"A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning" - John Donne

you know i only post up the good stuff. this one is so funny...

As virtuous men passe mildly away,
And whisper to their soules, to goe,
Whilst some of their sad friends doe say.
The breath goes now, and some say, no:

So let us melt, and make no noise,
No teare-floods, nor sigh-tempests move,
T'were prophanation of our joyes
To tell the layetie our love.

Moving of th'earth brings harmes and feares,
Men reckon what it did and meant,
But trepidation of the spheares,
Though greater farre, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers love
(Whose soule is sense) cannot admit
Absense, because it doth remove
Those things which elemented it.

But we by a love, so much refin'd.
That our selves know not what it is,
Inter-assured of the mind,
Care lesse, eyes, lips, and hands to misse.

Our two soules therefore, which are one,
Though I must goe, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to ayery thinnesse beate.

If they be two, they are two so
As stiffe twin compasses are two,
Thy soule the fixt foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if the'other doe.

And though it in the center sit,
Yet when the other far doth rome,
It leanes, and hearkens after it,
And growes erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to mee, who must
Like th'other foot, obliquely runne;
Thy firmnes drawes my circle just,
And makes me end, where I begunne.

i maintain

that Horlicks is the most ridiculous name for a drink, after Anusludge. but i made that one up just now, so technically Horlicks wins.

The Rose - Bette Midler

Some say, love, it is a river
that drowns the tender reed.
Some say, love, it is a razor
that leaves your soul to bleed.

Some say, love, it is a hunger,
an endless, aching need.
I say, love, it is a flower
and you, its only need.

It's the heart, afraid of breaking,
that never learns to dance.
It's the dream, afraid of waking,
that never takes the chance.

It's the one who won't be taken,
who cannot seem to b'lieve.
And the soul afraid of dying
that never learns to live.

When the night has been too lonely
and the road has been too long;
Then to think that love is only
for the lucky and the strong;

Just remember, in the winter,
far beneath the bitters snows,
Lies the seed that, with the sun's love
in the spring, becomes the Rose.

honourary diaper

SOAK

and then sometimes

it hits you like a brick in the face: you're ugly and no one appreciates your impressive humming talent. it must be said, however, that at least three people on this world would have appreciated your humming, had you been personally aquainted to them so that they might experience such a closed-mouth virtuosity. alas, you are not. i trust your will to live is down to nil by now and no flamboyant gesture will save you from your own despair. i'd go flick a pop-rock right about now.