text:
Books are not made to be believed, but to be subjected to inquiry.
quote by Umberto Eco
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Hindus are not Vedic.
The Vedic concept is the Hindutva,
We are led and made to believe.
See the Gods the Hindus worship.
Most of them are not Vedic Gods.
See their custom and practice.
They did not originate from Veda.
Muslims and Christians converted
The people in India.
Aryans converted the gods of tribes.
Tribes followed their gods
To be sheltered in the Hinduism.
Hindus are not out and out Vedic.
But still Aryan Brahmins are their cowherd.
14.03.2001, Pomdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Books are not made for furniture, but there is nothing else that so beautifully furnishes a house.
quote by Henry Ward Beecher
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Front yards are not made to walk in, but, at most, through, and you could go in the back way.
quote by Henry David Thoreau
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See also quotes about walking
Days Are Not Far
Days are not far off when you will run
Not the army may follow you with gun!
But people will throw rotten eggs on your head and have fun
You will be painted black and paraded in hot sun
You may wonder and think what has happened to this people
They were helpless and never in position or capable
How could they rise in rebellion and raise the banner?
What was the inspiration and who was the trainer?
Romania faced same fate when dictator had to pay heavily
Libya followed same bloody path and paid dearly
Egypt and Jordan are burning under heavy public pressure
People have lost the patience and want secured future
People are killed in streets like animals and goats
Promises are given and dreams are shown with fine quotes
Life is at standstill and hungry people are on rampage
The history will be written with blood on the page
The leaders followed same ideology under all the regimes
Country heavily burdened under debt and surge in crimes
Life has become cheaper than dogs with scant respect
Now you will find the final show down with people' act
What is use of democracy when two times meal is denied?
What is fun when food is rotting in open and laws defied?
Open loot from people's account and no one is responsible
Can this process be not pushed aside and made reversible?
Burn all the law books and return to the jungle rule
Where at least one king may prepare the module
Might may be right but peace may be assured
The life will be respected and values may be treasured
Why can't there be cap on their greed or lust?
Why can't their assets be seized and deposited in trust?
National wealth can't be concentrated in the hands of few
Time has come to strike at the root and urgent need for review
If system can't be improved then let the rule be resisted
Make them realize that their fate is time being rested
You may loose everything if outburst is not controlled
People may rise in despair and final day may be called
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Also see the following:
- quotes about Romania
- quotes about revolution
- quotes about independence
- quotes about abilities
- quotes about time
- quotes about fate
- quotes about army
- quotes about animals
- quotes about promises
Flowers Are The Clocks Of The Light
Flowers are the clocks of the light.
Spring grey. Clouds. Half smoke, half crocus.
The rivulets are carrying last November's leaves away
like long lines of ants bearing the gnostic gospels
of the snow thawing into a spiritual life of water
back to the shrine of their colony
to be chewed over by the divines
masticating the mystery into something
like an edible orthodoxy of mystic impiety.
My heart is a bruised apple with purple blood today.
Neither passionate, nor aloof, clinging
nor unwilling to let go if that's what I must do.
One foot on shore. One in a lifeboat.
O what funny bridges we make as if
we were trying to balance the axis
of heaven and earth upon our nose
like the calves of giraffes learning to walk on stilts.
But there you go. What are you going to do?
That's the way it seems.
You've got to look up and stick your neck out
if you want to graze on the stars.
Same way with dreams. You've got to
risk waking up if you don't want to lose them.
I've wandered off from the carnage
of my doomed holy war of one with my heart
into a peaceful valley where I can sit
on a glacial skull of prophetic rock
and sheathe my sword in the wound I drew it from
like fire from the ore of a crippled dragon
that walked with a limp out of the war
weary of winning these honourable surrenders
like Jacob wrestling with the angel in the way.
Soft here. Easy on the eyes. A gentle touch.
The air on the verge of tears and the trees
about to see who's a skeleton and who's a survivor.
Who made it through the winter, and who
dreamed they died in their sleep and did,
and who, the ghost amputee of the limbs they lost.
I have a mindful heart and a warrior's compassion
for lost lovers, friends, suicides, martyrs, heretics,
neglected gods, defrocked saints, those
who fell half crazy on the broken panes
of their own clarity, committing hara kiri
on the splintered plinths of their own love-crossed stars.
One-eyed artists riding a pair of red bicycle glasses
in a high-wire act without safety nets
like a dropp of dew on a spider's thread
trying to lay the first cable of a suspension bridge
they hope will follow them across the impassable abyss,
offering themselves up like uncertain sacrifices to oblivion.
Big-hearted poets who scattered their works
like the apple bloom of hidden orchards
as their eyes waxed wide-eyed
as a harvest moon into late October
and wound up being gouged by slumlords
in squalid apartment rooms
with an atlas of cracks in the windows,
dunking the hard crust of the bitter life
they were given back in return
for breaking the bread of their souls with strangers
even as they bled to death like a goldrush
and all that was eventually left were the nuggets
of the hearts of coal they dunk in their tears
to make them more palatable
when the Hesperides burn out
the last of their radiant diamonds
and all that's left of their sidereal lyric
is written in the braille of black holes
that comes up snake-eyes on the dice
they've carved from their starless skulls.
And painters whose visions fell from the sky
like rain on the eyelids of dirty windows,
like stars who were washed out
like nocturnal watercolours they painted in tears
like hot cinders from the unradiant world's
way of seeing things with its eyes closed.
Those whose flame burned
like the hydrogen blue of a wild iris
and then disappeared into the perfected heat
of their spiritual immolations, and those,
who scattered their ashes like morning doves on the wind
as if they were breaking their bodies
like loaves and fishes among the flowers
thronging up the hillside like the jester-caps
of the wine-stained trillium
getting drunk with nuns in white.
Just want to let my starmud settle in a puddle.
Look at a few clouds for awhile, the crowns of the trees,
notice the deepening red of the upper branches of the birch
reaching out like thermometers for the sun
and how they look so much like ground willows
raised up high on a marble obelisks and altars
like a blood offering to the sky.
I'm at rest for a moment like the nadir of a bell
in its arc of sadness and bliss, life and death,
one breath and the next, neither heads nor tails
of the copper penny of the moon on the horizon.
And from here I can see the Elysian Fields of the Blessed
littered with the corpses and bones
of my companions and fellow aspirants
the spirit knows as its own.
