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The Summer Look.

Prayers I Need
to Kneed the Dough of Life.

Thanks to Ariane and all that matters to her,
for her inspiration.

for each
hour of the day
and night.

Two extracts which seem to make sense, when little else does:


"I open up a book I bought for a dollar called Stage II Relationships: 
Love beyond Addiction. The author is counselling those who have been 
addicts.  Being addicted kept them from really connecting with their partners.  
Their connections have temporarily failed, but still the author has some hope 
for redemption.  He gives the reader this advice:
'No one is perfect, and there are no instant cures. Understand that whenever you ask of your partner to give. Be patient in the presence of good intentions. If your partner is not living up to an agreement, but is still trying, give him or her the benefit of the doubt. Don't make it a crime to fail.

As we make contact across the net, trust is generated and deepened. And trust is the name of the game.'

These words, so trite but true, are strangely moving this evening.  Trust is the name 
of the game, the name of the game.  The problem is how to trust in the faith of inevitable 
endings, corruption, petty-minded ways of being in the world?  Is humanism being 
reborn for the author of the pages of a cheap self-help book? I don't know, but know 
where and whenever I can get words of encouragement I do so. And these words, 
however clichéd, offer some hope.  This is not the Bible, but at least it is an attempt 
at faith.  Can we learn to compromise, to be real to each other, to give each other 
the benefit of the doubt, even in the face of failure, of miscommunication, of breakdowns?  
I can simply say I'm trying."


"HINT: To KNOW other people is not to posses them. It is about letting them go; it is 
about seeing everything in them that is noble, and great, and stupid, and miraculous, 
and unique, and still caring, even knowing that you may never see them again, or that 
they may have no feelings for you.  You can try and argue them into loving you but you'd 
do better off with a picnic or a conversation with someone whom you know loves you.  
We should ask for simple gifts.  Remember, the biggest part of the story is what is left out.  
In the end, there is no final accounting for ourselves and others. The loves we search 
hardest for are the loves we are most likely never to have had or to lose.  
We risk forms of self-addiction."

s. Paige batty: e-mail trouble: love and addiction @ the matrix 
(see reference below.) See also Sting's song lyric the refrain of which reads,
'If you love some set them free!'

A good place not to stop, but to begin!


curricula vitae: ours.

curriculum vita: my own.


Janus Face

Janus Face

The Past:

A Rite of Passports.


See the information bar below this section of the screen.

"The True Gentleman is the man whose conduct proceeds from good will and an acute sense of propriety, and whose self-control is equal to all emergencies; who does not make the poor man conscious of his poverty, the obscure man of his obscurity, or any man of his inferiority or deformity; who is himself humbled if necessity compels him to humble another; who does not flatter wealth, cringe before power, or boast of his own possessions or achievements; who speaks with frankness but always with sincerity and sympathy; whose deed follows his word; who thinks of the rights and feelings of others, rather than his own; and who appears well in any company, a man with whom honor is sacred and virtue safe."
John Walter Wayland
see also John Henry, Cardinal Newman in The Idea of a University

For More Quotations and sources for them,CLICK HERE!


Information, Disinformation, Distraction & perhaps light entertainment,enlightenment and sometimes darkness


Family, Being, Teaching, Reading, Theatre, Music, Wine, Solitude and Writing,the cybervoid.


Martin Buber, Pincher Martin, Martin Luther / King, Freddy King, Charlie Chaplin, Hank Mobley, Che Guevara, Franz Fenon and C.J.Jung.


If you happen to be interested....
Click Here.
See also the music page ...
Click Here.


Jerusalem (1996)

Mad City (1997)
Alice et Martin(1998)
And just for a comparison:
The Sting(1973)
Anything and everything by Juliet Binoche.

For more of the same ...
Click Here.
See also the music page ...


News the Stays News: The 20th. Century in Poems- Simon Rae (ed)

Winter's Tale- Shakespeare

Island- Aldous Huxley

The Wonderful Adventures of Nils-Selma Langerlöf

Cranford- Elizabeth Gaskell

e-mail, trouble- s. paige baty (rip)


Member Pages
RGB Gallery
Web Monkey
Sane Political Links
A place to go.
The Grammatron: must be experienced!


Furious Green Thoughts
Le Monde Diplomatique
Language Labarynth

Et Cetera:

Dans mes rêves j'entends une voix 
Qui me dit "Ne pleure pas", 
Quel dommage mes yeux sont des source claires. 
Dans mes rêves j'entends une voix 
Qui me dit "Ne souffre pas!" 
Quel dommage mon âme n'est pas de pierre. 
Mais les voix de mes fantômes ne 
    connaissent pas la douleur de l'homme 
Pourtant les cloches m'annoncent toujours 
     mon vrai destin. 

Dans notre maison fragile et grise 
Nous partageons le rêve d'la vie 
Et la lune souriait sur l'innocence 
Dans un monde plain de nean 
Même les promesses sont du vent 
Et le soliel parfois se perd dans les nuages 
Ne me quitte pas encore, 
Ne me laisse pas partir 
Pourtant les cloches m'annoncent toujours 
     mon vrai destin. 

