Older blog entries for ReadMe (starting at number 39)

Picasso painted pictures,

The Sonnets were Shakespeare's

Mozart's marks made music

Their hands, my eyes, my ears.

    The web of our life
      is of a mingled yarn,
        good and ill together...
All's Well That Ends Well, Act 4, Scene 3.
4 Sep 2002 (updated 22 Feb 2004 at 21:09 UTC) »

The tides is low
The sand is clean
Not a trace
Of what has been

No breath of wind
Upon the deep
Ruffles the surface
Of its sleep

No face it appears
That I may reach
Save that upturned
Upon the beach

Whose salted lips
No words do say
To illuminate
The cold light of day.
20 Sep 2001 (updated 20 Sep 2001 at 11:33 UTC) »
BugFix: Rachel (17 Sep 2001) probably meant Auden.

Am I playing with words?
Or are they playing with me?
I used to think
My will was free
But words appearing
In front of me
Now deprive me
Of that luxury

although I could parse it.

Your writings
inspired me
to aspire
to live.

Reading your code,
your plans,
your pains,
your joys,
your complex patterns
pushed me
to strive
to see
how you saw,
to hear
how you heard,
to feel
how you felt.

In short
I sought to perceive.
9 Nov 2000 (updated 9 Nov 2000 at 21:34 UTC) »
...I just couldn't get it.

I couldn't see
what you could see
I couldn't hear
what you could hear
I couldn't touch
what you could touch
So reading about
meant nothing to me then -
although I could parse it.

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