And I mourn the loss of so many heroic children,
so many glorious losers, determined clowns,
all the lost pages of the books of crazy wisdom
that died like the rainbow bodies
of sages and gardens in their own arms
like the new moon in the embrace of the old.
These are my war dead. These
are the crosses and poppies of blood I kneel before.
These are the ones for whom my tears,
my sorrow, my blessing, my heart is shaped
like a dropp of dew at the tip of a blade of stargrass,
ready to fall at the slightest quaking of an insight
into the intimate beauty and cosmic cost of their sacrifice
not for what they believed, but in what
they tried to make come true without knowing
what it was until it appeared before them
like a child with a piece of bread in her hand,
pointing with the other to the birthstar she comes from.
These were wishing wells of clean water in a dry land.
These were people whose skulls were lunar grails
they offered up to the ailing kingdom
and said, here, drink until I'm empty.
These were people of plenty who walked
in rags and scars, poverty, exile and despair
only to be crucified at the stake like scarecrows
in the starfields of their expansive hearts
come to harvest in the hand of Virgo
like the autumnal equinox of a generous soul.
Sitting pensively here before the gates
of the realms they've entered, it's for these,
I wrap my blood like a robe of silence,
like the gentle mantle of this approaching spring
over their shoulders to keep their memory
alive, warm, hauntingly near and eternally human.
These, for whom my heart grows mute
as this long loveletter I've been writing all my life
knowing by the time it finishes me
all those I would have sent it to will be gone,
gone, gone, gone, altogether gone beyond.
But like any war memorial without a heart of stone,
I am a happy and a sad thing simultaneously
to celebrate the indefensibly human divinity
of these who sprang up like poppies in the grass
and spread their spirit like wildfire
in a rage of renewal that proclaimed
the spiritual innocence of our births and deaths,
evangels standing at the sacred forks of rivers
with nothing to say about salvation in passing
but keep on flowing your own way
flawlessly to the sea that receives and seats
everyone below the salt in the lowest place of all
before it raises them up again to fall
like snow on the blue hills
of a deciduously spiritual mindscape.
These who didn't labour in iron chains
but beaded the light and the water into
a necklace of eyes on the loom of a spiderweb.
As if a jeweller had shown us how
to make dreamcatchers out of our tears.
No. Stone will not do to mark the passing
and return of the water birds to the zeniths and nadirs
of these northern lakes I'm peacefully marooned among
like the shattered pieces of two way mirrors
that put an abrupt end to the conscious interrogation
of their own shadows, reflections, echoes and ghosts
like a spiritual form of espionage
as enlightenment slowly dawned upon them like a firefly
that revealed they already had the answers
to their deepest questions
even before they knew what to ask.
Even before it's wholly dark out, the nightwatchman
is lighting up the sky with stars.
Yes. It must be nothing less than life itself
that honours these whose spirits leaped up playfully
like a gust of stars to blow on the flames.
Their names must be written on the wind
with the occasional ink blot of a crow to keep things
spontaneously unavoidable, as fallibly unpredictable
as they lived their lives on the wing
feathered by the fires of life.
So I live my lives, I die my deaths,
I suffer my wounds and my joys,
my eurekas, hallelujahs, my wonders
my masha Allahs, my oi veys, my inspirations,
the barnyard airfields of my mediocrity
with the wingspan of a kite afraid of heights
hanging on for dear life to something grounded
like an ostrich with its head stuck in the stars.
I rise from the ashes in the urns of my burnt-out genius
like a phoenix with the endless afterlives
of a recurring comet wondering
what it's the sign of this time, what message
does it carry like a loveletter or a warning
not meant to take itself too seriously, and to whom
is it addressed if not as a tribute to these
who have adorned and deepened the darkness
and intensified the light by colouring outside the lines
of the taboos of their homeless madness
standing on the thresholds of their beings in transit
like the unacknowledged orphans of what they're becoming?
I observe the branches of the birch,
I taste the ancient breeding of the light
in the plush syrups of the bleeding maples.
I listen for the night bird in the green room
getting ready to sing its heart out
at its debut appearance in the spotlight of the moon.
I watch the sapling aspens shaking nervously
as they recite their new leaves to the wind
at their very first poetry reading
and in a startled rush of heron's wings
I can hear the one-handed applause of the ghosts
of the more seasoned trees of an old growth forest
that once stood here in the midst of life
as lyrical once, as vulnerable once, as these.
I can see death's door ajar ahead of me.
I come to it out of the dark
like a befuddled bat to a porchlight.
How many lives before have I sat here
transcendentally defeated by the better part of me
and watched the stars slowly emerge like eyes
out of the peacock green silk of the sky
like the ghosts of ancient mulberry blossoms
unfolding their poems like the sails of paper boats,
messenger butterflies with secret love notes
written like starmaps to their otherworldliness
in the indecipherable mother-tongue of all holy books.
Antares, Arcturus, Aldebaran, Betelgeuse,
among all these big ripe red stars,
I'm characteristically human enough
to have realized a long time ago,
even before the volcanoes did,
compared to their radiant enormities,
my life's just another blood stain
among many on the darkness
that can't explain themselves
or account for where they've been,
what they've seen, or counter-intuitively why.
Or who spilled the wine on the sun.
And I'm more than well aware
of the concentrated intensity
of the needle-eyed focus
I've been trying to thread my life through
like this night creek flowing before me
like an oilspill on the moon,
like a sacred syllable smuggled
through the lapis lazuli bull-gates
and up the emergency backstairs
of the polyglot towers of PsychoBabylon
where the faithful are called to prayer in tongues.
In the beginning was the Word.
And it was a nightbird singing in the dark.
It was an image of everything that can't be said,
Imagination trying to render the likeness
of an imageless space, the features of a face
that lets you see the stars in her eyes
as the mutable signs of her ineffability
shining through the dark matter of a veil,
even as you're mixing
complementary colours on your palette
like a stained-glass soul to give your life
to what you cannot see. Even in
this morgue of dead gods, this eyeless reality
arrayed in all its creative potential before us,
the dark abundance of the plenum-void,
or however you want to picture or not,
what else could it be, given we're all born
out of our own image of love
with the playful hearts and minds of artists
with the aesthetic tastes
and spiritual genius of children
transfixed by starfish in the morning
well within reach of their shining.
