Touch me deep...

[Byron In Exile]

But I'm not likely to meet a native American, of questionable lineage to his tribe, with that name.

I do remember that he was outcast because of racism, though.

His "mixture" was not "respected."

The native Americans were more racist than the later Americans, apparently.

Racism transcends race, it would seem.

Yet he guided William Blake as far as he was able, even had him built a sea-going canoe.

And saved him tobacco for the voyage.

It would appear that he had tobacco for William Blake's voyage on his mind the whole time.

That touched me deeply.

 

[Byron In Exile]

I did not mean to give offense.

Perhaps this interpretation is not respected anonsgt my people.Oof!

 

[bluebell]

There's a passage in Job that says "Death is naked before God." It has always struck me.

It's vulnerable enough to be laid bare in front of someone who can see you fully for what you are; the heights and the depths, the rocky patches, the skinned knees, the timid child, the laughter, and the posturing of adulthood. The strength that comes from being broken. But to be laid bare in such a way that there is no hiding, well, that is probably as vulnerable as it comes.
Death is a weakness and a beauty. And a hurt. And a relief. That passage in Job goes on to speak of God's creation and, sovereignty, I guess, over the waters. Over destruction. I'm not trying to make this spiritual, really, I just want to use it as an example of what it's like to be seen through and taken to task for who we are, and not in a final judgment sort of way.
A seeing of the frail and the strong equally.

It all shows up at death. The whole cast of characters. All your multiple personalities, your masks, your costumes, your nakedness, your arrogance and humility and hurtfulness and hurt-edness, the root of the root of thoughts you claimed had been spoken in daylight (with urging) but that weren't really the whole of it. Those weak, unguarded flanks.
And you're seen.

What if that happened regularly, but with people? And not just God?
Scary relief. But I still want to clutch my death, and not let it go. Apparently prising fingers open is a lifelong work.

 

[Nirvanadragones]

You're on the ride.
You might as well open your eyes.

 

[Byron In Exile]

You're on the ride.
You might as well open your eyes.

Mine are his.

He arranged for me a sea-going canoe.

I had no idea what he was talking about.

 

[Byron In Exile]

He thought I was William Blake, the poet.

I was only Bill Blake, an accountant, who spent everything to get out to the town of Machine, for a job that didn't exist.

 

[Byron In Exile]

Nothing he said made any sense. But why was he here?

 

[Byron In Exile]

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

 

[cloudy]

When you attack a white person, how do they know that you regard them as a symbol of oppression?

They're just a person.

Who says I "attack white people"?

You don't know me, darlin'. I'm white as well as Native. I have as much love for my white father as I do my Native mother.

Don't assume things about me, please.

 

[impressive]

"Allowing a partner to supplement is the greatest love I've seen."

 

[Salvor-Hardon]

"just to get you hot"

 

[Byron In Exile]

Who says I "attack white people"?

You don't know me, darlin'. I'm white as well as Native. I have as much love for my white father as I do my Native mother.

Don't assume things about me, please.

I do apologize, then.

I did not understand you, and beg your pardon.

I don't believe that the United States can succeed as a collection of various tribal grievances.

It's coming apart. There is African-American, and Mexican-American tribal thinking going on right now which essentially asks the question: who will it be, the blacks or the Hispanics that finally put white people in their proper place?

The "unity" Obama talks about is fictional: only white people seem to believe in it.

 

[Byron In Exile]

I feel the need to apologize again for the fact that all four of these men are white.

Strange, but I feel guilty for posting this.

And for the fact they're all men.

And for whatever else I need to apologize for.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uw1bHaUk1CM

But it touched me deep.

 

[inlovewithyourghost]

Sometimes God quitens the storm. Sometimes He lets the storm rage and quitens His child.

 

[Nirvanadragones]

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

~ William Shakespeare

 

[lesbiaphrodite]

Figs
By D.H. Lawrence


The proper way to eat a fig, in society,
Is to split it in four, holding it by the stump,
And open it, so that it is a glittering, rosy, moist, honied, heavy-petalled four-petalled flower.
Then you throw away the skin
Which is just like a four-sepalled calyx,
After you have taken off the blossom with your lips.

