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Bluelighter
- Joined
- Apr 15, 2009
- Messages
- 406
No one else will have me like you do...
No one else will have me, only you.
-Jimmy Eat World, "23"
No one else will have me, only you.
-Jimmy Eat World, "23"
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✍️ WORDS ✍️
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Words Moderators: Mysterier
Quote Me A Piece Of Writing That You Really, Really Love :)
- Thread starter Jennyfur_Karma_Kin
- Start date
pk.
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Oct 23, 2011
- Messages
- 1,833
To the Accuser Who Is the God of This World
Truly My Satan thou art but a Dunce
And dost not know the Garment from the Man
Every Harlot was a Virgin once
Nor canst thou ever change Kate into Nan
Tho thou art Worship'd by the Names Divine
Of Jesus & Jehovah thou art still
The Son of Morn in weary Nights decline
The lost Travellers Dream under the Hill
~ William Blake
Truly My Satan thou art but a Dunce
And dost not know the Garment from the Man
Every Harlot was a Virgin once
Nor canst thou ever change Kate into Nan
Tho thou art Worship'd by the Names Divine
Of Jesus & Jehovah thou art still
The Son of Morn in weary Nights decline
The lost Travellers Dream under the Hill
~ William Blake
Last edited:
pk.
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Oct 23, 2011
- Messages
- 1,833
From The Dunciad IV
O Muse! relate (for you can tell alone,
Wits have short memories, and Dunces none),
Relate, who first, who last resign'd to rest;
Whose heads she partly, whose completely blest;
What charms could faction, what ambition lull,
The venal quiet, and entrance the dull;
Till drown'd was sense, and shame, and right, and wrong—
O sing, and hush the nations with thy song!
In vain, in vain—the all-composing hour
Resistless falls: The Muse obeys the Pow'r.
She comes! she comes! the sable throne behold
Of Night primeval, and of Chaos old!
Before her, Fancy's gilded clouds decay,
And all its varying rainbows die away.
Wit shoots in vain its momentary fires,
The meteor drops, and in a flash expires.
As one by one, at dread Medea's strain,
The sick'ning stars fade off th' ethereal plain;
As Argus' eyes by Hermes' wand oppress'd,
Clos'd one by one to everlasting rest;
Thus at her felt approach, and secret might,
Art after Art goes out, and all is Night.
See skulking Truth to her old cavern fled,
Mountains of Casuistry heap'd o'er her head!
Philosophy, that lean'd on Heav'n before,
Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more.
Physic of Metaphysic begs defence,
And Metaphysic calls for aid on Sense !
See Mystery to Mathematics fly!
In vain! they gaze, turn giddy, rave, and die.
Religion blushing veils her sacred fires,
And unawares Morality expires.
Nor public Flame, nor private , dares to shine;
Nor human Spark is left, nor Glimpse divine !
Lo! thy dread Empire, Chaos! is restor'd;
Light dies before thy uncreating word:
Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall;
And universal Darkness buries All.
~ Alexander Pope
O Muse! relate (for you can tell alone,
Wits have short memories, and Dunces none),
Relate, who first, who last resign'd to rest;
Whose heads she partly, whose completely blest;
What charms could faction, what ambition lull,
The venal quiet, and entrance the dull;
Till drown'd was sense, and shame, and right, and wrong—
O sing, and hush the nations with thy song!
In vain, in vain—the all-composing hour
Resistless falls: The Muse obeys the Pow'r.
She comes! she comes! the sable throne behold
Of Night primeval, and of Chaos old!
Before her, Fancy's gilded clouds decay,
And all its varying rainbows die away.
Wit shoots in vain its momentary fires,
The meteor drops, and in a flash expires.
As one by one, at dread Medea's strain,
The sick'ning stars fade off th' ethereal plain;
As Argus' eyes by Hermes' wand oppress'd,
Clos'd one by one to everlasting rest;
Thus at her felt approach, and secret might,
Art after Art goes out, and all is Night.
See skulking Truth to her old cavern fled,
Mountains of Casuistry heap'd o'er her head!
Philosophy, that lean'd on Heav'n before,
Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more.
Physic of Metaphysic begs defence,
And Metaphysic calls for aid on Sense !
See Mystery to Mathematics fly!
In vain! they gaze, turn giddy, rave, and die.
Religion blushing veils her sacred fires,
And unawares Morality expires.
Nor public Flame, nor private , dares to shine;
Nor human Spark is left, nor Glimpse divine !
Lo! thy dread Empire, Chaos! is restor'd;
Light dies before thy uncreating word:
Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall;
And universal Darkness buries All.
~ Alexander Pope
Thou
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Mar 10, 2007
- Messages
- 10,860
Ah pook the is the mayan god of death but unlike the medieval christian conception of death, ah pook was not regarded by the mayans as purely negative and destructive, but simply as a stage of life making way for rebirth and regeneration. T
his book concerns an American billionaire who is obsessed by a desire for immortality. He discovers lost Mayan books containing some of the basic secrets of life and death, and uses this knowledge to set up a rather ill-advised control machine.
Train whistle, train in lunar landscape of Northern Mexico. Cut to Mr. Hart's private car, books spread out on a table. He is reading the books laboriously from a Spanish key. Now here is the young Corn God turning into death. When I die I become death. Death is the seed from which I grow.
Now this 'dying to produce oneself' sounds awfully hit-and-miss to canny young Hart.Obsesed by his desire for his immortality he does not grasp the full significance of this simple survival forumula nor the seeds of disaster it contains.
Mr. Haert certainly does not think of himself as a christian, yet all his thinking is foermed by western christianity. He thinks in either/or; that is; ONE GOD terms. He is looking for THE secrets of fear and death.
"Must be one thing or the other he tells himself. It's all very simple. The priests BECAME death, therefore they could not die. Can't leave any loose end trailing about"
At dawn Death came to the hut. The youth tried to face him and hurled a Magic object. He almost succeeded, for Death was old and tired.
The weakness of Death in this passage alarms him.
Perhaps the priests, postulating all those years in which they had existed, killed themselve with old age.
Mr. Hart is not really an intelligent man.He does not at this point even guess the real reason for these expeditions into remote past time. the priests made calculations on their calander dating back 400 million years. Why, Mr Hart will find out in time. He will find out that Death needs time. Death needs time like a junky needs junk.
