bluepen is twenty-one & still uninteresting. it feeds on blueink, and thinks bluethoughts; only rarely does it turn white, and even then it's bluish white
uninteresting thoughts
Monday, February 28, 2005
A beautiful song to wrap up the month of February, during when so much have happened... and so much have not.
Tell me on a Sunday
(from musical Song & Dance)
Sarah Brightman
Don't write a letter when you want to leave
Don't call me at 3 a.m. from a friend's apartment
I'd like to choose how I hear the news
Take me to a park that's covered with trees
Tell me on a Sunday please
Let me down easy
No big song and dance
No long faces, no long looks
No deep conversation
I know the way we should spend that day
Take me to a zoo that's got chimpanzees
Tell me on a Sunday please
Don't want to know who's to blame
It won't help knowing
Don't want to fight day and night
Bad enough you're going
Don't leave in silence with no word at all
Don't get drunk and slam the door
That's no way to end this
I know how I want you to say goodbye
Find a circus ring with a flying trapeze
Tell me on a Sunday please
Don't want to fight day and night
Bad enough you're going
Don't leave in silence with no word at all
Don't get drunk and slam the door
That's no way to end this
I know how I want you to say goodbye
Don't run off in the pouring rain
Don't call me as they call your plane
Take the hurt out of all the pain
Take me to a park that's covered with trees
Tell me on a Sunday please
(from musical Song & Dance)
Sarah Brightman
Don't write a letter when you want to leave
Don't call me at 3 a.m. from a friend's apartment
I'd like to choose how I hear the news
Take me to a park that's covered with trees
Tell me on a Sunday please
Let me down easy
No big song and dance
No long faces, no long looks
No deep conversation
I know the way we should spend that day
Take me to a zoo that's got chimpanzees
Tell me on a Sunday please
Don't want to know who's to blame
It won't help knowing
Don't want to fight day and night
Bad enough you're going
Don't leave in silence with no word at all
Don't get drunk and slam the door
That's no way to end this
I know how I want you to say goodbye
Find a circus ring with a flying trapeze
Tell me on a Sunday please
Don't want to fight day and night
Bad enough you're going
Don't leave in silence with no word at all
Don't get drunk and slam the door
That's no way to end this
I know how I want you to say goodbye
Don't run off in the pouring rain
Don't call me as they call your plane
Take the hurt out of all the pain
Take me to a park that's covered with trees
Tell me on a Sunday please
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Lest we forget
"To Dad: We still miss you."
- Note at Changi Chapel and Museum
60 years from the end of the bloodiest war in human history, when even the children of all those who had fought or fallen in the jungles of Malaya, beaches and knolls of Europe, and deserts of North Africa are white to their last hair, somewhere, a dad is still being missed.
Ask not then what the use of learning history might be. When his past comrades came to him in Dorset, England in 1963, Stanley Warren was a 46 year-old man not ready to reconcile with his days as a POW in the Changi Prison and his paintings during those dark times, now known as the Changi Murals. Warren was finally persuaded to return to Singapore to restore his murals with three words: lest they forget.
Most of us have forgiven, but none of us can forget, that besides animation, pop or tourists, "Japanese" could also be followed by "Occupation".
* * *
Two Malarias with a Cholera
By Ray Parkin
Below is an abstract taken from Into the Smoother by Ray Parkin:
During the afternoon, two men collapsed with malaria. During the dinner break 2 more went down with stomach trouble. One of them, I was certain, had cholera; he could not walk. The others could only shuffle with great difficulty. I haggled with Nip Corporal all afternoon to be allowed to send them back. He roared and swung at me with whatever he had in his hand at the time-shovel, bamboo, or hammer-but I moved discreetly and none of the blows fell solidly, at last, at about 4pm, with a couple of petulant blows, he said they could go. I asked how many men were to take them in. he said, none: the other sick could do it. I said I couldn’t . He swung again, squealing, Bakaeer-oo!! Then he said they could crawl. I could move him no further.