All artists are lunar orphans
that have been left on the stairs
of the last shrine of idolatry
before reality leaves them speechless and deaf.
And how many times have I come here
just to watch my mind painting
in the light and time
of this mystically specific life
my thoughts, emotions, intuitions,
my clarities, the occultations of my fireflies
trying to get a fire started
out of the dry kindling of lightning
I've piled up like a pyre
for my imminent sky burial
like waterbirds lifting off the lake
in a shower of eyes and insights scattered
like seeds and broken rosaries from their wings
to turn into all other things like spring
returning to its myth of origins.
Or a singer alone on the road, homesick
for the silence he broke into with his song
like the pebble of the moon
thrown into the quiescent pond of the world.
Like the call of Canada geese high overhead at night
returning empty from the land of the dead
having delivered their charges successfully
without looking back retroactively upon the past
to see if they were still being followed or not.
But then, again, who isn't walking
in the footsteps of ghosts who went on ahead of them
on some forsaken shore somewhere?
And I've been mistaken often enough to admit it,
I've sat here on my stony throne sometimes
in this abdicated kingdom,
in the middle of this boneyard
of courtly fossils in the darkness
of the La Brea Tarpit in a black out of stars
at the end of my own tunnel vision
when I looked at things in a dark mood
through the third eye of my orbiting telescope
and all I could see was endless space
with a widow's ashes smeared on its face,
not the chromatically abberated rainbows of rosier lenses
with more of a two-eyed outlook on things
that swim into their ken like cults
of shepherd moons that outnumber
the schools of fish than I've ever seen on Neptune.
Just the salt flats of a future that's not much good
at growing flowers and stars,
but has a knack for keeping things from going bad.
And I whispered suggestively into my left ear
that's not a reason green enough to go on living.
There's no food for thought in the ashes
of the Alexandrian Library of the dead.
There's no harvest, there's no end of the world
stored like grain in the empty urns
and back amphorae of the new moon
bobbing like cormorants on the mast
of a shipwreck Atlantean fathoms below the waterline.
And remembering a dead poet friend of mine,
thought old age is the year of the locusts,
though he didn't live it that way
well into his nineties and beyond.
And finding nothing up ahead to give it forward to
gave my future up to living it for people like him
as if it were no less theirs than mine,
only to realize as I progressed backwards in time
the return journey through the zodiac
I've made of the stations of my life
is so much more spiritually vital than the first
that wasn't quite as down to earth
as this one where solid things seem
like mere shadows of the picture-music
streaming like the Road of Ghosts through
a sad nightmare we're all glued to
like constellations of black dwarfs to flypaper
compared with these translucent masterpieces
inspired by the song of a hidden nightbird
empowered by the singular longing
of the candle it keeps lighting up and blowing out,
like the eternal flame of the synteretic spark
looking for enlightenment
with a white cane in the dark.
So. Yes. For me, for them, for people
it will be ten thousand lifetimes
before we embrace again at zenith
when the sun shines at midnight,
and the wide-eyed lunatics
follow the moon like a cult to the dark side
to see what she's been hiding from them
like a black pearl in her other hand.
So, yes, yes, even now that my tears fall
way more often than they ought
or I should even remotely like,
I give my assent to them all like spring rain
on the withered stars and rusty spearheads
of the brown New England asters.
I live it like a living memorial
to future generations yet to come
of what it was like to be human
in a makeshift Eden of desiccated tree limbs
where sacred water snakes
once sang in their green boughs like birds.
I live it for them like the spontaneous flightplan
of an heretical root fire
spreading like a phoenix
through the valley of death
in a frontal assault of fireflies
going off like fireworks in all directions at once
as if the easiest way
to storm the walls in the way of anywhere
and enter by the right gate, is to live
the way these did each in their own good time,
no matter the ferocity of the species-killing meteors
that were hurled against them like the Perseids.
Or the eviction notices they couldn't ignore
that were slipped like razorblades
across their thresholds of pain
to vacate the premises of their biospheres
by such and such a moment on a Mayan calendar.
And in spite of all that, in the face of the fate
that befell them like wild apples
in a windfall of last year's trees,
live it even now at this late date through me
like a legacy of surrealistically enlightened madness
that can always find something to celebrate
about walking around on the earth for their sake
cherishing my insignificance in an unworthy world
just to see in whatever I turn my eyes to
what a jewel of awareness that truly is.
I see the uprooted tree where lighting
decapitated the head of the Medusa.
I see the crocus in its cap
more like two hands folded in prayer
trying to keep warm over a small golden fire
than I do the pope of flowers.
I smell the fragrance of decay
in the damp, green moss of a funeral home
clinging to the cliches of its emotional condolences
like wigs on a skull waiting for a hair transplant
of red columbine with its blonde roots showing through
like the sun peeping through the eyelid of a crimson dusk.
I break off a blood-stained horn of sumac
and savour it like the taste
of a lemon-flavoured couch
I spit out of my mouth like high-protein lint
at the bottom of an empty pocket
that knows how to survive in the woods
without having to live for itself.
My hand caresses the water
like the wing of a loon on a moonlit lake
that isn't waiting for its return.
I pity a dead squirrel with eye-sockets
that have been gouged out like white meat
from the shells of black walnuts
and I can feel compassion whelming up
in the eyes of the dead who can see this through me
like a death mask I place on their faces
eyebrow to eyebrow with this vision of life
I'm living like a lifeboat in the aftermath of theirs.
Compass needles like infinite directions of prayer
among the abandoned pagodas of the pine-cones
waiting for fire to awake the sacred seed syllables
they've hidden under their eyelids
to raise them up to renew the world again
like evergreens in a towering wilderness,
like morning doves hidden under the eaves
of their crumbling temples,
or a nightbird such as me
with a star in its beak
like a lost earring of the moon
it's retrieved like a holy word
from the mindstream
its shining was once returned to
like a silver tribute to the river.
Venus and Jupiter going down in the west.
Saturn and Mars rising late in the east.
