Older...

Okay, I know I have cribbed a zillion times about age here, but someone just addressed me as "bhabhi" today (in a respectful manner)!

I am...

Books...

“We are the people of the book. We love our books. We fill our houses with books. We treasure books we inherit from our parents, and we cherish the idea of passing those books on to our children. Indeed, how many of us started reading with a beloved book that belonged to one of our parents? We force worthy books on our friends, and we insist that they read them. We even feel a weird kinship for the people we see on buses or airplanes reading our books, the books that we claim. If anyone tries to take away our books—some oppressive government, some censor gone off the rails—we would defend them with everything that we have. We know our tribespeople when we visit their homes because every wall is lined with books. There are teetering piles of books beside the bed and on the floor; there are masses of swollen paperbacks in the bathroom. Our books are us. They are our outboard memory banks and they contain the moral, intellectual, and imaginative influences that make us the people we are today.” -Cory Doctorow

Recall...

For me, the movie does not end at "The End". I am the girl who'll wait till the last name in the closing credits is rolled off from the black screen.

Too Much Sugar...

Yes, hearts will be broken, trust will be betrayed, people will cheat and you'll be left disillusioned. But don't give up. Hearts will mend, you'll meet someone who'll make you want to give them your entire world, you'll go ahead and make friendships that'll last a lifetime and you'll find in yourself inexhaustible power to forgive. So no, we should not be in the business of bursting bubbles. Not now, not anytime soon.

People deserve to have their faith rewarded.

And if you stop being grumpy, you'll realise, it always is.

Someone's Preferred Ending...

The things about you I appreciate may seem indelicate:

I’d like to find you in the shower

And chase the soap for half an hour.

I’d like to have you in my power and see you eyes dilate.

I’d like to have your back to scour

And other parts to lubricate.

Sometimes I feel it is my fate

To chase you screaming up a tower or make you cower

By asking you to differentiate Nietzsche from Schopenhauer.

I’d like to successfully guess your weight and win you at a fte.

I’d like to offer you a flower.

I like the hair upon your shoulders,

Falling like water over boulders.

I like the shoulders, too: they are essential.

Your collar-bones have great potential

(I’d like all your particulars in folders marked Confidential).

I like your cheeks, I like your nose,

I like the way your lips disclose

The neat arrangement of your teeth

(Half above and half beneath) in rows.

I like your eyes, I like their fringes.

The way they focus on me gives me twinges.

Your upper arms drive me berserk.

I like the way your elbows work, on hinges.

I like your wrists, I like your glands,

I like the fingers on your hands.

I’d like to teach them how to count,

And certain things we might exchange,

Something familiar for something strange.

I’d like to give you just the right amount and get some change.

I like it when you tilt your cheek up.

I like the way you nod and hold a teacup. I like your legs when you unwind

them.

Even in trousers I don’t mind them.

I like each softly-moulded kneecap.

I like the little crease behind them.

I’d always know, without a recap, where to find them.

I like the sculpture of your ears.

I like the way your profile disappears

Whenever you decide to turn and face me.

I’d like to cross two hemispheres and have you chase me.

I’d like to smuggle you across frontiers

Or sail with you at night into Tangiers.

I’d like you to embrace me.

I’d like to see you ironing your skirt and cancelling other dates.

I’d like to button up your shirt.

I like the way your chest inflates.

I’d like to soothe you when you’re hurt

Or frightened senseless by invertebrates.

I’d like you even if you were malign

And had a yen for sudden homicide.

I’d let you put insecticide into my wine.

I’d even like you if you were the Bride of Frankenstein

Or something ghoulish out of Mamoulian’s Jekyll and Hyde.

I’d even like you as my Julian of Norwich or Cathleen ni Houlihan

How melodramatic

If you were something muttering in attics

Like Mrs Rochester or a student of boolean mathematics.

You are the end of self-abuse.

You are the eternal feminine.

I’d like to find a good excuse

To call on you and find you in.

I’d like to put my hand beneath your chin. And see you grin.

I’d like to taste your Charlotte Russe,

I’d like to feel my lips upon your skin,

I’d like to make you reproduce.

I’d like you in my confidence.

I’d like to be your second look.

I’d like to let you try the French Defence and mate you with my rook.

I’d like to be your preference and hence

I’d like to be around when you unhook.

I’d like to be your only audience,

The final name in your appointment book, your future tense.

-John Fuller

Short Tales...

Dearest All,

I am fine, and before you panic too much, no, I am not going to flood this space with sentimental/sad love poems. The one by Sammuel Beckett was posted just because I liked what it said and how it was said, not because I am sad. God promise. In fact I am happy. But thank you for checking up on me.


And if you really want to make me feel better, go binge on some fatty stuff so that I am not the only one feeling fat :)

Marge, This Is Magic!

Just what I needed to hear today!

Oh! The Places You'll Go!

All The Wonderful Places You'll Go! :)
*****
And what a brilliant video! :)

Oh! The Places You'll Go!