell thro' all its regions. 

A dog starv'd at his master's gate 

Predicts the ruin of the state.



  A horse misused upon the road

 Calls to heaven for human blood. 

Each outcry of the hunted hare 

A fibre from the brain does tear.

  

A skylark wounded in the wing,

 A cherubim does cease to sing. 

The game-cock clipt and arm'd for fight

 Does the rising sun affright. 



 Every wolf's and lion's howl

 Raises from hell a human soul. 



 The wild deer, wand'ring here and there,

 Keeps the human soul from care. 

The lamb misus'd breeds public strife, 

And yet forgives the butcher's knife.  



The bat that flits at close of eve

 Has left the brain that won't believe.

 The owl that calls upon the night

 Speaks the unbeliever's fright. 



 He who shall hurt the little wren 

Shall never be belov'd by men.

 He who the ox to wrath has mov'd 

Shall never be by woman lov'd. 



 The wanton boy that kills the fly

 Shall feel the spider's enmity. 

He who torments the chafer's sprite 

Weaves a bower in endless night. 



 The caterpillar on the leaf 

Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.

 Kill not the moth nor butterfly, 

For the last judgement draweth nigh. 



 He who shall train the horse to war 

Shall never pass the polar bar. 

The beggar's dog and widow's cat, 

Feed them and thou wilt grow fat. 



 The gnat that sings his summer's song

 Poison gets from slander's tongue. 

The poison of the snake and newt

 Is the sweat of envy's foot.  



The poison of the honey bee 

Is the artist's jealousy. 



 The prince's robes and beggar's rags 

Are toadstools on the miser's bags.

 A truth that's told with bad intent 

Beats all the lies you can invent. 



 It is right it should be so; 

Man was made for joy and woe; 

And when this we rightly know,

 Thro' the world we safely go.



  Joy and woe are woven fine,

 A clothing for the soul divine.

 Under every grief and pine

 Runs a joy with silken twine. 



 The babe is more than swaddling bands; 

Every farmer understands. 

Every tear from every eye

 Becomes a babe in eternity; 



 This is caught by females bright, 

And return'd to its own delight.

 The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,

 Are waves that beat on heaven's shore. 



 The babe that weeps the rod beneath 

Writes revenge in realms of death.

 The beggar's rags, fluttering in air,

 Does to rags the heavens tear.  



The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun, 

Palsied strikes the summer's sun. 

The poor man's farthing is worth more 

Than all the gold on Afric's shore. 



 One mite wrung from the lab'rer's hands

 Shall buy and sell the miser's lands;

 Or, if protected from on high,

 Does that whole nation sell and buy. 



 He who mocks the infant's faith 

Shall be mock'd in age and death.

 He who shall teach the child to doubt

 The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.



  He who respects the infant's faith

 Triumphs over hell and death.

 The child's toys and the old man's reasons 

Are the fruits of the two seasons.  



The questioner, who sits so sly, 

Shall never know how to reply.

 He who replies to words of doubt 

Doth put the light of knowledge out. 


 The strongest poison ever known

 Came from Caesar's laurel crown. 

Nought can deform the human race

 Like to the armour's iron brace. 



 When gold and gems adorn the plow, 

To peaceful arts shall envy bow.

 A riddle, or the cricket's cry, 

Is to doubt a fit reply.  



The emmet's inch and eagle's mile

 Make lame philosophy to smile. 

He who doubts from what he sees 

Will ne'er believe, do what you please.



  If the sun and moon should doubt,

 They'd immediately go out. 

To be in a passion you good may do,

 But no good if a passion is in you.  



The whore and gambler, by the state 

Licensed, build that nation's fate.

 The harlot's cry from street to street 

Shall weave old England's winding-sheet. 



 The winner's shout, the loser's curse,

 Dance before dead England's hearse. 



 Every night and every morn 

Some to misery are born, 

Every morn and every night

 Some are born to sweet delight. 



 Some are born to sweet delight, 

Some are born to endless night.  


We are led to believe a lie 

When we see not thro' the eye,

 Which was born in a night to perish in a night,

 When the soul slept in beams of light. 



 God appears, and God is light,

 To those poor souls who dwell in night;

 But does a human form display 

To those who dwell in realms of day.

my sister told me
I smell like an old person
but in a nice way

wearing red heels and
craving marie antoinette
after french today


"You're not a boxer, you're a french duke- you sit around eating cheese all day."- The Mighty Boosh

I really wanna try macarons. They look most delicious.

there is a tortoise
who lives upon my shoulder
his name is Phillip

Harvey James

Good Mornin'!

I bought this today. I might go and read it now.

flickr

Here I am, a rabbit hearted girl
Frozen in the headlights
It seems I've made the final sacrifice

I love Florence + The Machine.

sleep is so elusive
hours, hours, tossing on a sea of blankets
drowning in a hot soup
of your own thoughts; questions; and dreams,
and you wonder whether you should drink tea at night,
as you cannot handle caffeine

Urgh I hate exams. Mmwtkms.

Radiohead- Backdrifts

Fishy fishy in the sea,
I wish that you could talk to me

Lastly, tea — unless one is drinking it in the Russian style —
should be drunk without sugar.
I know very well that I am in a minority here.
But still, how can you call yourself a true tealover if you destroy the flavour of your tea by putting sugar in it?
It would be equally reasonable to put in pepper or salt.
Tea is meant to be bitter, just as beer is meant to be bitter.
If you sweeten it, you are no longer tasting the tea,
you are merely tasting the sugar;
you could make a very similar drink by dissolving sugar in plain hot water.

Some people would answer that they don’t like tea in itself,
that they only drink it in order to be warmed and stimulated,
and they need sugar to take the taste away.
To those misguided people I would say:
Try drinking tea without sugar for, say, a fortnight and it is very unlikely that you will ever want to ruin your tea by sweetening it again.

George Orwell-
The Collected Essays, Journalism and Letters 194-1945
(Later Published in the London Evening Standard, 12 January 1946)

So very, very true.

Neil Taylor is to wires what Shakespeare is to the english language.