Love, power, pensive sorrow and war,
the lifelines of the least of us
flowing like dynasties of blood and tears
down the world mountain,
out of the melting hills
into the new seabeds of these
who were magnanimously blessed by the moon
realizing as they approach the deltas of the dead
they're finally at peace with themselves
like a poet sitting on the banks
of a woodland stream in the early spring
sleepwalking through everyone else's dreams
not as someone who made a vow over a deathbed,
not as mere words mouthed breathlessly
like ghosts dissipating into the chilly dead air,
but the heart of a nightbird returning
to the lyrics of an ancient repertoire
it can't help but remember and sing
like an overture of picture-music
as a prelude to the pagan advent
of the ancestral recurrence of a prophetic spring.
Stars like nocturnal waterlilies soon
crowding the banks of the Milky Way.
A moonrise of lustrous bubbles in Pisces
like fish swimming in the reflected treetops,
singing along with the boundless birds
that nest like a choir of homeless voices
returning like the dead in vital bliss to their roots
like a fire sign to the living
from these who were interred like ashes
in the urns of a phoenix
born with the wingspan
of an autumn sumac that went down in flames
like the names of the noblest of these
who were moved like Luna moths and Icarian comets
to risk flying too close to the sun,
to burn the flightfeathers of their imaginations
like love letters expiring in the heretical fires
on a pyre of broken wands and empty pens
of what inspired them the most to write
in the indelible inks of the human spirit
read like a secret message of invisible desires
over the a fire in a script of cursive smoke
like spring returning like words and birds
to the lyrical mouths of lonely, holy ghosts
trying to put an earthly picture-music
like flesh back on bones of the flutes
of their ineffable spiritual longing
to sing for the unattainable like the high note
of an inconceivably sustainable table of contents.
poem by Patrick White
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- quotes about heresy
- quotes about eclipse
- quotes about lifeboats
- quotes about language
- quotes about comets
- quotes about resignation
- quotes about apples
- quotes about harvest
- quotes about birth
I Need You Now But You Are Not Here
I need you but you are not here now.
I never sat and talked to you
when I saw you the three times you were here.
poem by Susan Garelick
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All The Days Are Not Equal! !
All the days are not equal! !
With bad days and better days at hand at times;
But, you have to live by them to enhance and educate your status!
However, we were made to follow the rules of life.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Writers Are Born Not Made
Ocean is dry
And fount not secreting
Wind still rove the dry land
In its usual way
I want to write
Everything in me want to write
Even though ocean is dry
And fog too thick i can't see remote place
I must write
I must make thess two lovers
Starring at each otherexpressionlessly
Make love to yield readables
Writers are born not made
Writers write and write
When ocean overflow its limit
When ocean overdry that feet could
Navigate the way of ships
Writers write and write
For is in them to write.
poem by Alade Abayomi IdrisWhite
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You are not alone.....
When tears of sadness streaks your face,
You are not alone.
When you feel lost and out of place,
You are not alone.
When it seems you can't carry on,
And everything you do is wrong,
You are not alone.
When you open your presents on the holiday,
You are not alone.
When nothing can seem to spoil your day,
You are not alone.
When it seems like you made it through,
But there's no one to share this feeling with you,
You are not alone.
You'll never be alone when I'm around.
I'll cheer you up when you are down,
And whether you are happy or feeling blue,
I will always be there for you.
So when you feel alone and in dark.
Just keep me in your heart,
And you will never be alone.
poem by Gaurav Sharma
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Only Fools Are Not Aware of The Power Of God
It's believed what I do,
Has been quite easy to achieve.
So easy in fact...
I do nothing to accomplish it,
But simply breathe.
I've spent my entire life,
Doing what others said could not be done.
And I should go to New York City,
Or Hollywood, California
Where more of an acceptance for what I do,
For me even easier to me comes.
But I believe wherever I choose to sit,
To do what it is others to this day resist...
Is where I will do 'it'.
Since I will do what I do with much persistence!
And it seems more of a concern for them,
To see me lose and not win!
And 'that' God has not allowed to happen!
Because God has created 'all' of my achievements.
And only fools are not aware of the power of God!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Church Not Made With Hands
Bye-bye shadowlands
The term is over
And all the holidays have begun
Now she walks in fresh fields
Her tracks are on the land
She is everywhere and no place
When its dark and evening falls
She moves among men
They would seek to have her as a prize
But she is in the shadows
The ocean and the sand
She is everywhere and no place
Her church not made with hands
Not contained by man
She is dancing high as clouds
Faster than the arrow
As straight as any crows that flies
Accross great seas she travels
Up through rising lands
She is everywhere and no place
Her church not made with hands
Not contained by man
Isnt that a pretty sun
Setting in a pretty sky?
Will we stay and watch it darken?
Will we stay and watch it darken?
The church not made by hands
Not contained by man
That precious place
Unmade by man
song performed by Waterboys
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When Intentions Meant Are Not Mentioned
Can we share thoughts without speaking?
And how can that be validated?
If neither of us are near,
To appreciate what we hear?
No emotion I've known to feel,
Has ever been exchanged.
To have someone understand,
And comprehend...
From the outside to the inside.
Knowing what is felt,
Deep within.
Can love be shared and said is there,
But not expressed at all?
Can a broken heart be spared despair?
To not process pain,
Before any tears begin to fall?
And if those tears should fall from eyes,
Could alibis stop what is shown?
Empathy sent from distances given,
Isn't empathy whispered or a hug to convince.
Can we share thoughts without speaking?
And how can that be validated?
If neither of us are near to appreciate this...
Or witness a difference made.
When intentions meant are not mentioned...
Can relationships mend to save?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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They Are Not The Kind
Am I stuck to plunge,
When I have not desired this?
They have been the wicked ones...
May I slip away and exit this ship?
I have been a servant.
Not a master of any ways.
I do what I must do then leave.
I have let them believe I am their slave.
What is going on today,
Looks a bit bleak.
And under sunrays appears very grave.
There has been so many messages,
Delivered to these folks.
Everything they heard that warned...
They turned into a festival,
Backstabbed messengers...
And made them jokes to poke!
Am I stuck to plunge,
When I have not desired this?
They have been the wicked ones...
May I slip away and exit this ship?
If I may make one suggestion?
Those sitting over there,
Have the expertise...
To repair this like brand new!
They can...
And do that quick!
But, of course, I understand...
They are not the kind,
You wish to see command!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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You Are Not the Loyal and Devoted Kind
Did you think I would chase?
And you were worthy of that adventure?
Did you think I would wait?
For my telephone to ring...
Anticipating a call from you?
Pacing the floor,
Wondering our fate.
