Sunday, January 28, 2007

a tide of embarassment overcame me

Friday, January 26, 2007

for want of

Thursday, January 25, 2007

The nuclear phase of the war is given short shrift, as a rather dry account ... some spectacular ecological effects: the Great Lakes have boiled dry

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

The story continues to keep us in the dark by not showing the dialogue, but explaining the reactions.

Friday, January 19, 2007

The Tempest


I prithee,
Remember I have done thee worthy service;
Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, served
Without or grudge or grumblings: thou didst promise
To bate me a full year.


Dost thou forget
From what a torment I did free thee?




Thou dost, and think'st it much to tread the ooze
Of the salt deep,
To run upon the sharp wind of the north,
To do me business in the veins o' the earth
When it is baked with frost.


I do not, sir.


Thou liest, malignant thing! Hast thou forgot
The foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy
Was grown into a hoop? hast thou forgot her?


No, sir.


Thou hast. Where was she born? speak; tell me.


Sir, in Argier.


O, was she so? I must
Once in a month recount what thou hast been,
Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch Sycorax,
For mischiefs manifold and sorceries terrible
To enter human hearing, from Argier,
Thou know'st, was banish'd: for one thing she did
They would not take her life. Is not this true?


Ay, sir.

This blue-eyed hag was hither brought with child
And here was left by the sailors. Thou, my slave,
As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant;
And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate
To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands,
Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee,
By help of her more potent ministers
And in her most unmitigable rage,
Into a cloven pine; within which rift
Imprison'd thou didst painfully remain
A dozen years; within which space she died
And left thee there; where thou didst vent thy groans
As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island--
Save for the son that she did litter here,
A freckled whelp hag-born--not honour'd with
A human shape.


Yes, Caliban her son.


Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban
Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st
What torment I did find thee in; thy groans
Did make wolves howl and penetrate the breasts
Of ever angry bears: it was a torment
To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax
Could not again undo: it was mine art,
When I arrived and heard thee, that made gape
The pine and let thee out.


I thank thee, master.

Sunday, January 14, 2007

I have realised that I am very obsessive in some of my behaviour. ...

over by a decade.

Thursday, January 11, 2007

Beekeepers huddle in meetings, reliving the glory of past harvests.

Observe your surroundings to see if you may be approaching a hive. Slowly move away from any possible nesting ground. Watch your step. ...

Tuesday, January 09, 2007

the apiarist's dream part 3- Ray Ring's view of the matter

Sunday, January 07, 2007

the apiarist's dream -part 2 : the law of authority and obediance

Saturday, January 06, 2007

the apiarist's dream

Monday, January 01, 2007

It has also been said that the villagers are keen on converting that immolation site into a pilgrimage spot, since they expect many visitors