Φοβᾶμαι τοὺς ἀνθρώπους ποὺ μὲ καταλερωμένη τὴ φωλιὰπασχίζουν τώρα νὰ βροῦν λεκέδες στὴ δική σου.

Auguries of Innocence..A robin redbreast in a cagePuts all heaven in a rage.A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeonsShudders hell thro' all its regions.A dog starv'd at his master's gatePredicts the ruin of the state.A horse misused upon the roadCalls to heaven for human blood.Each outcry of the hunted hareA 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 fightDoes the rising sun affright.Every wolf's and lion's howlRaises from hell a human soul.

I had a theory; I’m not sure if it was my own but it worked for me. Public spaces, such as streets and subway stations, became inhabitable as I assigned them some value and imprinted an experience on them. If I recited a snatch of Paterson every time I walked along a certain avenue, eventually that avenue would sound like William Carlos Williams. The entrance to the subway at 116th Street was Emily Dickinson’s:Presentiment is that long shadow on the lawnIndicative that suns go down;The notice to the startled grassThat darkness is about to pass.

වල්මත්ව ඇවිදින විටදැක ඇතිද කඳු හිසනිල ගැඹුරු දෑසකතා කර ඇද්ද ඔබ එයටරොමෑන්තික භාවයෙන් උද්ධමනයව

දෙසැම්බරය අඳුරු 'මුත්ඔව්, නිල් පෑය අහස ඇස්ඉතිං දිය කඩිතිවලට තට්ටු කරන්නමල් පිපෙන තුරු බලන් ඉන්න

පාළුවෙන් ඉරි තැලී උන්මගේ හද වීණාවකැයි ඔබ කීවෙහියවාදනය කර සෙමින් හිතඋණුසුමෙහි නද රේඛා මැවුවෙහිය

එල්ලා හැලෙන දිගු ගවුම්ඇඳ ගත් විලෝ ගස්ආලිංගන රැඟුම් පාහලන දහදිය පත්රැගෙන යයි කරුණා ලත්නුඹ වගේ ගංගාවක්

Si anak serta merta melempar bongkahan tanah yang digengamnya, kematian menyalak galak diantara sepi, angin dan senja yang bersorak. Ia bangkit kemudian balas memukul meninggalkan luka di pelipis mata si anak. Tendangan telak juga mendarat tepat di perut buncit kematian dan membuatnya terpental berkilo-kilo meter. Terus dan terus. Entah berapa banyak mereka mendaratkan pukulan dan tendangan masing-masing. Entah berapa lama mereka melakukannya. Berjibakujibakuberjibaku. Meninggalkan memar-memar ungu. Sampai tanpa sadar mereka sadar bahwa kematian adalah si anak dan si anak adalah kematian itu sendiri. Keduanya mati.

Mi táctica es mirarte aprender como sos quererte como sos Mi táctica es hablarte y escucharte construir con palabras un puente indestructible Mi táctica es quedarme en tu recuerdo no sé cómo ni sé con qué pretexto pero quedarme en vos Mi táctica es ser franco y saber que sos franca y que no nos vendamos simulacros para que entre los dos no haya telón ni abismos Mi estrategia es en cambio más profunda y más simple Mi estrategia es que un día cualquiera no sé cómo ni sé con qué pretexto por fin me necesites.

Each form is inadequate, like a graft to be rejected by its intractable and unrelenting host and thus can only serve a brief and momentary purpose coherent to a context rooted in contiguous reason. This unbridled brash Spirit is, to itself, burdensome, yet dynamic, for it sees no flaw in working within the confines of a closed system to achieve ends that extend beyond it. This Spirit is, in fact, self-deceptive for to achieve such ends, it becomes necessary to bound manipulable fragments of the Self with a twine by which these parts can be joined indissolubly and maneuvered adroitly with the skill of a marionettist.

The experiences, the lessons, and the defeats,They were all necessary for me to be me,took me a while being blind before i could see,had to crawl on my knees before i stood on my feet,once i stood on my feet i found out i had wings,the flight is amazing, i felt like a king,and when no one is listening, i found out i can sing, what happy times and thoughts does it bring,whatever it takes just make sure you are free,free to live, and grow like a tree,The people you love are the branches you need,its not about the type, the color, or breed,Live life with ambition, ambition indeed,Thats what it took, and thats what i need.

তবু তোমাকে ভালোবেসেমুহূর্তের মধ্যে ফিরে এসেবুঝেছি অকূলে জেগে রয়ঘড়ির সময়ে আর মহাকালে যেখানেই রাখি এ হৃদয় ।

Envy said, “Girl, I remember well,ye, who I flung from Hell,and not a day has passed, I haven’t missedthe loss of your soul that I mourned,I’ve been bereft and forlorn,for the sweet taste of your flesh I’ve yet to kiss.But no worries—bygones,that’s the past—long gone,I don’t hold a grudge, no, in no way.And though your family they did swindlemy joy of flaying ye on a spindle, I begrudge ye not a little, so let’s play.So, merely toss your token in my well,and all your dreams I will unveil,for ye alone, them I’ll grant.Come closer, little Penny,your hands I know are not empty,ye have something I dreadfully want.

Хараагаараа унтдаг хүн гэнэт сэрэх мэт Хачин адгуусан нүдээр намайг онож ядахӨнгөрсөн юм гэдэг дандаа сэтгэл шимшрэм...

...feel the fierce way desiretourniquets itself around you andclingsClubland South of Market tweak-chic trannies powder their noses frombullet-shaped compacts and flick their forkedtongues like switchblades as they burn the nightdown bleed day to night to day toMission sidewalks where pythons hidetwenty dollar balloons beneath their tongues whichget bartered in smiles quicker than a coke buzz andtossed out through the cracksCottonmouth kissescamouflage emotions andstrike with a vengeancewhen hewants and shewants and theywant and Iwon'tGenet was right, I supposewhen he wrote "The only wayto avoid the horror of horror isto give in to it"it'sthe nature ofthe economy of thebusiness it's thenature ofthings...