Did you believe the love I have...
Would not exist if not for you?
When I said I loved you...
I do and that was true.
I did not propose marriage,
To say I do's.
But I am glad you are confirming,
Your feelings for me.
I'm just someone you enjoy the act of sex.
But having a relationship...
Scares you half the death.
Don't worry,
I wont pressure you.
And when you hear me say,
I love you, again...
It's not to entrap...
I don't want a pet.
Or a monkey on my back.
I want someone near...
Who wishes to share and not fear.
And you have made it clear...
You are not the loyal and devoted kind!
And I am,
I don't give up something good,
So easy!
I have revamped my training methods.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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We Are Not Getting Back Together
The first time I was kissed by you
I thought I get your flu
Since that kiss, my heart was beating for you
Even when the sky was blue
That was our first kiss
And after that you never call me 'miss'
You conquer my heart
And show me that you were too smart
There was a time when I believe that on my death
Your name would be on my last breath
But now, time's change
And I'm not in your range
Do whatever you wish to do
But my reaction would always be a boo
There was a time, I thought we were made for each other
But now I wanna say 'Don't bother'
The slap on my face, changed my life
And my heart was cut by a knife
That slap broke my heart
Not because it was in a public mart
But after the time you slap me
I decided that you have to pay the fee
I always thought our love was too strong
But no, it was weak as it didn't stayed for too long
Now I wanna say 'leave me alone'
And think we are unknown
Remember, we are not getting back together
As our love has flew away like a feather
poem by Marium Fatima
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Angels Are Not Saints
angels are not saints, we do believe that they exist
they can even transform themselves into human for
form, but still remain to what they are in their natural
they are called by many names, they too have rank to
obey, for angels lives like us, who work and have task
given by their master, in some moments we see them,
as they appears everyone notice them for angels, are
favorite images in every literature
angels are not God, that can judge nor an icon to be adored
in the altar that we throne, for only they serve to the master
where they return, in God's wisdom they are form
all angels are holy, but not a saints, as it could be, for only
man's nature reserved to be, by holiness one's sinfulness
make us saint in all eternity
angels is in highest stage, where over and above human sphere,
never that they are superior nor inferior to human lure, for one
mistake subject to be thrown to the fire that burn
angels are angels never be a saints for eternity, for our destiny
they are made, forever they well always lead us, we equal the
same beginning in the image and likeness of God, we took
and shared one love, a breath that last for a lifetime
angels as we, differ from they, who by the one who sent them,
reminds us all, to be, in a nation of saints not of an angel
where we are call
poem by Antonio Liao
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Malcolm's Katie: A Love Story - Part I.
Max plac'd a ring on little Katie's hand,
A silver ring that he had beaten out
From that same sacred coin--first well-priz'd wage
For boyish labour, kept thro' many years.
'See, Kate,' he said, 'I had no skill to shape
Two hearts fast bound together, so I grav'd
Just K. and M., for Katie and for Max.'
'But, look; you've run the lines in such a way,
That M. is part of K., and K. of M.,'
Said Katie, smiling. 'Did you mean it thus?
I like it better than the double hearts.'
'Well, well,' he said, 'but womankind is wise!
Yet tell me, dear, will such a prophecy
Not hurt you sometimes, when I am away?
Will you not seek, keen ey'd, for some small break
In those deep lines, to part the K. and M.
For you? Nay, Kate, look down amid the globes
Of those large lilies that our light canoe
Divides, and see within the polish'd pool
That small, rose face of yours,--so dear, so fair,--
A seed of love to cleave into a rock,
And bourgeon thence until the granite splits
Before its subtle strength. I being gone--
Poor soldier of the axe--to bloodless fields,
(Inglorious battles, whether lost or won).
That sixteen summer'd heart of yours may say:
''I but was budding, and I did not know
My core was crimson and my perfume sweet;
I did not know how choice a thing I am;
I had not seen the sun, and blind I sway'd
To a strong wind, and thought because I sway'd,
'Twas to the wooer of the perfect rose--
That strong, wild wind has swept beyond my ken--
The breeze I love sighs thro' my ruddy leaves.'
'O, words!' said Katie, blushing, 'only words!
You build them up that I may push them down;
If hearts are flow'rs, I know that flow'rs can root--
'Bud, blossom, die--all in the same lov'd soil;
They do so in my garden. I have made
Your heart my garden. If I am a bud
And only feel unfoldment--feebly stir
Within my leaves: wait patiently; some June,
I'll blush a full-blown rose, and queen it, dear,
In your lov'd garden. Tho' I be a bud,
My roots strike deep, and torn from that dear soil
Would shriek like mandrakes--those witch things I read
Of in your quaint old books. Are you content?'
'Yes--crescent-wise--but not to round, full moon.
Look at yon hill that rounds so gently up
From the wide lake; a lover king it looks,
In cloth of gold, gone from his bride and queen;
And yet delayed, because her silver locks
Catch in his gilded fringes; his shoulders sweep
Into blue distance, and his gracious crest,
Not held too high, is plum'd with maple groves;--
One of your father's farms. A mighty man,
Self-hewn from rock, remaining rock through all.'
'He loves me, Max,' said Katie: 'Yes, I know--
A rock is cup to many a crystal spring.
Well, he is rich; those misty, peak-roof'd barns--
Leviathans rising from red seas of grain--
Are full of ingots, shaped like grains of wheat.
His flocks have golden fleeces, and his herds
Have monarchs worshipful, as was the calf
Aaron call'd from the furnace; and his ploughs,
Like Genii chained, snort o'er his mighty fields.
He has a voice in Council and in Church--'
'He work'd for all,' said Katie, somewhat pain'd.
'Aye, so, dear love, he did; I heard him tell
How the first field upon his farm was ploughed.
He and his brother Reuben, stalwart lads,
Yok'd themselves, side by side, to the new plough;
Their weaker father, in the grey of life
(But rather the wan age of poverty
Than many winters), in large, gnarl'd hands
The plunging handles held; with mighty strains
They drew the ripping beak through knotted sod,
Thro' tortuous lanes of blacken'd, smoking stumps;
And past great flaming brush heaps, sending out
Fierce summers, beating on their swollen brows.
