Scribble-Samurai

Hello folks! To all of you that have favorited my work in the past I would like to give you a most hearty and wholesome "THANK YOU!!!!" To those of you who have never favorited my work I would like to say "Hurry up why don'cha?"   No no no no no. I'm just kiddin'. I don't think I'm that narcissistic, though prolonged exsposure to my math teacher is (by example of his own (in his mind) almost-too-wonderful-to-be-true self) surely raising my narcissistic potential. Actually, never mind. He insinuates my lacking intelligence far too frequently for my ego to rise my more than a cringing whimper. My friend Sheree would say I'm already too full

Pablo Neruda's poetry is, to me, the Art Nouveau of writing. I'm really on a peotry kick right now and His work's speaking to me. Romantic, slightly sad, and curly, outlined and true... Heh heh... Waxing romantic there.  So sorry, but here's another poem in my journal entry... If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda I want you to know one thing. You know how this is: if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window, if I touch near the fire the impalpable ash or the wrinkled body of the log, everything carries me to you, as if everything that exists, aromas, light, metals, were little boats

In Heaven a spirit doth dwell "Whose heart-strings are a lute"; None sing so wildly well As the angel Israfel, And the giddy stars (so legends tell), Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell Of his voice, all mute. Tottering above In her highest noon, The enamored moon Blushes with love, While, to listen, the red levin (With the rapid Pleiads, even, Which were seven,) Pauses in Heaven. And they say (the starry choir And the other listening things) That Israfeli's fire Is owing to that lyre By which he sits and sings- The trembling living wire Of those unusual strings. But the skies that angel trod, Where deep thoughts are