What does death need time for? The answer is so simple. Death needs time for what it kills to grow in for Ah Pook's sweet sake, you stupid vulgar greedy vulgar American deathsucker.
It's like this.
Death walks out into the field and kills the young Corn God. The young Corn God becomes a deathseed from which another young Corn God will grow. Birth and death in all its variety of an old outhouse. However there is always more death than growth, even in the simplest terms of soil exhaustion.
Every time you kill the young Corn God Life goes out of him, the seed grows slower, the seed loses vitality. The Corn God looks like a soulless zombie and finaly the seed does not grow. No time for death. So death has to travel. Death takes the young Corn God back to a time he has been hit so often he is punch-drunk. Back to his youth, back back back, clickety clickety clack. Back to the garden of eden. Sure death will burn that down too.
The mayan priests made these exeditions into past time because they had burned down present time. Mayan scholars have wondered why they did not make more calculations into future time. They were overdrawn. Checks bounced. Nothing and nobody there. Now this did not happen right away.
You don't get hooked on the first shot, and even when you are hooked you can control it for a while, maybe stay on the same dose.
But fix yourself on a junky on heroin for several thousand years. Control that habit?
So he goes back to a time when his habit was manageable. And when it gets out of hand there he goes FURTHER BACK.
Look at the Mayan Pantheon and the calander and you willl see that the Mayans as experienced vampires and time-junkies were keenly aware of this impasse and took what precautions they could to avoid it; by balancing the gods of life and death.
Not as Mr. Hart's accounts are balanced, but by a series of transitional shadings.
In the transitional forms of death, death to some extent identifies himeself with the man he kills and shares his death.
Now this seems very subversive to Mr. Hart, who never identifies with his victims. To do so would put him in danger of becoming a victem himself. Yet at some point death must take this risk. Death must become a mortal and die in order to be reborn,
Hart is not willing to take this risk. He wants to BE Death but he will not know Death. Death will not serve a stranger who cannot prove his title, a gringo who fears the very word and sets up a house rule that the word 'death' may not be pronounced in his presence.
Hart cannot read the mayan books. He is reading them as one who reads Moby Dick to find out about whaling, and to hell with Captain Ahab and The White Whale. What is written there long dormant, is now a viralent strain of virus. waiting to escape, to leap from the pages and infect millions of human hosts. Not with Mr. Harts greedy, Bible-Belt 19th century capitalistic message, but with their own messages.
his book concerns an American billionaire who is obsessed by a desire for immortality. He discovers lost Mayan books containing some of the basic secrets of life and death, and uses this knowledge to set up a rather ill-advised control machine.
Train whistle, train in lunar landscape of Northern Mexico. Cut to Mr. Hart's private car, books spread out on a table. He is reading the books laboriously from a Spanish key. Now here is the young Corn God turning into death. When I die I become death. Death is the seed from which I grow.
Now this 'dying to produce oneself' sounds awfully hit-and-miss to canny young Hart.Obsesed by his desire for his immortality he does not grasp the full significance of this simple survival forumula nor the seeds of disaster it contains.
Mr. Haert certainly does not think of himself as a christian, yet all his thinking is foermed by western christianity. He thinks in either/or; that is; ONE GOD terms. He is looking for THE secrets of fear and death.
"Must be one thing or the other he tells himself. It's all very simple. The priests BECAME death, therefore they could not die. Can't leave any loose end trailing about"
At dawn Death came to the hut. The youth tried to face him and hurled a Magic object. He almost succeeded, for Death was old and tired.
The weakness of Death in this passage alarms him.
Perhaps the priests, postulating all those years in which they had existed, killed themselve with old age.
Mr. Hart is not really an intelligent man.He does not at this point even guess the real reason for these expeditions into remote past time. the priests made calculations on their calander dating back 400 million years. Why, Mr Hart will find out in time. He will find out that Death needs time. Death needs time like a junky needs junk.
What does death need time for? The answer is so simple. Death needs time for what it kills to grow in for Ah Pook's sweet sake, you stupid vulgar greedy vulgar American deathsucker.
It's like this.
Death walks out into the field and kills the young Corn God. The young Corn God becomes a deathseed from which another young Corn God will grow. Birth and death in all its variety of an old outhouse. However there is always more death than growth, even in the simplest terms of soil exhaustion.
Every time you kill the young Corn God Life goes out of him, the seed grows slower, the seed loses vitality. The Corn God looks like a soulless zombie and finaly the seed does not grow. No time for death. So death has to travel. Death takes the young Corn God back to a time he has been hit so often he is punch-drunk. Back to his youth, back back back, clickety clickety clack. Back to the garden of eden. Sure death will burn that down too.
The mayan priests made these exeditions into past time because they had burned down present time. Mayan scholars have wondered why they did not make more calculations into future time. They were overdrawn. Checks bounced. Nothing and nobody there. Now this did not happen right away.
You don't get hooked on the first shot, and even when you are hooked you can control it for a while, maybe stay on the same dose.
But fix yourself on a junky on heroin for several thousand years. Control that habit?
So he goes back to a time when his habit was manageable. And when it gets out of hand there he goes FURTHER BACK.
Look at the Mayan Pantheon and the calander and you willl see that the Mayans as experienced vampires and time-junkies were keenly aware of this impasse and took what precautions they could to avoid it; by balancing the gods of life and death.
Not as Mr. Hart's accounts are balanced, but by a series of transitional shadings.
In the transitional forms of death, death to some extent identifies himeself with the man he kills and shares his death.
Now this seems very subversive to Mr. Hart, who never identifies with his victims. To do so would put him in danger of becoming a victem himself. Yet at some point death must take this risk. Death must become a mortal and die in order to be reborn,
Hart is not willing to take this risk. He wants to BE Death but he will not know Death. Death will not serve a stranger who cannot prove his title, a gringo who fears the very word and sets up a house rule that the word 'death' may not be pronounced in his presence.
