KADDISH- PART1- ALLAN GINSBERG- EXCERPT

Strange now to think of you, gone without corsets & eyes, while I walk on
the sunny pavement of Greenwich Village.
downtown Manhattan, clear winter noon, and I've been up all night, talking,
talking, reading the Kaddish aloud, listening to Ray Charles blues
shout blind on the phonograph
the rhythm the rhythm--and your memory in my head three years after--
And read Adonais' last triumphant stanzas aloud--wept, realizing
how we suffer--
And how Death is that remedy all singers dream of, sing, remember,
prophesy as in the Hebrew Anthem, or the Buddhist Book of An-
swers--and my own imagination of a withered leaf--at dawn--
Dreaming back thru life, Your time--and mine accelerating toward Apoca-
lypse,
the final moment--the flower burning in the Day--and what comes after,
looking back on the mind itself that saw an American city
a flash away, and the great dream of Me or China, or you and a phantom
Russia, or a crumpled bed that never existed--
like a poem in the dark--escaped back to Oblivion--
No more to say, and nothing to weep for but the Beings in the Dream,
trapped in its disappearance,
sighing, screaming with it, buying and selling pieces of phantom, worship-
ping each other,
worshipping the God included in it all--longing or inevitability?--while it
lasts, a Vision--anything more?
It leaps about me, as I go out and walk the street, look back over my shoulder,
Seventh Avenue, the battlements of window office buildings shoul-
dering each other high, under a cloud, tall as the sky an instant--and
the sky above--an old blue place.
or down the Avenue to the south, to--as I walk toward the Lower East Side
--where you walked 50 years ago, little girl--from Russia, eating the
first poisonous tomatoes of America frightened on the dock
then struggling in the crowds of Orchard Street toward what?--toward
Newark--
toward candy store, first home-made sodas of the century, hand-churned ice
cream in backroom on musty brownfloor boards--
Toward education marriage nervous breakdown, operation, teaching school,
and learning to be mad, in a dream--what is this life?
Toward the Key in the window--and the great Key lays its head of light
on top of Manhattan, and over the floor, and lays down on the
sidewalk--in a single vast beam, moving, as I walk down First toward
the Yiddish Theater--and the place of poverty
you knew, and I know, but without caring now--Strange to have moved
thru Paterson, and the West, and Europe and here again,
with the cries of Spaniards now in the doorstops doors and dark boys on
the street, firs escapes old as you
--Tho you're not old now, that's left here with me--
Myself, anyhow, maybe as old as the universe--and I guess that dies with
us--enough to cancel all that comes--What came is gone forever
every time--
That's good!That leaves it open for no regret--no fear radiators, lacklove,
torture even toothache in the end--
Though while it comes it is a lion that eats the soul--and the lamb, the soul,
in us, alas, offering itself in sacrifice to change's fierce hunger--hair
and teeth--and the roar of bonepain, skull bare, break rib, rot-skin,
braintricked Implacability.

FEAR AND TRUST

Very frequently when I enter the elevator of our apartment building, there stands a woman with a small barking dog on a leash. Most often the woman is restraining the dog and apologetically reassuring me, "don't worry he is quite harmless; he doesn't bite."

I usually respond, " ma'am, I can assure you that in an elevator, I am much more frightened by the lady than the dog."

Moral Ambiguity

A story told to me by a business associate and a holocaust survivor. The year was 1942, during the height of the second world war. Sam was around 10 years old and was originally from Cracow Poland. During the round up of Jews, Sam somehow fled the city and was able to gaint refuge in a farm house in the outskirts. He was hidden in the attic of the farm house where he remained several months.
One day the farmer told him that he had received a report that the Gestapo was instituting a search of all the farm houses in the area looking for Jews. Sam was instructed to hide in the barn. When the Gestapo entered the barn, Sam jumped into a large oil barrel where he crouched down, attempting to remain as quiet as possible. He peered up only to see a Gestapo officer directing his flashlight into the Barrel. the officer then shouted in German to his comrades, “No one here”.
Being a member of the Gestapo, involved being ruthless, a dedicated Nazi and highly antisemitic. Yet with all these attributes,this one individual somehow was able to muster a sense of pity and compassion to act as he had.
This is a very good example of moral ambiguity

Definition of a Canadian

Someone who has sex in a canoe.

The Girlfriend Experience -A mini review

Viewed- June 28th, 2009

The semi improvisational style of this film has an immediate appeal. It has an authentic air almost too real - too honest to accept as fictional. Life as a deal, an negotiated transaction, is the pervading theme. With the talk of economic meltdown as a background melody we are struck by the profound sadness of the lives of all the characters depicted. A thoroughly asexual movie where the act of lovemaking is relegated to a mechanical, almost technical activity drained of any emotional content.. Beautifully filmed, the visuals are bordering on the surreal and minimilist. Minimilist might also describe the acting if you wish to describe what is depicted here as acting. This is certainly not for everyone.

Eulogy for a dead golden retriever.

IN LOVING MEMORYI woke up this morning and my shadow was gone.For 13 years I have had the honour of loving thisspecial being. Indy. He was brought into my life by sheer fate and it is hard for me to express the gratitude that I feel for his presence in my life. He has walked many roads, swam in many streams and lakes and has left his golden fleece in many homes. I have since realized that I am proud of his character,his behaviour , his attitude, the way he loved EVERYBODY (well, almost, his barking at the Publi-sac carriers is a testament to his dislike of needless flyers). I felt pride for witnessing within him the reflections of my ideals.He was a very precious and rare soul.

And thank you, Indy. Thank you for being in our lives.Thank you for every wag,every lick, every look. I willmiss the thudding of your tail as I approach, the unexpected thud as you timbered to the ground to sleep,your muffled barks as you slept, your smell, the softness of your ears. The void you have left goes deep but it is filled with the friends you have made,many happy memories and you have taught me many things, the most important being that pure love does exist. Rest now,be well BuddhaBear.

John Greenlief Whittier

For of all sad words of tongue
or pen

The saddest are these ," It might
have been!"