O, such a battle! had we heard of serfs
Driven to like hot conflict with the soil,
Armies had march'd and navies swiftly sail'd
To burst their gyves. But here's the little point--
The polish'd di'mond pivot on which spins
The wheel of Difference--they OWN'D the rugged soil,
And fought for love--dear love of wealth and pow'r,
And honest ease and fair esteem of men;
One's blood heats at it!' 'Yet you said such fields
Were all inglorious,' Katie, wondering, said.
'Inglorious? yes; they make no promises
Of Star or Garter, or the thundering guns
That tell the earth her warriors are dead.
Inglorious! aye, the battle done and won
Means not--a throne propp'd up with bleaching bones;
A country sav'd with smoking seas of blood;
A flag torn from the foe with wounds and death;
Or Commerce, with her housewife foot upon
Colossal bridge of slaughter'd savages,
The Cross laid on her brawny shoulder, and
In one sly, mighty hand her reeking sword;
And in the other all the woven cheats
From her dishonest looms. Nay, none of these.
It means--four walls, perhaps a lowly roof;
Kine in a peaceful posture; modest fields;
A man and woman standing hand in hand
In hale old age, who, looking o'er the land,
Say: 'Thank the Lord, it all is mine and thine!'
It means, to such thew'd warriors of the Axe
As your own father;--well, it means, sweet Kate,
Outspreading circles of increasing gold,
A name of weight; one little daughter heir.
Who must not wed the owner of an axe,
Who owns naught else but some dim, dusky woods
In a far land; two arms indifferent strong--'
'And Katie's heart,' said Katie, with a smile;
For yet she stood on that smooth, violet plain,
Where nothing shades the sun; nor quite believed
Those blue peaks closing in were aught but mist
Which the gay sun could scatter with a glance.
For Max, he late had touch'd their stones, but yet
He saw them seam'd with gold and precious ores,
Rich with hill flow'rs and musical with rills.
'Or that same bud that will be Katie's heart,
Against the time your deep, dim woods are clear'd,
And I have wrought my father to relent.'
'How will you move him, sweet? why, he will rage
And fume and anger, striding o'er his fields,
Until the last bought king of herds lets down
His lordly front, and rumbling thunder from
His polish'd chest, returns his chiding tones.
How will you move him, Katie, tell me how?'
'I'll kiss him and keep still--that way is sure,'
Said Katie, smiling. 'I have often tried.'
'God speed the kiss,' said Max, and Katie sigh'd,
With pray'rful palms close seal'd, 'God speed the axe!'
* * * * *
O, light canoe, where dost thou glide?
Below thee gleams no silver'd tide,
But concave heaven's chiefest pride.
* * * * *
Above thee burns Eve's rosy bar;
Below thee throbs her darling star;
Deep 'neath thy keel her round worlds are!
* * * * *
Above, below, O sweet surprise,
To gladden happy lover's eyes;
No earth, no wave--all jewell'd sides!
* * * * *
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
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Roses Are Not Only Red
roses are not only red
and my love for you
is not only true
but forever too.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Moral codes are not godly.
Laws of a kingdom is not binding
On the subjects of other kingdoms.
Codes made for mankind by men exclude
Other creatures and hence are not godly.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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All The Days Are Not Equal
Just get mwe out of your mind if only if,
I am not the one you are looking for;
And do bear in mind that,
All the days are not equal!
But i have done enough for you already.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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text:
My Comments: How is your money growing? Is it growing? Do you care? Are you prepared for pain when it stops growing and shrinks, perhaps dramatically?
As a professional in this world, I've long since given up worrying about this. All anyone can do is pay attention, or pay someone to pay attention for you. But it's NOT different this time, and some of us will get hammered and some of us not so much. Here's a clue to follow.
The Kentucky Derby marks the beginning of summer, but ultimately investors must prepare for the coming winter.
May 08, 2015 Commentary by Scott Minerd, Chairman of Investments and Global CIO
Ever since I was a child, the Kentucky Derby has always been for me a symbol of the changing of seasons—winter is over, spring is in air, and, most importantly, summer is right around the corner. Back in 2009, at the time of the annual "Run for the Roses," I wrote a memo to our clients using this analogy to explain where we are in the business cycle. The ravages of winter were over, I wrote, and we were headed for the warmth of summer with bright prospects for investors. Six years later, the summer sun continues to shine on credit and equities, but the question I am consistently asked—especially during times of heightened volatility, like this past week—is how much longer can it last?
I answered this question recently at the Milken Institute Global Conference. If the economic "summer solstice" was mid-2009, then today we are somewhere in "late-August." The expansion is now over 70 months old and is entering its mature phase, having already exceeded the average length of prior cycles of 57 months. However, "late-August" means there still is time left in summer and room left in this expansion. The past three cycles have also been longer than normal, averaging 94 months. Additionally, growth has been abnormally sluggish in this recovery (which, as I've written, is a byproduct of macroprudential policy). Slower growth means the current expansion may have more headroom than is typically the case at this point in the cycle.
What can investors expect as summer draws to a close? Our view of the future is that the Federal Reserve will likely begin interest rate "liftoff" in September of this year, and will continue to tighten at a steady pace until it nears the terminal rate (or peak Fed funds rate) in the cycle. This will likely occur toward the end of 2017 or early 2018 in the range of 2.5 to 3 percent. Recent experience suggests that a recession typically occurs about a year after we reach the terminal rate. If this tightening cycle plays out as we suspect, the U.S, economy will face its next recession in late 2018 or early 2019.
While the best of the post-crisis returns are now behind us, the good news is that historically, until central banks remove the proverbial punch bowl of accommodative monetary policy, the party can continue for investors. As a matter of fact, our research shows that both the lead up to, and the first year after, the Federal Reserve begins a tightening cycle have been positive for both credit and equities. Historically, U.S. equities have returned close to 4.5 percent in the 12 months after a Fed tightening cycle begins, based on an average of the last 13 cycles, while bank loans returned an average 5.8 percent, high-yield bonds returned 3.9 percent, and investment-grade bonds returned 3.3 percent in the three cycles since 1994 (when the data for fixed-income asset classes became available). The 12 months prior to a Fed hike have proven even better for investors, with equities returning an average 16.4 percent, high-yield bonds returning 8 percent, and investment-grade bonds returning 9.9 percent.
