Lady of Mercy

Lady of Mercy
Your icy grip
Lady of Mercy
Puts us to sleep
Lady of Mercy
We all feed off Your breast
Your embrace is blessed

Do I fit the pieces


[Mastodon – Teardrinker]

Try to give up what weighs
What weighs you down
The only control you have
Is all your own
Do I fit the pieces
Together again
Or do I leave them lying on the floor?

Dearest the shadows I live with are numberless


[Pallbearer – Gloomy Sunday]

Sunday is gloomy, my hours are slumberless
Dearest the shadows I live with are numberless
Little white flowers will never awaken you
Not where black coaches of sorrow has taken you
Angels have no thought of never returning you
Would they be angry if I thought of joining you?

Gloomy Sunday

Gloomy is Sunday, darkness I spend it all
My heart and I have decided to end it all
Soon there’ll be flowers and prayers that are sad I know
Don’t let them weep let them know that I’m glad to go
Death is no dream for in death I’m caressing you
With the last beat of my heart I’ll be blessing you

Waken me from my long rest

And were I, then, a single seed of all the millions in the field,
You, a gentle raindrop from the sky,
And as you fall upon my breast and
Waken me from my long rest,
In that moment, by the old gods blessed,
Oh, you and I, truly one.

And were you, then, the last wild leaf on an autumn bough,
I, the wind, a wanton thief, blow as I blow now,
And if you’d fall as fall you must,
And I to be the waiting dust,
Free from sorrow, pain, or lust,
And lie, forever, truly one.

umiemy umierać

“Nic nam nie robisz – masz prawo wybierać,
możesz nam pomóc, możesz nas wybawić
lub czekać dalej i śmierci zostawić…
śmierć nie jest straszna, umiemy umierać.
Ale wiedz o tym, że z naszej mogiły
Nowa się Polska – zwycięska narodzi.
I po tej ziemi ty nie będziesz chodzić
czerwony władco rozbestwionej siły.”

An art revealed to no one

Have kept me mystified

Sleep well

who will break

and who will bend

Sleep well, maestro


[Ennio Morricone – The Trio]

bowels to water

104 years ago today in 1916, Captain Charles May writes a letter to his wife Bessie two weeks before being sent to his death on July 1st in the Battle of the Somme.

“I must not allow myself to dwell on the personal – there is no room for it here. Also it is demoralising. But I do not want to die. Not that I mind for myself. If it be that I am to go, I am ready. But the thought that I may never see you or our darling baby again turns my bowels to water. I cannot think of it with even the semblance of equanimity.

My one consolation is the happiness that has been ours. Also my conscience is clear that I have always tried to make life a joy for you. I know at least that if I go you will not want. This is something. But it is the thought that we may be cut off from one another which is so terrible and that our babe may grow up without my knowing her and without her knowing me. It is difficult to face. And I know your life without me would be a dull blank. You must never let it become wholly so. For to you will be left the greatest charge in all the world; the upbringing of our baby.

God bless that child, she is the hope of life to me. My darling, au revoir. It may well be that you will only have to read these lines as ones of passing interest. On the other hand, they may well be my last message to you. If they are, know through all your life that I loved you and baby with all my heart and soul, that you two sweet things were just all the world to me. I pray God I may do my duty, for I know, whatever that may entail, you would not have it otherwise.”

The Three stood calm and silent

„Przez lata słysząc te same odpowiedzi na moje pytania o ulubione książki, zacząłem pytać studentów, kogo stawiają sobie za bohaterów. I tutaj reakcją jest zazwyczaj milczenie. Dlaczego ktokolwiek miałby mieć bohaterów? Każdy powinien być sobą, a nie przykrawać się do cudzego szablonu. Wspiera ich w tym przekonaniu ideologia samoafirmacji: zerwanie z kultem bohaterów jest oznaką dojrzałości. Ustanawiają dla siebie własne wartości (…). Pobrzmiewająca w nas pogarda dla heroizmu to tylko jedna z wersji błędnie pojmowanej zasady demokratyzmu, która odmawia ludziom wielkości i postuluje, aby każdy czuł się dobrze we własnej skórze, nie musząc cierpieć niepochlebnych dla siebie porównań (…). Można czuć tylko litość wobec młodych ludzi, którzy nie mają kogo podziwiać i naśladować, których pragnienie wielkiego męstwa jest sztucznie gaszone”.

Allan Bloom