She was being readied by forces she did not recognize. This is an age in which imagination is no longer all-powerful. Where if you had to write the whole thing down, you could. (Imagine: to see the whole thing written down.) Everything but memory abolished. All the necessary explanations also provided. A very round place: everyone is doing it. "It: a very round and glad place. Feeling life come from far away, like a motor approaching. And in its approach: that moment when it is closest, so loud, as if not only near you, but in you. And that being the place where the sensation of real property begins. Come. It is going to pass, even though right now it's very loud, here, alongside, life, life, so glad to be in it, no?, unprotected, thank you, exactly the way I feel. And you? Lord how close it comes. It has a seeming to it so bright it is as if it had no core. It all given over to the outline of seem: still approaching, blind, open, its continuing elsewhere unthinkable as a gear-shift at this speed. Approaching as if with a big question. No other system but this one and it growing larger. All at once, as if all the voices now are suddenly one voice. Ah, it is here now, the here. [Love, where is love, can it too be this thing that simply grows insistently louder] [It seems impossible it could ever pass by][she thought] the eruption of presentness right here: your veins [Meanwhile a dream floats in an unvisited field] [There by the edge of the barn, above the two green-lichened stones, where for an instant a butterfly color of chicory flicks, dis- appears] How old-fashioned: distance: squinting it into view. Even further: rocks at year's lowest tide. The always-underneath excitedly exposed to heat, light, wind, the
our listening to it: being: being on time: in time: there seeming to be no actual being: all of it growing for a time closer and closer--as with a freight of sheer abstract abundance (the motor sound)(is all) followed by the full selfishness (of such well being) of the being (so full of innocence) actually (for the instant) here: I love you: the sky seems nearer: you are my first person: let no one question this tirelessness of approach: love big enough to hide the cage: tell them yourself who you are: no victory: ever: no ever: then what "happens": you can hear the hum at its most constant: steady: the era:
[as if gently, friend, as if mesmerized by the love of it][love of (not) making sense](tide coming in)(then distance taking the perplexion of engine whitely in)(the covenant, the listening, drawing its parameters out just as it approaches its own unraveling) the covenant: yes: that there be plenitude, yes, but only as a simultaneous emptying--of the before, where it came from--and of the after (the eager place to which it so "eagerly" goes). Such rigorous logic, that undulating shape
You pick your way back to the village under a blanket of darkness riveted with stars. The night is complete and utter. It is the African night you have read about in stories, a night in which men morph into animals and commit savage acts, a night in which the shaman dances around the camp fire, flames licking at his heels. Inside his hut, Kitu is nodding off at the table by the flickering light of a kerosene lamp. His shadow jumps on the wall behind him. His eyelids are twittering, revealing the yellow whiteness of his orbs. He is dreaming. The bottle of moonshine on the table is uncapped. You reach for the lid and screw it back on. You drape a blanket over Kitu’s hunched shoulders and step outside. You are already thinking about tomorrow. You will rise with the sun. You will give what little money you have to Kitu. You will ride in the bus back
noted for having written a poem titled "Abbottabad", prior to his departure back to Britain, in which he wrote of his fondness for the town and his sadness at having to leave it. Abbottabad became and is still an important military cantonment and sanatorium, being the headquarters of a brigade in the Second Division of the Northern Army Corps.[4] The garrison consisted of four battalions of native infantry (Gurkhas and Frontier Force) and four native mountain batteries.[5]
In 1901 the population of the town and cantonment was 7764[4] and the income averaged around Rs. 14,900. This increased to Rs. 22,300 in 1903, chiefly derived from octroi. During this time chief public institutions were built such as the Albert Victor unaided Anglo-Vernacular High School, the Municipal Anglo-Vernacular High School and the Government dispensary.[5] In 1911 the population had risen to 11,506 and the town also contained four battalions of Gurkhas.[6]
In June 1948, the British Red Cross opened a hospital in Abbottabad to deal with thousands of patients who were being brought in from the Kashmir fighting areas.[7] On the October 8th, 2005 Abbottabad was devastated by the Kashmir earthquake. Although most of Abbottabad survived, many old buildings were destroyed or damaged.[8]
http://static.iltalehti.fi/katejawilliamhaat/loistogalleriaSL_293_kw.jpg the blue lady was best ..couldn wear blue m
ΑπάντησηΔιαγραφήhttp://www.hs.fi/ulkomaat/artikkeli/Williamin+ja+Katen+viralliset+h%C3%A4%C3%A4potretit+julkaistiin+katso+kuvat/1135265776392
ΑπάντησηΔιαγραφήShe was being readied by forces she did not
ΑπάντησηΔιαγραφήrecognize. This is an age in which imagination
is no longer all-powerful. Where if you had
to write the whole thing down, you could.
