II
All night long and every night
The neighbors dance for my delight;
I hear the people dance and sing
Like practically anything.
Women and men and girls and boys,
All making curious kinds of noise
And dancing in so weird a way,
I never saw the like by day.
So loud a show was never heard
As that which yesternight occurred:
They danced and sang, as I have said,
As I lay wakeful in my bed.
They shout and cry and yell and laugh
And play upon the phonograph;
And endlessly I count the sheep,
Endeavouring to fall asleep.
Franklin P. Adams
I wish I could get to sleep!
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A Gotham Garden of Verses
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...and breath!
After spending the last two months panicing about the strains of a deadline looming each week, the time has come where I now have my last essay due on Monday. Seven deadlines in Six weeks has been anything but fun but I've surprised myself in my capablity to meet these deadlines; althouh I have taken my sanity to the brink and back far too often; I am still here. I have Rawls and Nozick seeping out of my pores, Beitz under my nails and after three atempts I still can't wash the Walzer out of my hair. I am no longer the free thinking person I was and instead all that flows through the cavernous void that is my head are the theories and opinions of Political Theorists that I have the joy of studying.
I realised the other day that I couldn't recall the last time that I'd read a book for pleasure or sat down and just watched a film! I have no time for the things that I love. I love uni but I refuse to let it become all that I am. I have made a point of picking up the guitar daily ....again only when there are not others around [but that's how I like it], reading books that I want to read, but have no link to my essays even if I end up citing them in essays on corruption anyway, taking pictures of people and places because it makes me smile, spending time with people I want to because I can't imagine not spending time with them and singing because I find it more fulfilling than talking.
Rather than posting yet another video of a song that I love right now, instead, a passage from "An Essay on Man" by Alexander Pope which I used to carry in my purse...
"Cease then, nor order imperfection name:
Our proper bliss depends on what we blame.
Know thy own point: This kind, this due degree
Of blindness, weakness, Heav'n bestows on thee.
Submit.--In this, or any other sphere,
Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear:
Safe in the hand of one disposing pow'r,
Or in the natal, or the mortal hour.
All nature is but art, unknown to thee;
All chance, direction, which thou canst not see;
All discord, harmony, not understood;
All partial evil, universal good:
And, spite of pride, in erring reason's spite,
One truth is clear, Whatever is, is right."
...it's back in my purse!
...it's back in my purse!
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