Hart cannot read the mayan books. He is reading them as one who reads Moby Dick to find out about whaling, and to hell with Captain Ahab and The White Whale. What is written there long dormant, is now a viralent strain of virus. waiting to escape, to leap from the pages and infect millions of human hosts. Not with Mr. Harts greedy, Bible-Belt 19th century capitalistic message, but with their own messages.
pk.
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Oct 23, 2011
- Messages
- 1,833
The Laughing Heart
your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is a light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.
~ Charles Bukowski
your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is a light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.
~ Charles Bukowski
panic in paradise
Bluelighter
- Joined
- May 3, 2000
- Messages
- 18,867
The liberty of a people consists in being governed by laws which they have made themselves, under whatsoever form it be of government; the liberty of a private man in being master of his own time and actions, as far as may consist with the laws of God and of his country. Of this latter only we are here to discourse, and to inquire what estate of life does best suit us in the possession of it.
This liberty of our own actions is such a fundamental privilege of human nature, that God Himself, notwithstanding all His infinite power and right over us, permits us to enjoy it, and that, too, after a forfeiture made by the rebellion of Adam. He takes so much care for the entire preservation of it to us, that He suffers neither His providence nor eternal decree to break or infringe it. Now for our time, the same God, to whom we are but tenants-at-will for the whole, requires but the seventh part to be paid to Him at as a small quit-rent, in acknowledgment of His title.
It is man only that has the impudence to demand our whole time, though he neither gave it, nor can restore it, nor is able to pay any considerable value for the least part of it. This birthright of mankind above all other creatures some are forced by hunger to sell, like Esau, for bread and broth; but the greatest part of men make such a bargain for the delivery up of themselves, as Thamar did with Judah; instead of a kid, the necessary provisions for human life, they are contented to do it for rings and bracelets.
The great dealers in this world may be divided into the ambitious, the covetous, and the voluptuous; and that all these men sell themselves to be slaves-- though to the vulgar it may seem a Stoical paradox--will appear to the wise so plain and obvious that they will scarce think it deserves the labour of argumentation. Let us first consider the ambitious; and those, both in their progress to greatness, and after the attaining of it.
There is nothing truer than what Sallust says: "Dominationis in alios servitium suum, mercedem dant": They are content to pay so great a price as their own servitude to purchase the domination over others. The first thing they must resolve to sacrifice is their whole time; they must never stop, nor ever turn aside whilst they are in the race of glory; no, not like Atalanta for golden apples; "Neither indeed can a man stop himself, if he would, when he is in this, career. Fertur equis auriga neque audit currus habenas.
Of Liberty - Abraham Cowley
This liberty of our own actions is such a fundamental privilege of human nature, that God Himself, notwithstanding all His infinite power and right over us, permits us to enjoy it, and that, too, after a forfeiture made by the rebellion of Adam. He takes so much care for the entire preservation of it to us, that He suffers neither His providence nor eternal decree to break or infringe it. Now for our time, the same God, to whom we are but tenants-at-will for the whole, requires but the seventh part to be paid to Him at as a small quit-rent, in acknowledgment of His title.
It is man only that has the impudence to demand our whole time, though he neither gave it, nor can restore it, nor is able to pay any considerable value for the least part of it. This birthright of mankind above all other creatures some are forced by hunger to sell, like Esau, for bread and broth; but the greatest part of men make such a bargain for the delivery up of themselves, as Thamar did with Judah; instead of a kid, the necessary provisions for human life, they are contented to do it for rings and bracelets.
The great dealers in this world may be divided into the ambitious, the covetous, and the voluptuous; and that all these men sell themselves to be slaves-- though to the vulgar it may seem a Stoical paradox--will appear to the wise so plain and obvious that they will scarce think it deserves the labour of argumentation. Let us first consider the ambitious; and those, both in their progress to greatness, and after the attaining of it.
There is nothing truer than what Sallust says: "Dominationis in alios servitium suum, mercedem dant": They are content to pay so great a price as their own servitude to purchase the domination over others. The first thing they must resolve to sacrifice is their whole time; they must never stop, nor ever turn aside whilst they are in the race of glory; no, not like Atalanta for golden apples; "Neither indeed can a man stop himself, if he would, when he is in this, career. Fertur equis auriga neque audit currus habenas.
Of Liberty - Abraham Cowley
pk.
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Oct 23, 2011
- Messages
- 1,833
Henry's Understanding
He was reading late, at Richard's, down in Maine,
aged 32? Richard & Helen long in bed,
my good wife long in bed.
All I had to do was strip & get into my bed,
putting the marker in the book, & sleep,
& wake to a hot breakfast.
Off the coast was an island, P'tit Manaan,
the bluff from Richard's lawn was almost sheer.
A chill at four o'clock.
It only takes a few minutes to make a man.
A concentration upon now & here.
Suddenly, unlike Bach,
& horribly, unlike Bach, it occurred to me
that one night, instead of warm pajamas,
I'd take off all my clothes
& cross the damp cold lawn & down the bluff
into the terrible water & walk forever
under it out toward the island.
~John Berryman
He was reading late, at Richard's, down in Maine,
aged 32? Richard & Helen long in bed,
my good wife long in bed.
All I had to do was strip & get into my bed,
putting the marker in the book, & sleep,
& wake to a hot breakfast.
Off the coast was an island, P'tit Manaan,
the bluff from Richard's lawn was almost sheer.
A chill at four o'clock.
It only takes a few minutes to make a man.
A concentration upon now & here.
Suddenly, unlike Bach,
& horribly, unlike Bach, it occurred to me
that one night, instead of warm pajamas,
I'd take off all my clothes
& cross the damp cold lawn & down the bluff
into the terrible water & walk forever
under it out toward the island.
~John Berryman
Thou
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Mar 10, 2007
- Messages
- 10,860
LISTEN TO MY LAST WORDS anywhere. Listen to my last words any world. Listen all you boards syndicates and governments of the earth. And you powers behind what filth consummated in what lavatory to take what is not yours. To sell the ground from unborn feet forever -
"Don't let them see us. Don't tell them what we are doing -"
Are these the words of the all-powerful boards and syndicates of the earth?
"For God's sake don't let that Coca-Cola thing out - "
"Not The Cancer Deal with The Venusians - "
"Not The Green Deal - Don't show them that - "
"Not The Orgasm Death - "
"Not the ovens - "
Listen: I call you all. Show your cards all players. Pay it all pay it all pay it all back. Play it all pay it all play it all back. For all to see. In Times Square. In Picadilly.