I don't want to sound overly bullish, however. My view is that it is prudent to start to recognize what stage of summer we are in, and to understand that long-term investors need to start planning for winter, even if winter is a couple of years away. This doesn't mean there aren't opportunities between here and there—the punch bowl is out, the party is still going on, and we should drink long and deep for as long as we can. The European Central Bank has told us that it won't halt its quantitative easing program until September 2016 at the earliest, which is another positive for credit and equities, even as the Fed raises rates in the United States.
So let's enjoy the end of this long summer party. There are still some golden, halcyon summer days ahead and it would be premature to put on our winter clothes just yet. Indeed, on the extreme end, the expansionary cycle of the early 1990s lasted over 118 months. However, when all is said and done, the easy money in this expansion has already been made and investors should be thinking about the winter to come.

subset: commoncrawl


text: Facebook's creator and chief executive Mark Zuckerberg on Thursday posted a lengthy note rebuking isolationist "America First" sentiment, and touted the merits of globalization and a "global community" working for innovation and progress. Discouraged by the underlying suspicion of foreign entities, as seen during the 2016 election and the rise of President Trump, Zuckerberg wrote that he wants to refocus Facebook on helping people come together across borders. "We have to build a global community that works for everyone. I really don't have much doubt that this is the right direction to go in the long term." Part of his goal, he wrote, is to make Facebook a global community that is supportive, safe, informed, civically engaged, and inclusive. Well Mark if it wasn't for America and capitalism, this idiot probably wouldn't even be worth five percent of a trillion dollars. To go against the nation that created your riches is deeply disturbing...Since it is American capitalism that turned Zuckerberg into a man worth fifty billion dollars. Don't you just hate that America with people who America made rich beyond what they would of ever dreamed of becoming, are for some reason loving the idea of global governance? Just about a week ago multiple Facebook shareholders wrote up a major plea for Zuckerberg to step down at Facebook, and you would simply think that would wake Zuckerberg the hell up to escape from the globalist agenda...However Zuckerberg is so attached to the globalist agenda it's likely something he will never go against. Mark Zuckerberg is in the top one percent for a reason, because with out America he would just simply be your Average Joe on the street. Liberals around America who claim to be anti fascist are celebrating this statement by Zuckerberg today, even though if we were living in a one world power those celebrating Zuckerberg's words for a global agenda would regret that decision...If we were living in one today.


text:
Last week we spoke about child support enforcement in the state of California. This week, we will take a step back and look at what child support payments can be used for. Despite what many people believe, child support payments can extend well beyond that of just the basic necessities of food, shelter and clothing.
How is child support enforced in California?
As we have stressed many times before, the courts want to protect the best interests of the children when making all decisions related to a divorce. This includes both child custody decisions as well as child support.
Understanding your commitment with adoption
One of the most enduring decisions a California married couple could make is the decision to adopt a child. While such a decision is indeed admirable, and one that will certainly help the life of a child who will receive a loving household, it is still important to understand that the commitment to adopt a child is not one that should be taken lightly.
Understanding the 'best interests of the child' philosophy
While parents involved in a divorce can understand how difficult the time may be for them, sometimes the effects of a divorce on a child or children involved in the divorce could be overlooked or not properly addressed. Throughout the United States, including the Orange County, California, area, the courts recognize the potential trauma that could be involved in a divorce from the perspective of the children.


text:
Seventh Pay Commission proposes no hike in Transport allowance, but huge in HRA
New Delhi: The Seventh Pay Commission proposed no hike in Transport Allowance (TPTA) for central government employees in its report, which was submitted to Finance Minister Arun Jaitley, but this has been balanced by 106 to 122 percent hike in House Rent Allowance (HRA).
The Pay Commission has revised the Transport allowance (TPTA), which is given below:-
The existing Transport allowance table for A1/A cities and other places is under:-
The Pay Commission made report, assuming that the rate of Dearness Allowance would be 125 percent at the time of implementation of the pay commission recommendation, i.e. on January 1 next year.
Accordingly, the employees will not get any hike in Transport allowance on the time of implementation of the pay commission recommendation as the existing Transport allowance figure automatically reaches the Pay Commission revised Transport allowance figure after adding 125 percent DA.
However, the employees drawing Grade pay Rs 2,000, Rs 2,400 and Rs 2,800, who are placed Level 3, Level 4 and Level 5 in the pay commission recommended pay matrix, will get higher Transport allowance in the new scenario, as they are upgraded for Transport allowance.
The employees with Grade Pay Rs 1,800 and 1,900, who are placed Level 1 and Level 2 in the pay commission recommended pay matrix, posted other than A1/A cities, will get a great benefit of 175 percent (300-125) hike in Transport allowance segment.
House Rent Allowance (HRA) segment is of great benefit to central government employees in this pay commission.This segment will more than double, with the increases ranging between 106% and 122%.
The existing rates of HRA for Class X, Y and Z cities and towns are 30%, 20% and 10% of Basic pay (pay in the pay band plus grade pay). While the pay commission has revised the rates HRA for these cities to 24%, 16% and 8% respectively of new Basic pay (pay in the pay band plus grade pay multiplying by a factor of 2.57).
So the HRA segment will rise dramatically more than 100 percent of the existing House Rent Allowance (HRA).
New HRA will rise to 27%, 18% and 9% for the three classes of cities when the dearness allowance crosses 50% and to 30%, 20% and 10% when it reaches 100%.
Read Also: Seventh Pay Commission to propose higher HRA
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text:
How Do Companies Monitor Their Trademarks for Their Makers?
Trademark observation is necessary when the idea comes as a way to protecting the exact value of a logo. No create a whether owners have guarded a slogan, a position name, a color, a particular product develop or even now a smell, we demand to find it and therefore keep a real vigilant skill on moments that perhaps may be happening at us. Just about all we would be able to say whom Trademark company owners have their duty to positively police as well as her mark at the time of the year and around the wall clock so that they have the ability to protect their brand straight from any amount of annoying happening.
For businesses, enterprises as well as , companies, the actual value of the marks the idea are not policed generally always from danger in addition to the it may cause complete loss linked all brand rights.