But the vulgar way
Is just to put your mouth to the crack, and take out the flesh in one bite.

Every fruit has its secret.

The fig is a very secretive fruit.
As you see it standing growing, you feel at once it is symbolic:
And it seems male.
But when you come to know it better, you agree with the Romans, it is female.

The Italians vulgarly say, it stands for the female part; the fig-fruit:
The fissure, the yoni,
The wonderful moist conductivity towards the centre.

Involved,
Inturned,
The flowering all inward and womb-fibrilled;
And but one orifice.

The fig, the horse-shoe, the squash-blossom.
Symbols.

There was a flower that flowered inward, womb-ward;
Now there is a fruit like a ripe womb.

It was always a secret.
That's how it should be, the female should always be secret.

There never was any standing aloft and unfolded on a bough
Like other flowers, in a revelation of petals;
Silver-pink peach, venetian green glass of medlars and sorb-apples,
Shallow wine-cups on short, bulging stems
Opening pledging heaven:
Here's to the thorn in flower! Here is to Utterance!
The brave, adventurous rosaceae.
Folded upon itself, and secret unutterable,
The milky-sapped, sap that curdles milk and makes ricotta,
Sap that smells strange on your fingers, that even goats won't taste it;
Folded upon itself, enclosed like any Mohammedan woman,
Its nakedness all within-walls, its flowering forever unseen,
One small way of access only, and this close-curtained from the light;
Fig, fruit of the female mystery, covert and inward,
Mediterranean fruit, with your covert nakedness,
Where everything happens invisible, flowering and fertilization, and fruiting
In the inwardness of your you, that eye will never see

 

[mismused]

******

 

[Byron In Exile]

Figs
By D.H. Lawrence

That was sublime. Recommend me a book. I am in possession of a "gift card," and I now want some D. H. Lawrence in the mix.

 

[Byron In Exile]

Emily

You're on the ride.
You might as well open your eyes.

Your thoughts don't have words every day
They come a single time
Like signal esoteric sips
Of the communion Wine
Which while you taste so native seems
So easy so to be
You cannot comprehend its price
Nor its infrequency

 

[impressive]

My ex gave Bel a very thoughtful Christmas gift.

 

[Byron In Exile]

My ex gave Bel a very thoughtful Christmas gift.

It doesn't have to involve meter nor rhyme.

I think that's what Emily was trying to say.

It could be a very thoughtful Christmas gift, or the Empire State Building. We're all going to die, so it doesn't really matter.

But Emily saw things through the lens of perspective, which few people do.

That, by itself, when you consider the vastness of the Universe, and how many people could have loved you, but for the fact that you were preoccupied with someone else...

Love the people who love you.

 

[Byron In Exile]

My ex gave Bel a very thoughtful Christmas gift.

Very cool.

Is it possible to mean a compliment, and yet not, both at the same time?

Because I think I just did that.

 

[lesbiaphrodite]

That was sublime. Recommend me a book. I am in possession of a "gift card," and I now want some D. H. Lawrence in the mix.

Glad you liked it. If you want to read a great D.H. Lawrence book, I'd recommend The Rainbow or Lady Chatterley's Lover. Both are fantastic.

 

[Byron In Exile]

Glad you liked it. If you want to read a great D.H. Lawrence book, I'd recommend The Rainbow or Lady Chatterley's Lover. Both are fantastic.

Now you have to pick one.

Imagine a beautiful lad overcome by lust who squandered his talent by spending all his time fucking some girl.

Now, imagine he has no friends left, because she was cheap, and they all have familes and obligations.

Perhaps he will use his talent, perhaps he will drift into shadows.

Which book?

 

[lesbiaphrodite]

Now you have to pick one.

Imagine a beautiful lad overcome by lust who squandered his talent by spending all his time fucking some girl.

Now, imagine he has no friends left, because she was cheap, and they all have familes and obligations.

Perhaps he will use his talent, perhaps he will drift into shadows.

Which book?

I would say The Rainbow. It is beautifully written and in the book, Lawrence so deliciously uses nature and its multifold metaphorical possibilities to express the erotic. Enjoy it, beautiful lad.