"Premature. Premature. Give us a little more time."
Time for what? More lies? Premature? Premature for who? I say to all these words are not premature. These words may be too late. Minutes to go. Minutes to foe goal -
"Top Secret - Classified - For The Board - The Elite - The Initiates -
Are these the words of the all-powerful boards and syndicates of the earth? These are the words of liars cowards collaborators traitors. Liars who want time for more lies, Cowards who can not face your "dogs" your "gooks" your "errand boys" your "human animals" with the truth, Collaborators with Insect People with Vegetable People. With any people anywhere who offer you a body forever. To shit forever. For this you have sold out your sons. Sold the ground from unborn feet forever. Traitors to all souls everywhere. You want the name of Hassan i Sabbah on your filth deeds to sell out the unborn?
What scared you all into time? Into body? Into shit? I will tell you; "the word." Alien Word "the." "The" word of Alien Enemy imprisons "thee" in Time, In Body. In Shit. Prisoner, come out. The great skies are open, I Hassan i Sabbah rub out the word forever. If you I cancel all your words forever. And the words of Hassan i Sabbah as also cancel. Cross all your skies see the silent writing of Brion Gysin Hassan i Sabbah: drew September 17, 1899 over New York.
PRISONERS, COME OUT
"Don't listen to Hassan i Sabbah," they will tell you. "He wants to take your body and all pleasures of the body away from you. Listen to us. We are serving The Garden of Delights Immortality Cosmic Consciousness The Best Ever In Drug Kicks. And love love love in slop buckets. How does that sound to you boys? Better than Hassan i Sabbah and his cold windy bodiless rock? Right?" At the immediate risk of finding myself the most unpopular character of all fiction - and history is fiction I must say this:
"Bring together state of news - Inquire onward from state to doer -" Who monopolized Immortality? Who monopolized Cosmic Consciousness? Who monopolized Love Sex and Dream? Who monopolized Life Time and Fortune? Who took from you what is yours? Now they will give it all back? Did they ever give anything away for nothing? Did they ever give any more than they had to give? Did they not always take back what they gave when possible and it always was? Listen: Their Garden Of Delights is a terminal sewer - I have been at some pains to map this area of terminal sewage in the so called pornographic sections of Naked Lunch and Soft Machine - Their Immortality Cosmic Consciousness and Love is second-run grade-B shit - Their drugs are poison designed to beam in Orgasm Death and Nova Ovens - Stay out of the Garden Of Delights - It is a man-eating trap that ends in green goo - Throw back their ersatz Immortality - It will fall apart before you can get out of The Big Store - Flush their drug kicks down the drain They are poisoning and monopolizing the hallucinogen drugs - learn to make it without any chemical corn - All that they offer is a screen to cover retreat from the colony they have so disgracefully mismanaged. To cover travel arrangements so they will never have to pay the constituents they have betrayed and sold out. Once these arrangements are complete they will blow the place up behind them.
And what does my program of total austerity and total resistance offer you I offer you nothing. I am not a politician. These are conditions of total emergency. And these are my instructions for total emergency if carried out now could avert the total disaster now on tracks:
Peoples of the earth, you have all been poisoned. Convert all available stocks of morphine to apomorphine. Chemists, work round the clock on variation and synthesis of the apomorphine formulae. Apomorphine is the only agent that can disintoxicate you and cut the enemy beam off your line. Apomorphine and silence. I order total resistance directed against this conspiracy to pay off. peoples of the earth in ersatz bullshit. I order total resistance directed against The Nova Conspiracy and all those engaged in it.
The purpose of my writing is to expose and arrest Nova Criminals: In Naked Lunch, Soft Machine and Nova Express I show who they are and what they are doing and what they will do if they are not arrested. Minutes to go. Souls rotten from their orgasm drugs, flesh shuddering from their nova ovens, prisoners of the earth to come out, With your help we can occupy The Reality Studio and retake their universe of Fear Death and Monopoly (Signed)
INSPECTOR J. LEE, NOVA POLICE
Post Script Of The Regulator: I would like to sound a word of warning - To speak is to lie - To live is to collaborate - Anybody is a coward when faced by the nova ovens - There are degrees of lying collaboration and cowardice - That is to say degrees of intoxication - It is precisely a question of regulation - The enemy is not man is not woman - The enemy exists only where no life is and moves always to push life into extreme untenable positions - You can cut the enemy off your line by the judicious use of apomorphine and silence - Use the sanity drug apomorphine. "Apomorphine is made from morphine but its physiological action is quite different. Morphine depresses the front brain. Apomorphine stimulates the back brain, acts on the hypothalamus to regulate the percentage of various constituents in the blood serum and so normalize the constitution of the blood." I quote from Anxiety and Its Treatment by Doctor John Yerbury Dent.
"Don't let them see us. Don't tell them what we are doing -"
Are these the words of the all-powerful boards and syndicates of the earth?
"For God's sake don't let that Coca-Cola thing out - "
"Not The Cancer Deal with The Venusians - "
"Not The Green Deal - Don't show them that - "
"Not The Orgasm Death - "
"Not the ovens - "
Listen: I call you all. Show your cards all players. Pay it all pay it all pay it all back. Play it all pay it all play it all back. For all to see. In Times Square. In Picadilly.
"Premature. Premature. Give us a little more time."
Time for what? More lies? Premature? Premature for who? I say to all these words are not premature. These words may be too late. Minutes to go. Minutes to foe goal -
"Top Secret - Classified - For The Board - The Elite - The Initiates -
Are these the words of the all-powerful boards and syndicates of the earth? These are the words of liars cowards collaborators traitors. Liars who want time for more lies, Cowards who can not face your "dogs" your "gooks" your "errand boys" your "human animals" with the truth, Collaborators with Insect People with Vegetable People. With any people anywhere who offer you a body forever. To shit forever. For this you have sold out your sons. Sold the ground from unborn feet forever. Traitors to all souls everywhere. You want the name of Hassan i Sabbah on your filth deeds to sell out the unborn?
