Oh dear

this is a BIG MISTAKE and I know it now, but I want to follow it through for now.
it should be good for me, even though the idea is actually scaring me silly.
I wrote this poem which will follow for Jackie and Simon, who taught charl and I theatre stuff and pretty much introduced me to the teatre business. The relevance will be lost on a great many who don't know them or don't know twelfth night, but my rationale for posting it here is I need to conquer my fear of letting people read my rubbish work or I'll never be a writer. I don't know if it'll work, but we'll see. I have a few points to make first, too:
1)I know the poem is rubbish
2)I know no one reads this site, which is why I am using it now
3) the first line of the seccond scene in 12th night (shakespeare) which is the first play we did with Jackie and Simon, is "what country, friends, is this?" the answer: "this is illyria, Lady". I shall stop now before I continue to reproduce the whole play here.
4)This poem is rubbish
5)thankyou.
6)I really hate the 'teen writing poetry' thing. I do not usually write poetry and only do so because it is crowd pleasing. I haven't actually tried very hard at this poem because it would hurt too much if I tried hard and it was still crap
7) the name 'Chicago' in line 12 should and will be replaced by a place with a name beginning with L, but I can't think of anywhere except london and when followed by Soho that is made slightly arbitrary. Chicago was not written as a refrence to the musical, it was a MISTAKE.
8) I REALLY hope no one reads this.

What country, friends, is this?
This is the land of living dreams
Where the thoughts and strange musings of writers
Will dance before your very eyes
- tonight only –
It is the centerpiece and showground where philosophies dance,
The land of depressions, loves, laughs, comedies, tragedies…
tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical,
(my lord)
this is the bottom of the sea and it is the heavens.
It is deepest Africa and the Deep South
It is gloomy Ellsinore, Chicago,
Soho and Sezuan.
This is Meanwhile In The Woods;
A crossroads, some time later;
The king’s bedchamber;
The poor man’s dream.
This is the land of a thousand sunrises
While the wind of suppressed sighing breaths
Gasps in the darkness.
The pinprick of light in the universal night.
This, my friends, is Illyria
This is Elysium.

the ancient/modern thing

(Rather than being about literature, this is just things that are more interesting than my normal life back on god ol’ moonbright)
My father said the other day, ‘if you cut something in stone, it will last for ages, while if you put something on CD it will not last as long. This is just the argument that I made up against, I don’t necessarily believe it, but since I have the benefit of replies on this here site, I was sort of hoping that I could get some and see what other people under the age of, well, fifty thought.
The argument goes thusly:
If you had some information, let’s use the example of a report or an essay or piece of writing about something, and cut it into a stone slab, so that the writing could not be erased (sic) easily, so that it could not be lost or changed, that piece of writing would indeed last a long time. It would not be moved, lost or broken without some major effort being put in. However, the writing would take a good amount of time, and since it could not be moved, few people would see it, read it and take in the information.
However, if this information was written onto a CD, the CD could be easily copied, passed around and read by many people. If then, the entire amount of CDs were somehow broken or burned in some sort of freak CD destroying event or catastrophe, all of those people who had seen the information would still remember, and so could work together if necessary to remember all of the information.
The stone would be harder to break, but there would be only one of it, so if it were broken or rendered illegible, fewer people would have had the chance to see it, fewer could remember it and so some of the information could be lost.
There are flaws in this argument, such as, you could always copy the stone thing onto paper etc. if the people that saw the CDs all died no one would remember but the stone would still stand and could be read by others, whoever carved the stone would probably know the piece of writing pretty damn well, and other things that I haven’t spotted. The older generation with whom I have argued this point (my parents, both 52 I think) have been arguing against technology, and since stone is well known to last, it seems reasonable enough, but I’m not sure if technology is so bad after all. It seems to have become that technology is well known to be unreliable. It started off as infallible, then there was a sort of anti-system idea that technology was unreliable which became more widespread. But still, it does seem to work in some ways, though perhaps we can only be sure of things if we know that technology will continue to work in the future. But how can we be sure that anything will be reliable in the future? Stone may be affected by something that makes it crumble if anyone looks at it too hard, we don’t know.
Well, this wasn’t really meant to turn into a philosophical observation; the main question is to do with stones and CDs.If anyone thinks anything at all, I’d be interested to know.

A warm july evening

this was meant to be an unserious comment on the time of year but I notice that it is getting close to the month of july. our brains are extensively fascinating subjects.
and so it was said that when the last of the green green grass eaters did come, they should bring with them their freedom.
so true
as I sit on my desert island, sipping my coctail and looking out onto the deep almost blue sea, the wind is whipping gently at my shirtsleeves as the dun dances on the rim of the world and the heat of it has left my little corner of the world.
goosepimples.
it is a time for gentle reflection, though least likely coming from my brain.
why should we wish to die? this is something from hamlet that I cannot empathise with. for those who need it, that famous speech, the beginning of which is almost unutterable, so cliched it has become, continues:
...that is the question
whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles and, by opposing, end them. to die. to sleep... no more. and by sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that death is heir to. 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. to die, to sleep, perchance to dream. aye, there's the rub, for what dreams will come when one has suffled off this mortal coil must give us pause. there's the respect that makes calamity of so long life. for who would bear the whips and scorns of time, t'oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumley, the pangs of despised love, the law's delay, the insolence of office... but for the fear of something after death... that undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller returns...and we would rather bear those ills we have than face others that we know not of.
[apologies to purists. this is only a rough gist thrown together from my memory]
my point is, this suggest that we're all desperate to top ourselves, but will not because of this undiscovered country and its new and scary experiences that lay in wait for us, but why? why should we want to kill ourselves? not everyone is that depressed (though it's a wonder if you look at the world) and anway, that country will be there if we try and get there today or if we wait another sixty years, we're all headed that way so why not enjoy the ride. if we should have to bear these ills we have for fear of having more, why not take these joys we have rather than facing these ills. at least we know that there are joys in this world why nottake them while we can, those ills we know not of will still be there for us afterwards but we should be happier to face them. and if they are not ills, then we have lost nothing and will have made the most of this stage of our life and then can of the next one. why be inpatient? why kill yourself because your father won't let you be an actor? RUN AWAY and do what you want. that country is closing on you fast, so swim against the boat and play with the dolphins till you get there.
this is, of course, not questioning that there is a country, something that i an unsure of.
shakespeare, what did he know eh?
pessemist? to whom are ou referring?
well, the sun has gone and the wind is chill. I think I'll get back into the warm.
darkness and heavy rainfall, my favourite

so full of shapes is fancy...

well bonjour
a land of high fantasy I'm sure. and those who are 'in the know'should know that this is a twelfth night quote. there seemed little hope of geting anthing goos, with illyria gone and twelfthnight gone and feste not gone but I couldn't have it.
this will most likely be a short lived site devoted to those wonders in life that purge the air of pestulance.
enjoy.