^^^ Wednesday, February 1, 2012
^^^ Wednesday, February 1, 2012
^^^ Wednesday, February 1, 2012
^^^ Wednesday, February 1, 2012
WHAT I KNOW OF GOD IS THIS





What I know of God is this:
That He has hands, for He touches me.
I can testify to nothing else;
Living among many unseen beings
Like the whippoorwill I’m constantly hearing
But was pointed out to me just once.

Last of our hopes when all hope’s past
God, never let me call on Thee
Distracting myself from a last chance
Which goes just as quick as it comes;
And I have doubts of Your omnipotence.
All I ask is… Keep on existing
Keeping Your hands. Continue to touch me.

- Milton Acorn
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Cooper, Truman, Deputy Hawk, and Doc Hayward venture into the woods for a revelatory encounter with the Log Lady and find the location of Jacques Renault’s cabin. In the meantime, Audrey continues her efforts to assist Cooper by taking a job at her father’s department store, while Donna and James Hurley pursue their own line of inquiry into Laura’s death by taking Maddy into their confidence. Elsewhere, Leo’s battered wife Shelly decides to get revenge.  ^^^ Wednesday, February 1, 2012
^^^ Wednesday, February 1, 2012
^^^ Wednesday, February 1, 2012
tatteredbanners: Opera singer Mary Garden circa 1900 ^^^ Wednesday, February 1, 2012
^^^ Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Camp. Bill Dane. ^^^ Wednesday, February 1, 2012
^^^ Wednesday, February 1, 2012
frequentandvigorous: “I shall never believe in the classification of love among the purely physical joys (supposing that any such thing exists) until I see a gourmet sobbing with delight over his favourite dish like a lover gasping on a young shoulder. Of all our games, love’s play is the only one which threatens to unsettle the soul, and is also the only one in which the player has to abandon himself to the body’s ecstasy. To put reason aside is not indispensable for a drinker, but the lover who leaves reason in control does not follow his god to the end. In every act save that of love, abstinence and excess alike involve but one person; any step in the direction of sensuality, however, places us in the presence of the Other, and involves us in the demands and servitudes to which our choice binds us (except in the case of Diogenes, where both the limitations and the merits of reasonable expedient are self-evident). I know no decision which a man makes for simpler or more inevitable reasons, where the object chosen is weighed more exactly for it balance of sheer pleasure, or where the seeker after truth has a better chance to judge the naked human being. Each time, from a stripping down as absolute as that of death, and from a humility which surpasses that of defeat and prayer, I marvel to see again reforming the complex web of experiences shared and refused, of mutual responsibilities, awkward avowals, transparent lies, and passionate compromises between my pleasures and those of the Other, so many bonds impossible to break but nevertheless so quickly loosened. That mysterious play which extends from love of a body to love of an entire person has seemed to me noble enough to consecrate to it one part of my life. Words for it are deceiving, since the word for pleasure covers contradictory realities comprising notions of warmth, sweetness, and intimacy of bodies, but also feelings of violence and agony, and the sound of a cry. The short and obscene sentence of Poseidonius about the rubbing together of two small pieces of flesh, which I have seen you copy in your exercise books with the application of a good schoolboy, does no more to define the phenomenon of love than the taut cord touched by the finger accounts for the infinite miracle of sounds. Such a dictum is less an insult to pleasure than to the flesh itself, that amazing instrument of muscle, blood, and skin, that red-tinged cloud whose lightning is the soul.” ^^^ Wednesday, February 1, 2012
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v7G5MIpFui4 ^^^ Tuesday, January 31, 2012