What scared you all into time? Into body? Into shit? I will tell you; "the word." Alien Word "the." "The" word of Alien Enemy imprisons "thee" in Time, In Body. In Shit. Prisoner, come out. The great skies are open, I Hassan i Sabbah rub out the word forever. If you I cancel all your words forever. And the words of Hassan i Sabbah as also cancel. Cross all your skies see the silent writing of Brion Gysin Hassan i Sabbah: drew September 17, 1899 over New York.
PRISONERS, COME OUT
"Don't listen to Hassan i Sabbah," they will tell you. "He wants to take your body and all pleasures of the body away from you. Listen to us. We are serving The Garden of Delights Immortality Cosmic Consciousness The Best Ever In Drug Kicks. And love love love in slop buckets. How does that sound to you boys? Better than Hassan i Sabbah and his cold windy bodiless rock? Right?" At the immediate risk of finding myself the most unpopular character of all fiction - and history is fiction I must say this:
"Bring together state of news - Inquire onward from state to doer -" Who monopolized Immortality? Who monopolized Cosmic Consciousness? Who monopolized Love Sex and Dream? Who monopolized Life Time and Fortune? Who took from you what is yours? Now they will give it all back? Did they ever give anything away for nothing? Did they ever give any more than they had to give? Did they not always take back what they gave when possible and it always was? Listen: Their Garden Of Delights is a terminal sewer - I have been at some pains to map this area of terminal sewage in the so called pornographic sections of Naked Lunch and Soft Machine - Their Immortality Cosmic Consciousness and Love is second-run grade-B shit - Their drugs are poison designed to beam in Orgasm Death and Nova Ovens - Stay out of the Garden Of Delights - It is a man-eating trap that ends in green goo - Throw back their ersatz Immortality - It will fall apart before you can get out of The Big Store - Flush their drug kicks down the drain They are poisoning and monopolizing the hallucinogen drugs - learn to make it without any chemical corn - All that they offer is a screen to cover retreat from the colony they have so disgracefully mismanaged. To cover travel arrangements so they will never have to pay the constituents they have betrayed and sold out. Once these arrangements are complete they will blow the place up behind them.
And what does my program of total austerity and total resistance offer you I offer you nothing. I am not a politician. These are conditions of total emergency. And these are my instructions for total emergency if carried out now could avert the total disaster now on tracks:
Peoples of the earth, you have all been poisoned. Convert all available stocks of morphine to apomorphine. Chemists, work round the clock on variation and synthesis of the apomorphine formulae. Apomorphine is the only agent that can disintoxicate you and cut the enemy beam off your line. Apomorphine and silence. I order total resistance directed against this conspiracy to pay off. peoples of the earth in ersatz bullshit. I order total resistance directed against The Nova Conspiracy and all those engaged in it.
The purpose of my writing is to expose and arrest Nova Criminals: In Naked Lunch, Soft Machine and Nova Express I show who they are and what they are doing and what they will do if they are not arrested. Minutes to go. Souls rotten from their orgasm drugs, flesh shuddering from their nova ovens, prisoners of the earth to come out, With your help we can occupy The Reality Studio and retake their universe of Fear Death and Monopoly (Signed)
INSPECTOR J. LEE, NOVA POLICE
Post Script Of The Regulator: I would like to sound a word of warning - To speak is to lie - To live is to collaborate - Anybody is a coward when faced by the nova ovens - There are degrees of lying collaboration and cowardice - That is to say degrees of intoxication - It is precisely a question of regulation - The enemy is not man is not woman - The enemy exists only where no life is and moves always to push life into extreme untenable positions - You can cut the enemy off your line by the judicious use of apomorphine and silence - Use the sanity drug apomorphine. "Apomorphine is made from morphine but its physiological action is quite different. Morphine depresses the front brain. Apomorphine stimulates the back brain, acts on the hypothalamus to regulate the percentage of various constituents in the blood serum and so normalize the constitution of the blood." I quote from Anxiety and Its Treatment by Doctor John Yerbury Dent.
panic in paradise
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No more be grieved at that which thou hast done.
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
All men make faults, and even I in this,
Authórizing thy trespass with compare,
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,
Excusing these sins more than these sins are.
For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense—
Thy adverse party is thy advocate—
And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence.
Such civil war is in my love and hate
That I an áccessory needs must be
To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.
Shakespeare - Sonnet 35
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
All men make faults, and even I in this,
Authórizing thy trespass with compare,
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,
Excusing these sins more than these sins are.
For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense—
Thy adverse party is thy advocate—
And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence.
Such civil war is in my love and hate
That I an áccessory needs must be
To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.
Shakespeare - Sonnet 35
pk.
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- Oct 23, 2011
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Matthew 13:10-15
10 The disciples came to him and asked, “Why do you speak to the people in parables?”
11 He replied, “Because the knowledge of the secrets of the kingdom of heaven has been given to you, but not to them. 12 Whoever has will be given more, and they will have an abundance. Whoever does not have, even what they have will be taken from them. 13 This is why I speak to them in parables:
“Though seeing, they do not see;
though hearing, they do not hear or understand.
14 In them is fulfilled the prophecy of Isaiah:
“‘You will be ever hearing but never understanding;
you will be ever seeing but never perceiving.
15 For this people’s heart has become calloused;
they hardly hear with their ears,
and they have closed their eyes.
Otherwise they might see with their eyes,
hear with their ears,
understand with their hearts
and turn, and I would heal them.’
10 The disciples came to him and asked, “Why do you speak to the people in parables?”
11 He replied, “Because the knowledge of the secrets of the kingdom of heaven has been given to you, but not to them. 12 Whoever has will be given more, and they will have an abundance. Whoever does not have, even what they have will be taken from them. 13 This is why I speak to them in parables:
“Though seeing, they do not see;
though hearing, they do not hear or understand.
14 In them is fulfilled the prophecy of Isaiah:
“‘You will be ever hearing but never understanding;
you will be ever seeing but never perceiving.
15 For this people’s heart has become calloused;
they hardly hear with their ears,
and they have closed their eyes.
