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ozsride
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Name: Oscar
Birthday: 1/4/1901
Interests: learning.books.golf.sampling cuisines.cooking.wines.7n7s.kickin' back with friends.working on my faith.and a whole bunch more!
Occupation: Administrative
Industry: Education/Research
Message: message me
AIM:  ozsride
Member Since:
5/28/2004
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| I've moved my blog over to www.deafdc.com, @ their Blog Central site. I may write for xanga every now and then, but you can probably bet I'll post more over at DeafDC.com.
ciao!
*shutting door* | | |
| i'm reading the poetry of robert bridges. i was walking back to my
office after a meeting some time ago and noticed a gaggle of old,
user-worn books in a corner with a crumpled piece of paper posted above
them--on the paper, scrawled in block lettering (blue and red ink, i
don't know why) were the words "FREE--TAKE ONE, TWO, OR ALL!" after
sifting through these, i picked out two-- (since i dont have x premium,
i can't italicize :( so i'll use quotation marks for the sake of
convenience) " The Poetical Works of Robert Bridges" and "Racism and
the Class Struggle: Further Pages from a Black Worker's Notebook" by
James Boggs. anyhoo, from the poetry tome, wanted to share this with
you.
Bridges' work is categorized in epics and shorter poems. this one is in shorter poems--and its title is an assigned number...
9
My eyes for beauty pine,
My soul for Goddes grace:
No other care nor hope is mine;
To heaven I turn my face.
One splendour thence is shed
From all the stars above:
'Tis named when God's name is said,
'Tis Love, 'tis heavenly Love.
And every gentle heart,
That burns with true desire,
Is lit from eyes that mirror part
Of that celestial fire.
"9" talks about wanting to experience love, to draw from the energy
that comes from within the bonds of desirous love. is there such
a thing as "desirous love"--a love in which we not only feel complete,
but a deep sense of wanting, longing to be with that other person,
knowing that the same celestial fire from the heavens is burning within
our hearts, mirrored by our eyes when we look into one another's
worlds? this is the sense of love at its most powerful, when we
deconstruct it and look at its bare form. Love is that celestial fire.
also--i like the book itself--it was originally published in 1914 and
has that musty smell, yellowed pages and creases along the spine with a
faded maroon cover...i wonder through how many hands this book has
passed before finally coming into mine, and the lives of those who
touched this book--what were they like?
i'm thankful to be able to think. i can't begin to imagine what life would be without the thought process.
what say, or think, you?
*shutting door*
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| blogs have become the source of our daily information. in this
day and age, we lead fast-paced lives (some more so than others) and
have time only to peek outside of our life's cubicle to check in with
the world. what are we coming to? are we really that tiresome to
interact with one another in live and living color?
perhaps blogging is an alternate way to sifting through the mundane
ambulations of superficial conversation...."hey! how's it been? how's
things? work? school? life?" what sort of answer are we prompted to
give, other than the usual "life's good. always good :)" (i know i'm
guilty of this.)
i'll change gears--this way, through blogs, everyone learns something
about everyone else. maybe it's actually an AID to our conversational
topics? we've all been there--that universal moment of awkwardness,
where all pleasantries have been exchanged and now what remains? ehh
what do I say now? we rack our brains for witty one-liners or a long
lost joke, maybe even a story of an embarassing moment long gone? blogs
help clear the mind's clutter and provide guidance to our everyday
conversation.
we're victims. victims of an epidemic--a technology-crazed
epidemic. in moods like this, i feel that we're losing a bit of
our culture...our storied deaf culture--preservation of our native
language. there's no way that ASL can be preserved through writing.
-- that kind food, question question, eyebrow up, stick green puff-puff
top, me yuck, like not. like you? eyebrow half up, half down point
finger out--me same same food favorite riceandbeans, knowknow?--
to someone else, this sounds broken. to us, it brings understanding, a
smile on our faces when we share or interact with one another...BUT are
blogs slowly eradicating the nuances of our deaf culture? we can't
write verbatim what we sign for lack of semantical clarity. or,
are they helping us become better writers, better practitioners of the
English language through simulation and exposure to writing and reading?
some more food for thought. any snacks?
*shutting door*
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| hello everyone! 
to all of you who posted xangamments (an edit on comments, heh) about my birthday and our friendship--thank you  i truly appreciate it, and each of you has touched my life in one way, shape, form, or other (insert word here)! thank you!!
to SUPERCURLS--thank you for a divine evening last night--our
conversations, dinner, and the surprise "birthday drink" that you
conjured to get me to show up at R.F.D.--  now...revenge is sweet. *evil cackling*
to everyone who showed up last night, and those who couldn't make
it--thanks :) I had a blast talking with all of you last night!!! hugs
galore to y'all!
now, let us wish the venerable Mr. Pezzarossi a HAPPY BIRTHDAY--today's
his day! Nick: my deepest condolences on UL, once again. BUT
BUT--HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! *winks*
have a wonderful day, y'all!! spring is definitely here! 
*checking to make sure Jasindia's foot is safely OUT of the door  *
*shutting door*
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| good morning, one and all  a vibrant return i make to each one of your lives after quite a hiatus...armed with another poem I wanted to share with you.
"Advice From the Experts" by Bill Knott...
I lay down in the empty street and parked
My feet against the gutter's curb while from
The building above a bunch of gawkers perched
along its ledges urged me don't, don't jump.
When I read this poem in Poetry 180: A Turning Back to Poetry by Billy Collins, I caught myself half-smiling because it gave a different perspective on a suicide attempt...someone standing on a street curb--when actually, if you re-read, you'll see the narrator is lying on the road, with his feet perpendicular to the curb, looking up at the people who are looking down on him from above. To me, this is mastery of the English language, and an explication of why words are the guides on the journey of our experiences.
What do you make of the poem? Share away 
*shutting door* | | |
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