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  1. New light; Smile to your Sorrow

    New light;
    Smile to your Sorrow

    Let me go- let me go
    to the lake of dreams,
    where light is shadow
    and darkness seems
    to shade delight -
    The growing flowers
    In hidden night
    Reflect the hours
    In carefree ways.
    Sing softly, now, then
    Of glittering days,
    And peace within.

    I nothing am -
    and glad I came -
    Thy little lamb,
    She knows thy name.

    Fate ...
  2. The Real Conspiracy

    by , Today at 10:18 AM (Memories of the 28th Century)
    I was thinking about conspiracies, propaganda, and who or what would be engaging in them. Conspiracy theory lovers often mention the Illuminati and the New World Order, but both are very much in the Classical Liberal tradition and wouldn’t deliberately lie. The Bilderberg Conference is cited as a planning forum for various nefarious schemes, but the actual facts belie that. The Rothschild family is mentioned, but they only go for the money, and harming potential customers is bad for business. Then ...
  3. High Emotion

    Listening to this is just pure pleasure/bliss for me.

    It's from his 15th album, so he seems a bit more matured, even though he was brilliant from start to finish.

    Oh... so! today I climbed a tree and it was really, incredibly beautiful; chirping crickets (I think they were!) and birds, it was completely perfect.
    It made me almost want to write a poem, which I haven't yet; but I was just reading some ...

    Updated Yesterday at 09:26 PM by NikolaiI

  4. Trying to study.... and failing.

    Is reading poetry instead of doing homework ( due on Sunday) of process control analysis considered failing in studying?

    Anyway, here's the poem...

    The Clod and the Pebble
    by William Blake (1757-1827)

    Love seeketh not Itself to please,
    Nor for itself hath any care;
    But for another gives its ease,
    And builds a Heaven in Hells despair.

    So sang a little Clod of Clay,
    Trodden with the cattle's feet;
  5. The road where we meet

    The road where we meet
    is a gravelly dirt path
    a simple, quiet lane;
    traveled and transitory.
    Flooded in sunlight,
    barefoot it seems
    that all roads lead here.
    Stories can all be heard,
    quietly wrapped
    in sunbathed pebbles
    and petals, and insects, too.
    "The ends of the earth"
    are open to you;
    a shimmering vision,
    it all becomes true.