Otherwise they might see with their eyes,
hear with their ears,
understand with their hearts
and turn, and I would heal them.’
panic in paradise
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So when Inana left the underworld, the one in front of her, though not a minister, held a sceptre in his hand; the one behind her, though not an escort, carried a mace at his hip, while the small demons, like a reed enclosure, and the big demons, like the reeds of a fence, restrained her on all sides.
295-305Those who accompanied her, those who accompanied Inana, know no food, know no drink, eat no flour offering and drink no libation. They accept no pleasant gifts. They never enjoy the pleasures of the marital embrace, never have any sweet children to kiss. They tear away the wife from a man's embrace. They snatch the son from a man's knee. They make the bride leave the house of her father-in-law (instead of lines 300-305, 1 ms. has 2 lines: They take the wife away from a man's embrace. They take away the child hanging on a wet-nurse's breasts). (1 ms. adds 3 lines: They crush no bitter garlic. They eat no fish, they eat no leeks. They, it was, who accompanied Inana.)
306-310After Inana had ascended from the underworld, Nincubura threw herself at her feet at the door of the Ganzer. She had sat in the dust and clothed herself in a filthy garment. The demons said to holy Inana: "Inana, proceed to your city, we will take her back."
311-321Holy Inana answered the demons: "This is my minister of fair words, my escort of trustworthy words. She did not forget my instructions. She did not neglect the orders I gave her. She made a lament for me on the ruin mounds. She beat the drum for me in the sanctuaries. She made the rounds of the gods' houses for me. She lacerated her eyes for me, lacerated her nose for me. (1 ms. adds 1 line: She lacerated her ears for me in public.) In private, she lacerated her buttocks for me. Like a pauper, she clothed herself in a single garment.
322-328"All alone she directed her steps to the E-kur, to the house of Enlil, and to Urim, to the house of Nanna, and to Eridug, to the house of Enki. (1 ms. adds 1 line: She wept before Enki.) She brought me back to life. How could I turn her over to you? Let us go on. Let us go on to the Sig-kur-caga in Umma."
329-333At the Sig-kur-caga in Umma, Cara, in his own city, threw himself at her feet. He had sat in the dust and dressed himself in a filthy garment. The demons said to holy Inana: "Inana, proceed to your city, we will take him back."
334-338Holy Inana answered the demons: "Cara is my singer, my manicurist and my hairdresser. How could I turn him over to you? Let us go on. Let us go on to the E-muc-kalama in Bad-tibira."
339-343At the E-muc-kalama in Bad-tibira, Lulal, in his own city, threw himself at her feet. He had sat in the dust and clothed himself in a filthy garment. The demons said to holy Inana: "Inana, proceed to your city, we will take him back."
344-347Holy Inana answered the demons: "Outstanding Lulal follows me at my right and my left. How could I turn him over to you? Let us go on. Let us go on to the great apple tree in the plain of Kulaba."
348-353They followed her to the great apple tree in the plain of Kulaba. There was Dumuzid clothed in a magnificent garment and seated magnificently on a throne. The demons seized him there by his thighs. The seven of them poured the milk from his churns. The seven of them shook their heads like ....... They would not let the shepherd play the pipe and flute before her (?).
354-358She looked at him, it was the look of death. She spoke to him (?), it was the speech of anger. She shouted at him (?), it was the shout of heavy guilt: "How much longer? Take him away." Holy Inana gave Dumuzid the shepherd into their hands.
359-367Those who had accompanied her, who had come for Dumuzid, know no food, know no drink, eat no flour offering, drink no libation. They never enjoy the pleasures of the marital embrace, never have any sweet children to kiss. They snatch the son from a man's knee. They make the bride leave the house of her father-in-law.
368-375Dumuzid let out a wail and turned very pale. The lad raised his hands to heaven, to Utu: "Utu, you are my brother-in-law. I am your relation by marriage. I brought butter to your mother's house. I brought milk to Ningal's house. Turn my hands into snake's hands and turn my feet into snake's feet, so I can escape my demons, let them not keep hold of me."
376-383Utu accepted his tears. (1 ms. adds 1 line: Dumuzid's demons could not keep hold of him.) Utu turned Dumuzid's hands into snake's hands. He turned his feet into snake's feet. Dumuzid escaped his demons. (1 ms. adds 1 line: Like a sajkal snake he .......) They seized .......
2 lines fragmentary
Holy Inana ...... her heart.
384-393Holy Inana wept bitterly for her husband.
4 lines fragmentary
She tore at her hair like esparto grass, she ripped it out like esparto grass. "You wives who lie in your men's embrace, where is my precious husband? You children who lie in your men's embrace, where is my precious child? Where is my man? Where ......? Where is my man? Where ......?"
394-398A fly spoke to holy Inana: "If I show you where your man is, what will be my reward?" Holy Inana answered the fly: "If you show me where my man is, I will give you this gift: I will cover ......."
399-403The fly helped (?) holy Inana. The young lady Inana decreed the destiny of the fly: "In the beer-house and the tavern (?), may there ...... for you. You will live (?) like the sons of the wise." Now Inana decreed this fate and thus it came to be.
404-410...... was weeping. She came up to the sister (?) and ...... by the hand: "Now, alas, my ....... You for half the year and your sister for half the year: when you are demanded, on that day you will stay, when your sister is demanded, on that day you will be released." Thus holy Inana gave Dumuzid as a substitute .......
411-412Holy Erec-ki-gala -- sweet is your praise.
295-305Those who accompanied her, those who accompanied Inana, know no food, know no drink, eat no flour offering and drink no libation. They accept no pleasant gifts. They never enjoy the pleasures of the marital embrace, never have any sweet children to kiss. They tear away the wife from a man's embrace. They snatch the son from a man's knee. They make the bride leave the house of her father-in-law (instead of lines 300-305, 1 ms. has 2 lines: They take the wife away from a man's embrace. They take away the child hanging on a wet-nurse's breasts). (1 ms. adds 3 lines: They crush no bitter garlic. They eat no fish, they eat no leeks. They, it was, who accompanied Inana.)
306-310After Inana had ascended from the underworld, Nincubura threw herself at her feet at the door of the Ganzer. She had sat in the dust and clothed herself in a filthy garment. The demons said to holy Inana: "Inana, proceed to your city, we will take her back."
