As much as I hate to admit it this can be me. I hate myself for doing it. But I love coming across the worst kinds of social network humans. And dying inside but laughing at the same time. There are few things that shock me. Maybe this is why I go on the hunt for the most outrageously disgusting / humiliating / stupid / entertaining people on the planet. Sometimes I wish I was boring so I could enjoy the simple joys of a cretin. Instead I find myself being mildly amused while others laugh their socks off. (How one laughs their socks off is beyond me but obviously more feasible than laughing one's arse off. That could get messy)
And then I look at my own profile and wonder what people think. I'd like to say I think I don't care what anyone thinks of me but that'd be a lie because I'd've been too busy getting distracted by my own profile...
- LDN, United Kingdom
- I am Shaz. It's hard work. But someone's gotta do it. I am a part time freak and full time retard. I also do some casual work as a skank and I volunteer as your mother. NICE TO MEET YOU! Welcome to the biggest rant factory in the history of the internet. I've got more apathy than the entire emo population of the world combined. Only kidding. I'm real nice
Monday, 11 October 2010
Love in a Life – Robert Browning (1812-1889)
Room after room,
I hunt the house through
We inhabit together.
Heart, fear nothing, for, heart, thou shalt find her,
Next time, herself! -not the trouble behind her
Left in the curtain, the couch's perfume!
As she brushed it, the cornice-wreath blossomed anew, -
Yon looking-glass gleamed at the wave of her feather.
Yet the day wears,
And door succeeds door;
I try the fresh fortune -
Range the wide house from the wing to the centre.
Still the same chance! she goes out as I enter.
Spend my whole day in the quest, -who cares?
But 'tis twilight, you see, -with such suites to explore,
Such closets to search, such alcoves to importune!
What a lovely poem. This is from my first seminar. And as I'm struggling to write 800 words of UTTER SHITE, I thought I'd share this with you.
BUT.... What I don't understand is, in the poem Browning blatantly just wants to nail his wife.
He's HUNTING HER DOWN. Chasing her through the house.
Cool. I'm down with that. Kinky bastard!
BUT AFTER DOING MY RESEARCH INTO HIS LIFE, I'm reading his wife's an invalid.
No seriously, she must be a nifty little mover in that wheelchair of hers.