Et Cetera, Et Cetera:

The mahogany table-top you smashed
Had been the broad plank top
Of my mother's heir loom sideboard -
Mapped with the scars of my whole life.
That came under t he ham mer.
The high stool you swung that day
Demented by my being
Twenty minutes late for baby-minding.
"Marvellous!" I shouted, 'Go on,
Smash it into kindling.
That's the stuff you're keeping out of your poems!'
And later, considered and calmer,
'Get that shoulder under your stanzas
And we'll be away.' Deep in the cave of your ear
The goblin snapped his fingers.
So what had I given him?
The bloody end of the skein
That unravelled your marriage,
Left your children echoing
Like tunnels in a la byrint h,
Left your mother a dead-end,
Brought you to the horned, bellowing
Grave of your risen father -
And your own corpse in it.
Ted Hughes: died12/1998 (RIP) Buy the book if you like.

Un-Friends, or... Sinking Politicians and Popular Movies: La Nausee?

'You build a 45,000 ton hotel of thin steel plates to secure the patronage of, say, a couple of thousand rich people, you decorate it in the style of the Pharaohs or in Louis Quinze style -- I don't know which -- and to please the aforesaid fatuous handful of individuals, who have more money than they know what to do with, and to the applause of two continents, you launch that mass with 2,000 people on board at twenty one knots across the seas -- a perfect exhibition of the modern blind trust in mere material appearances.' J. Korzeniowski AKA Conrad.
Cited by A. Burgess in 'Any Old Iron' London, 1989, P. 7.

And then there is the raining of death on Iraq for no good reason while 'chetniks' in Kosovo slaughter women and childern and cut out their eyes.
Perhaps 'good' and 'bad' do not come in to it.

"This was an epoch of evasion, and logical positivism was masterly evasion. What I suggested (...) was that the sacredness of human life, as opposed to life in general, was derived from the narrowing of idealism into solipsism. The life-preserving mechanism built into the individual (really Schopenhauer's'Wille') generated so powerful a'Vorstellung'of the importance of his own survival that he was prepared to extrapolate it onto human life in general. But at the same time he was ready, either individually or collectively, to justify manslaughter or war in terms of survival. The intellect worked agains t the instincts, but the intellect was called upon to justify them. Solipsistically speaking, we know that the only evidence of the existence of the external world is to be found in our experience of it. Transfer that conviction to a world of solipists and murder is, in a sense, the snuffing out of oceans and galaxies. The value of human life is the supposed value of the universe, or 'Vorstellung', it experiences. But human life is all too easily brought into being, the irrelevant-seeming offshoot of a spasm that is powered by unconscious engines. Nature is careless in both the spending of seed and the snuffing out of life, and we are children of nature. (...) Nature made earth quakes and made men capable of making bombs and gas chambers. The value of life was a kind of Schopenhauerian illusion fostered by the survival mechanism. If we had to live in a world of murder we had to modify out neuroses about it. Experience was what it was and not what it ought to be."

A. Burgess, 'Any Old Iron', London, 1989 P. 258/9.

Buy the book if you like.

Have you read 'La Nausee? by J. P. Satre? "Its about a man who is appalled by the fecundity of a chestnut tree. All that excess, that teeming ghastly life contradicting the human desire for refrigerated simplicity. I see his point. (...) The hero of the book, Roquetin. It's in us as well as outside us. A damnable complexity of guts and glands, the confusion of the psyche with its contention of identities.
A. Burgess, 'Any Old Iron', London, 1989 P. 67/8.

" Strange enough how creatures of the human-kind shut their eyes to plainest facts; and by the mere inertia of Oblivion and Stupidity, live at ease in the midst of Wonders and Terrors. But indeed man is, and was always, a blockhead and dullard; much readier to feel and digest, than to think and consider. Prejudice, which he pretends to hate, is his absolute lawgiver; mere use-and-wont everywhere leads him by the nose; thus let but a Rising of the Sun, let but a Creation of the World happen twice, and it ceases to be marvellous, to be noteworthy, or noticible.

Perhaps not once in a lifetime does it occur to your average biped, of any country or generation, be he gold-mantled Prince or russet-jerkined Peasant, that his Vestments and his Self are not one and indivisible; that he is naked, without vestments, till he buy or steal such, and by forethought sew and button them.

As for my own part, these considerations of our Clothes-thatch, and ho, reaching inwards even to our heart, it tailorises and demoralises us, fill me with a certain horror at myself and mankind; almost as one feels at those Dutch Cows, which, during the wet season, you see grazing deliberately with jackets and petticoats ( of striped sacking), in the meadows of Gouda. Nevertheless there is something great in the moment when a man first strips himself naked of adventitous wrappages; and sees indeed that he is naked, and, as Swift has it, "a forked straddling animal with bandy legs;" yet also a Sprit, and unutterable Mystery of Mysteries."

Thomas Carlyle


My Number: The Naked Version.

For fans of 'La Nausée? and 'Heart-on-Sleevery' ,'Touchy-Feelery' Only!

Still Interested? Click the Image Below!