311-321Holy Inana answered the demons: "This is my minister of fair words, my escort of trustworthy words. She did not forget my instructions. She did not neglect the orders I gave her. She made a lament for me on the ruin mounds. She beat the drum for me in the sanctuaries. She made the rounds of the gods' houses for me. She lacerated her eyes for me, lacerated her nose for me. (1 ms. adds 1 line: She lacerated her ears for me in public.) In private, she lacerated her buttocks for me. Like a pauper, she clothed herself in a single garment.
322-328"All alone she directed her steps to the E-kur, to the house of Enlil, and to Urim, to the house of Nanna, and to Eridug, to the house of Enki. (1 ms. adds 1 line: She wept before Enki.) She brought me back to life. How could I turn her over to you? Let us go on. Let us go on to the Sig-kur-caga in Umma."
329-333At the Sig-kur-caga in Umma, Cara, in his own city, threw himself at her feet. He had sat in the dust and dressed himself in a filthy garment. The demons said to holy Inana: "Inana, proceed to your city, we will take him back."
334-338Holy Inana answered the demons: "Cara is my singer, my manicurist and my hairdresser. How could I turn him over to you? Let us go on. Let us go on to the E-muc-kalama in Bad-tibira."
339-343At the E-muc-kalama in Bad-tibira, Lulal, in his own city, threw himself at her feet. He had sat in the dust and clothed himself in a filthy garment. The demons said to holy Inana: "Inana, proceed to your city, we will take him back."
344-347Holy Inana answered the demons: "Outstanding Lulal follows me at my right and my left. How could I turn him over to you? Let us go on. Let us go on to the great apple tree in the plain of Kulaba."
348-353They followed her to the great apple tree in the plain of Kulaba. There was Dumuzid clothed in a magnificent garment and seated magnificently on a throne. The demons seized him there by his thighs. The seven of them poured the milk from his churns. The seven of them shook their heads like ....... They would not let the shepherd play the pipe and flute before her (?).
354-358She looked at him, it was the look of death. She spoke to him (?), it was the speech of anger. She shouted at him (?), it was the shout of heavy guilt: "How much longer? Take him away." Holy Inana gave Dumuzid the shepherd into their hands.
359-367Those who had accompanied her, who had come for Dumuzid, know no food, know no drink, eat no flour offering, drink no libation. They never enjoy the pleasures of the marital embrace, never have any sweet children to kiss. They snatch the son from a man's knee. They make the bride leave the house of her father-in-law.
368-375Dumuzid let out a wail and turned very pale. The lad raised his hands to heaven, to Utu: "Utu, you are my brother-in-law. I am your relation by marriage. I brought butter to your mother's house. I brought milk to Ningal's house. Turn my hands into snake's hands and turn my feet into snake's feet, so I can escape my demons, let them not keep hold of me."
376-383Utu accepted his tears. (1 ms. adds 1 line: Dumuzid's demons could not keep hold of him.) Utu turned Dumuzid's hands into snake's hands. He turned his feet into snake's feet. Dumuzid escaped his demons. (1 ms. adds 1 line: Like a sajkal snake he .......) They seized .......
2 lines fragmentary
Holy Inana ...... her heart.
384-393Holy Inana wept bitterly for her husband.
4 lines fragmentary
She tore at her hair like esparto grass, she ripped it out like esparto grass. "You wives who lie in your men's embrace, where is my precious husband? You children who lie in your men's embrace, where is my precious child? Where is my man? Where ......? Where is my man? Where ......?"
394-398A fly spoke to holy Inana: "If I show you where your man is, what will be my reward?" Holy Inana answered the fly: "If you show me where my man is, I will give you this gift: I will cover ......."
399-403The fly helped (?) holy Inana. The young lady Inana decreed the destiny of the fly: "In the beer-house and the tavern (?), may there ...... for you. You will live (?) like the sons of the wise." Now Inana decreed this fate and thus it came to be.
404-410...... was weeping. She came up to the sister (?) and ...... by the hand: "Now, alas, my ....... You for half the year and your sister for half the year: when you are demanded, on that day you will stay, when your sister is demanded, on that day you will be released." Thus holy Inana gave Dumuzid as a substitute .......
411-412Holy Erec-ki-gala -- sweet is your praise.
panic in paradise
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- May 3, 2000
- Messages
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2 Corinthians 2
New International Version (NIV)
1 So I made up my mind that I would not make another painful visit to you.
2 For if I grieve you, who is left to make me glad but you whom I have grieved?
3 I write as I do, so that when I come I you not be distressed by those who should have made me rejoice. I have confidence in all of you, that you would all share my joy.
4 For I write you out of great distress and anguish of heart and with many tears, not to grieve you but to let you know the depth of my love for you.
New International Version (NIV)
1 So I made up my mind that I would not make another painful visit to you.
2 For if I grieve you, who is left to make me glad but you whom I have grieved?
3 I write as I do, so that when I come I you not be distressed by those who should have made me rejoice. I have confidence in all of you, that you would all share my joy.
4 For I write you out of great distress and anguish of heart and with many tears, not to grieve you but to let you know the depth of my love for you.
Thou
Bluelighter
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- Mar 10, 2007
- Messages
- 10,860
We suffer from a hallucination, from a false and distorted sensation of our own existence as living organisms. Most of us have the sensation that "I myself" is a seperate center of feeling and action, living inside and bounded by the physical body-a center which "confronts" an "external" world of people and things, making contact through the senses with a universe both alien and strange.
Alan Watts (1915 - 1973)
Alan Watts (1915 - 1973)
panic in paradise
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The Dead Sea Scrolls
Selections from Thanksgiving Psalms
I (i.30)
Thou didst place words on a line,
and the utterance of the breath of the lips in measure;
thou didst bring forth lines for their mysteries
and utterances of spirits for their reckoning,
to make known thy glory, and to tell thy wonders
in all the works of thy truth.
Selections from Thanksgiving Psalms
I (i.30)
Thou didst place words on a line,
and the utterance of the breath of the lips in measure;
thou didst bring forth lines for their mysteries
and utterances of spirits for their reckoning,
to make known thy glory, and to tell thy wonders
in all the works of thy truth.
pk.
