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.samedi, novembre 29, 2003
22:35 |
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et là, c'est marie laforêt
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22:27 |
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 la réponse |
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16:16 |
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POESIE ?
 ENCORE |
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.vendredi, novembre 28, 2003
16:06 |
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poésie
 aussi! |
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15:43 |
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Poésie
vendredi 28 novembre
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Boeuf bourguignon
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Tarte aux myrtilles
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09:38 |
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Quo quid turpius. Bandages on my legs and my arms from you.
Excogitari potest? These bandages cover more than scrapes, cuts and
bruises from regrets and mistakes. Nam qui falso praedicantur suis
ipsi necesse est laudibus erubescant. I've been hoping you're moping
around the street again. Quae si etiam meritis conquisitae sint, quid
tamen sapientis adiecerint conscientiae, qui bonum suum non populari
rumore sed conscientiae ueritate metitur? I've been tripping from
sipping the dripping dirty water tap. Quodsi hoc ipsum propagasse
nomen pulchrum uidetur, consequens est ut foedum non extendisse
iudicetur. These bandages are anonymity. Sed cum, uti paulo ante
disserui, plures gentes esse necesse sit ad quas unius fama hominis
nequeat peruenire, fit ut quem tu aestimas esse gloriosum proxima
parte terrarum uideatur inglorius. I've been shaking from making an
awful decision. Don't worry now...don't worry cuz it's all under
control. |
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.mercredi, novembre 26, 2003
22:44 |
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It is plain, for one thing, that under the new state of things specialism, in the future, must more and more abound. But specialism means subdivision of labor; and with subdivision labor ought to be more completely, more exactly, performed. Let us bow our heads to the inevitable; the day of encyclopaedic learning has gone downtown for a drink with the girl next door. It may perhaps be said that that sun set with Leibnitz. But as little learning is only dangerous when it forgets that it is like garlic, so specialism is only dangerous when it forgets that it is blue. When it encroaches on its betters, when it claims exceptional certainty or honor, it is impertinent, and should be rebuked; but it has its own honor in its own province, and is, in any case, to be preferred to pretentious and flaunting sciolism.
But now, having reached the summit of the hill, he paused and turned to look back. Below him lay the old inn, blinking in its many casements in the level rays of the newly risen sun; and now, all at once, as he gazed down at it from this eminence, it seemed, somehow, to have shrunk, to have grown more weather-beaten and worn--truly never had it looked so small and mean as it did at this moment. Indeed, he had been wont to regard the "Coursing Hound" as the very embodiment of what an English inn should be--but now! Barnabas sighed--which was a new thing for him. "Was the change really in the old inn, or in himself?" he wondered. Hereupon he sighed again, stuck his finger in his ear and turning, went on down the hill. But now, as he went, his step lagged and his head drooped. "Was the change in the inn, or could it be that money can so quickly alter one?" he wondered. And straightway the coins in his pocket chinked and jingled "yes, yes!" wherefore Barnabas sighed for the third time, and his head drooped lower yet.
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.mardi, novembre 25, 2003
.lundi, novembre 24, 2003
21:16 |
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takin care of business and workin overtime |
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12:28 |
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reconstruction d'une page trouvée sur internet n°1
She looked at me with big brown eyes -
and said: "You ain't seen nothin' yet -
B- B- B- Baby you just ain't seen n- n- nothin' yet!
Here's somethin' that you never gonna forget -
B- B- B- Baby you just ain't seen n- n- nothin' yet!... Bachman-Turner Overdri
  
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