(Imagine: to see the whole thing written down.)
Everything but memory abolished.
All the necessary explanations also provided.
A very round place: everyone is doing it.
"It: a very round and glad place.
Feeling life come from far away, like a motor approaching.
And in its approach: that moment when it is closest, so loud, as if
not only near you, but in you.
And that being the place where the sensation of real property
begins. Come. It is going to pass, even though right
now
it's very loud, here, alongside, life, life, so glad to be in it,
no?, unprotected, thank you, exactly the way I feel.
And you? Lord how close it comes. It has a
seeming to it
so bright it is as if it had no core.
It all given over to the outline of seem:
still approaching, blind, open, its continuing elsewhere unthinkable as a
gear-shift
at this speed.
Approaching as if with a big question.
No other system but this one and it growing larger.
All at once, as if all the voices now are suddenly one voice.
Ah, it is here now, the here. [Love, where is love, can it too
be this thing that simply grows insistently louder]
[It seems impossible it could ever pass by][she thought]
the eruption of presentness right here: your veins
[Meanwhile a dream floats in an unvisited field]
[There by the edge of the barn, above the two green-lichened
stones, where for an instant a butterfly color of chicory
flicks, dis-
appears] How old-fashioned: distance: squinting it
into
view. Even further: rocks at year's lowest tide.
The always-underneath excitedly exposed to heat, light, wind, the
our listening
ΑπάντησηΔιαγραφήto it: being: being on time: in time: there seeming to be no actual
being:
all of it growing for a time closer and closer--as with a freight
of sheer abstract
abundance (the motor
sound)(is all) followed by the full selfishness (of such
well being) of the being
(so full of innocence) actually (for the instant) here:
I love you: the sky seems nearer: you are my first
person:
let no one question this tirelessness of approach:
love big enough to hide the cage:
tell them yourself who you are:
no victory: ever: no ever: then what "happens":
you can hear the hum at its most constant: steady: the era:
[as if gently, friend, as if mesmerized by the love of it][love of
ΑπάντησηΔιαγραφή(not) making sense](tide coming in)(then distance taking
the perplexion
of engine
whitely in)(the covenant, the listening, drawing its parameters out
just as it approaches its own unraveling)
the covenant: yes: that there be plenitude, yes,
but only as a simultaneous emptying--of the before, where it came
from--and of the after (the eager place to which it so
"eagerly" goes). Such rigorous logic, that undulating shape
You pick your way back to the village under a blanket of darkness riveted with stars. The night is complete and utter. It is the African night you have read about in stories, a night in which men morph into animals and commit savage acts, a night in which the shaman dances around the camp fire, flames licking at his heels. Inside his hut, Kitu is nodding off at the table by the flickering light of a kerosene lamp. His shadow jumps on the wall behind him. His eyelids are twittering, revealing the yellow whiteness of his orbs. He is dreaming. The bottle of moonshine on the table is uncapped. You reach for the lid and screw it back on. You drape a blanket over Kitu’s hunched shoulders and step outside. You are already thinking about tomorrow. You will rise with the sun. You will give what little money you have to Kitu. You will ride in the bus back
ΑπάντησηΔιαγραφήnoted for having written a poem titled "Abbottabad", prior to his departure back to Britain, in which he wrote of his fondness for the town and his sadness at having to leave it. Abbottabad became and is still an important military cantonment and sanatorium, being the headquarters of a brigade in the Second Division of the Northern Army Corps.[4] The garrison consisted of four battalions of native infantry (Gurkhas and Frontier Force) and four native mountain batteries.[5]
ΑπάντησηΔιαγραφήIn 1901 the population of the town and cantonment was 7764[4] and the income averaged around Rs. 14,900. This increased to Rs. 22,300 in 1903, chiefly derived from octroi. During this time chief public institutions were built such as the Albert Victor unaided Anglo-Vernacular High School, the Municipal Anglo-Vernacular High School and the Government dispensary.[5] In 1911 the population had risen to 11,506 and the town also contained four battalions of Gurkhas.[6]
In June 1948, the British Red Cross opened a hospital in Abbottabad to deal with thousands of patients who were being brought in from the Kashmir fighting areas.[7] On the October 8th, 2005 Abbottabad was devastated by the Kashmir earthquake. Although most of Abbottabad survived, many old buildings were destroyed or damaged.[8]