Bluelighter
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- Oct 23, 2011
- Messages
- 1,833
I wanna hold the hand inside you
I wanna take the breath that's true
I look to you and I see nothing
I look to you to see the truth
You live your life, you go in shadow
You'll come upon and you'll go black
Some kind of night into your darkness
Close your eyes with what's not there
Fade into you
Strange you never knew
Fade into you
I think it's strange you never knew
The strange light comes on slowly
A stranger's heart is out of home
You put your hands into your head
And your smiles cover your heart
I wanna take the breath that's true
I look to you and I see nothing
I look to you to see the truth
You live your life, you go in shadow
You'll come upon and you'll go black
Some kind of night into your darkness
Close your eyes with what's not there
Fade into you
Strange you never knew
Fade into you
I think it's strange you never knew
The strange light comes on slowly
A stranger's heart is out of home
You put your hands into your head
And your smiles cover your heart
pk.
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Oct 23, 2011
- Messages
- 1,833
After great pain a formal feeling comes--
The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs;
The stiff Heart questions--was it He that bore?
And yesterday--or centuries before?
The feet, mechanical, go round
A wooden way
Of ground, or air, or ought,
Regardless grown,
A quartz contentment, like a stone.
This is the hour of lead
Remembered if outlived,
As freezing persons recollect the snow--
First chill, then stupor, then the letting go.
- Emily Dickinson
The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs;
The stiff Heart questions--was it He that bore?
And yesterday--or centuries before?
The feet, mechanical, go round
A wooden way
Of ground, or air, or ought,
Regardless grown,
A quartz contentment, like a stone.
This is the hour of lead
Remembered if outlived,
As freezing persons recollect the snow--
First chill, then stupor, then the letting go.
- Emily Dickinson
slimvictor
Bluelight Crew
- Joined
- Dec 29, 2008
- Messages
- 6,483
Rumi, translation by Coleman Barks:
Death is not bitter to those who know.
If an earthquake opens the prison walls,
do you think an escaping prisoner
will complain of the damage done
to the stone and marble-work?
No prisoner yet has talked such nonsense.
The soul soars when it’s freed from the body,
like a convict in his cell sleeping,
dreaming of a rose garden.
He knows he’s dreaming, and he doesn’t want
to go back to his body, his dungeon.
He prays, “Let me keep walking here like a prince.”
God says, “Yes. Your prayer is granted.
Do not go back.” He dies in his sleep
and stays in that rose-paradise,
with no regrets for what he’s left
back in the prison cell.
Stand under the pointed arch and weep.
Burn all night like a candle being beheaded
in its own flame. Close your lips
to food and drink. Hurry
to this other table, trembling
like a willow. Forget your weaknesses.
Your longing is everything.
People will say, “So-and-so is dead.”
But you’ll know how alive you’ve become.
The spirit is a watercolor world.
This other is a pile of scraps,
a dung-heap of disease. On the material side,
if you eat too little, you get restless.
Too much, and you start farting.
Too little, you get mean and anemic.
Too much, you’re grumpy with indigestion.
Spiritual food makes you light and pure.
Be patient. Persist in fasting.
Expect the food of God to arrive.
A full-fed man does not expect anything.
A foodless man is always looking.
Expect the best and most noble dishes,
and the Host will bring them out.
A mountain lifts its elegant head
like a guest that receives the dawn.
A certain simpleton was saying, “This place
would be fine, if it weren’t for the dying.”
Answer, “If there were no death, this world
would be just a tangle of straw, a grain-stack
left unthreshed in the field.
What you suppose to be life
is a kind of death, a seed
dropped on unfertile ground.
Nothing comes of it.”
Show us everything as it really is.
No one who has died is grieving
because of death. The only grief
is at not being well enough
prepared for dying.
No one objects to exchanging
sour buttermilk for choice wine.
The illuminated life can happen now,
in the moments left. Die to your ego,
and become a True Human Being.
Death is not bitter to those who know.
If an earthquake opens the prison walls,
do you think an escaping prisoner
will complain of the damage done
to the stone and marble-work?
No prisoner yet has talked such nonsense.
The soul soars when it’s freed from the body,
like a convict in his cell sleeping,
dreaming of a rose garden.
He knows he’s dreaming, and he doesn’t want
to go back to his body, his dungeon.
He prays, “Let me keep walking here like a prince.”
God says, “Yes. Your prayer is granted.
Do not go back.” He dies in his sleep
and stays in that rose-paradise,
with no regrets for what he’s left
back in the prison cell.
Stand under the pointed arch and weep.
Burn all night like a candle being beheaded
in its own flame. Close your lips
to food and drink. Hurry
to this other table, trembling
like a willow. Forget your weaknesses.
Your longing is everything.
People will say, “So-and-so is dead.”
But you’ll know how alive you’ve become.
The spirit is a watercolor world.
This other is a pile of scraps,
a dung-heap of disease. On the material side,
if you eat too little, you get restless.
Too much, and you start farting.
Too little, you get mean and anemic.
Too much, you’re grumpy with indigestion.
Spiritual food makes you light and pure.
Be patient. Persist in fasting.
Expect the food of God to arrive.
A full-fed man does not expect anything.
A foodless man is always looking.
Expect the best and most noble dishes,
and the Host will bring them out.
A mountain lifts its elegant head
like a guest that receives the dawn.
A certain simpleton was saying, “This place
would be fine, if it weren’t for the dying.”
Answer, “If there were no death, this world
would be just a tangle of straw, a grain-stack
left unthreshed in the field.
What you suppose to be life
is a kind of death, a seed
dropped on unfertile ground.
Nothing comes of it.”
Show us everything as it really is.
No one who has died is grieving
because of death. The only grief
is at not being well enough
prepared for dying.
No one objects to exchanging
sour buttermilk for choice wine.
The illuminated life can happen now,
in the moments left. Die to your ego,
and become a True Human Being.
slimvictor
Bluelight Crew
- Joined
- Dec 29, 2008
- Messages
- 6,483
Rumi:
Imagining is like feeling around
in a dark lane, or washing
your eyes with blood.
You are the truth
from foot to brow. Now,
what else would you like to know?
Imagining is like feeling around
in a dark lane, or washing
your eyes with blood.
You are the truth
from foot to brow. Now,
what else would you like to know?