I got 2 malarias standing up and then got the cholera between them with his arms about their necks. They made a wobbly tripod. I asked the malarias to see if they could get him to the end of the cutting, about 500 yards away, where there was a cave. They could leave him there and go into camp for help. If none came, we could put him up as we came back from work.
I wanted them to go - the two malarias, with the cholera about their necks. They were bowed and sweating with pain and concentration, trying not to collapse. The man with cholera was limp between them with his head lifelessly on his chest hanging like a crucified man. His knees were buckled and his feet dragged. His trousers, which were ripped across the back in two places revealing his skinny, formed buttocks and stingy thighs, were unbuttoned at the waistband and as the others dragged him along with slow, shambling gait, his pants kept falling about his knees. The two men had to stop and pull it up before they can go on. One of the malarias reached over to pull them up; they wobbled, then, they all fell over. Slowly, they dragged themselves up again and staggered along the cutting until they came to the cave. Later the stretcher party, making their fourth trip, came out and picked up the cholera.
"To Dad: We still miss you."
- Note at Changi Chapel and Museum
60 years from the end of the bloodiest war in human history, when even the children of all those who had fought or fallen in the jungles of Malaya, beaches and knolls of Europe, and deserts of North Africa are white to their last hair, somewhere, a dad is still being missed.
Ask not then what the use of learning history might be. When his past comrades came to him in Dorset, England in 1963, Stanley Warren was a 46 year-old man not ready to reconcile with his days as a POW in the Changi Prison and his paintings during those dark times, now known as the Changi Murals. Warren was finally persuaded to return to Singapore to restore his murals with three words: lest they forget.
Most of us have forgiven, but none of us can forget, that besides animation, pop or tourists, "Japanese" could also be followed by "Occupation".
* * *
Two Malarias with a Cholera
By Ray Parkin
Below is an abstract taken from Into the Smoother by Ray Parkin:
During the afternoon, two men collapsed with malaria. During the dinner break 2 more went down with stomach trouble. One of them, I was certain, had cholera; he could not walk. The others could only shuffle with great difficulty. I haggled with Nip Corporal all afternoon to be allowed to send them back. He roared and swung at me with whatever he had in his hand at the time-shovel, bamboo, or hammer-but I moved discreetly and none of the blows fell solidly, at last, at about 4pm, with a couple of petulant blows, he said they could go. I asked how many men were to take them in. he said, none: the other sick could do it. I said I couldn’t . He swung again, squealing, Bakaeer-oo!! Then he said they could crawl. I could move him no further.
I got 2 malarias standing up and then got the cholera between them with his arms about their necks. They made a wobbly tripod. I asked the malarias to see if they could get him to the end of the cutting, about 500 yards away, where there was a cave. They could leave him there and go into camp for help. If none came, we could put him up as we came back from work.
I wanted them to go - the two malarias, with the cholera about their necks. They were bowed and sweating with pain and concentration, trying not to collapse. The man with cholera was limp between them with his head lifelessly on his chest hanging like a crucified man. His knees were buckled and his feet dragged. His trousers, which were ripped across the back in two places revealing his skinny, formed buttocks and stingy thighs, were unbuttoned at the waistband and as the others dragged him along with slow, shambling gait, his pants kept falling about his knees. The two men had to stop and pull it up before they can go on. One of the malarias reached over to pull them up; they wobbled, then, they all fell over. Slowly, they dragged themselves up again and staggered along the cutting until they came to the cave. Later the stretcher party, making their fourth trip, came out and picked up the cholera.
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Photo of the day:
Chinese Man
Donning a suit to climb a hill
Squatting on a stone in perfect balance
Spitting melon seeds through time to kill
Where could one find such a man but China?
Chinese Man
Donning a suit to climb a hill
Squatting on a stone in perfect balance
Spitting melon seeds through time to kill
Where could one find such a man but China?
Monday, February 21, 2005
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
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