No mean whether for you are the right trademark security service giver or a brand owner there are three important duties those we choose while debating a hallmark watch but these are as follows:
Monitoring illegal uses amongst a mark
Monitoring makes use of confusingly similar marks
Monitoring will use of logos by accepted trademark licensees
So, about how should companies do any kind of Effective hallmark monitoring? Here are a number of steps:
Determine each of our Territory: Trademark rights seem to be territorial and are generally given on country-to-country structure hence the very first gait is feeling the terrain for conducting a trademark monitoring, usually means what sales area you are almost always going with regard to monitor for a definite trademark. My will depend on where your pretty own rights strong now and then what your expansion insurance policies is. Graphics and Trade-names that they register federally are impressive nationwide, not to mention unregistered common law rights are beneficial in that this geographic area of its origin. Signature rights include also associated with on an absolute country-by-country footing wise, in order rights back the U . s . States 've got no the outcome outside a United Pronounces.
Develop any kind of proactive device to come across of misuses: Second cycle in a powerful overall signature monitoring pathway will make to display a active system back in place in learn of misuses. Trademark problems are undoubtedly often effortless to decide the previously they seem, so bearing tab normal basis on events is key to triumph in which domain. Selected of your current important step plans the fact trademark monitoring service suppliers can keep out are:
Searching USPTO's Online Trademark Search India Online system of legal trademark applications and registrations
Searching a person's web frequently for incorrect uses
Setting set up a The google search Alert for your trademark
Following along on prospect complaints
Taking aide from one particular professional trademark monitoring specialist provider
Setting this various third-party online signature theft canceling process
Evaluate Substance: Often the third holding chamber in the foregoing process is always to understand or know substance of all the incorrect use. Once the two of us substantiate its misuse we can and move early with the very necessary steps to go out ahead additional. This was the strictly step even we seem to find out if those third-party used goods and/or services for instance ours? Is the terrain (geographic location) used does be a very issue and/or if its use of no eligible concern considering it is just a produced fair usage?
Decide one particular actions: There are a lot of measures that we are going to generally obtain after substantiating the punishment. For example, sending a definite cease in addition , desist post to my infringer would quite possibly be the first step in event a have a party infringes on your right. If a nice federal plan is pending, you can potentially oppose that this application throughout the USPTO. For uses on how the web, how the domain business registrar will be able to try to remove incorrect or infringing content perhaps if the owner or user denies to. Unbalanced use of a a tag in any kind of a domain domain name can often be completed through good cycling UDRP courtroom proceedings.
Enforcing your rights:
This may the this past and decisive step regarding the to conclude trademark oversight process where plaintiff info files lawsuit in order to really get my rights enforced.
Sum-up: To sum a lot of things up experts can say that brand monitoring is a gradual and ongoing process and consequently companies must do it again throughout the main year on to avoid being their kind misused.


text:
Each room of Hotel Europa in Cortina reflects the mountains through its Ampezzo style, which, together with the enchanting view of the Dolomites that greets you from the window.
Elegant and comfortable, the rooms are large and finished with warm parquet, carpets and delicate light fixtures. Some have relaxing hydromassage tubs and offer a variety of accommodation plans that are also ideal for families or groups of friends.
Traditional-style double rooms with Wi-Fi Internet and satellite TV. They are also available as single rooms (with supplement). 2 persons maximum.
Comfortable and restful, with original Ampezzo-style furnishings, Wi-Fi Internet and satellite TV; some with hydromassage tubs in the bathroom. 2 persons maximum.
The comfort and convenience of a large, well-accessorized room with a comfortable sitting area. All have hydromassage tubs in the bathroom. 3 persons maximum.


text:
A snow man is breathing glitch fire next to a naked couple having an intimate moment in bed; there are flowers everywhere. Pink letters are forming the words "I loved you for too long" above them.
Artist Vincent Hulme's Tumblr feed is as ironic as it is aesthetically pleasing; it's also his biggest source of inspiration. His contemporary style can easily be recognised in the feed. He's a lithographer, serigrapher, writer and performer or as he explains on his website: He's doing his best to spread the word of Vince.
Vincent lets us into his apartment with a shy smile; it's a Monday morning and we're all tired. The colours of his prints, hanging in his room, immediately energises us though. They are perfectly printed in purple and green. When making a print the first step for Vincent is always to create a prototype by playing around with different images, colours or shapes in Photoshop. The printing can finally begin after he'd gotten it back as an offset plate from the plate maker. "I always go back to printing. That's the one thing I do recurrently", he explains.
Before moving to Berlin six years ago Vincent was studying Fine Arts at Concordia in Montreal, specialising in screen printing. Now he spends his days working as an art teacher, scrolling Tumblr for inspiration and practicing his own art. Which means, spending a lot of time by the offset printing press in his studio.
A tiny lift is taking us down to the underground floor in the impressive Kunstquartier Bethanien where Vincent makes his prints. With its big machines and small paint stains the studio's atmosphere is both industrial and creative. Seeing him move in the space makes it seem like we've stepped into his second home.


text:
Coconut chutney from south India is a great condiment. Best known for being served along with Dosa or Idli, Vada. Very delicious and adds to the taste of food.
Here is very super quick & very easy recipe.
Step-by-Step Easy & Quick Recipe –
Prep Time Cook Time Total Time Yields
5 mins 5 mins 10 mins 3-4 Serving
Coconut – ½ (grated or chopped into small pieces)
Green chili – 1
Green coriander – 2 tablespoon
Curry leaves – 4
Chatni dal – 4 tablespoon
Ginger – ½ teaspoon
Garlic – 1
Salt per taste
For tempering:
Oil – 1 tablespoon
Mustard seeds (rai or sarson)– ½ teaspoon
Urad split dal (black split dal skin less) – ½ teaspoon
Curry leaves 4-5
Whole red chili – 1
- Grind coconut, green chili and coriander and chatni dal, curry leaves, ginger, garlic along with salt to a smooth consistency.
- Transfer to the serving bowl.
- Now heat oil in a pan and add mustard seeds, whole red chili, urad dal, curry leaves, when they splitter, turn off the heat.
- Now pour this tempering over the chutney. Serve.
Note: This chutney can be served with Idli or Dosai, Vada. Enjoy the savory taste!
Happy Cooking!!
Picture courtesy: http://www.youtube.com – madhurasrecipe (nice pic)
Categories: Indian, South Indian


text:
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text:
Russia restricted indirect supplies of quarantineable products from Nepal
Rosselhoznadzor since June 19 imposes restrictions on supplies of quarantineable products of high phytosanitary risk from Nepal through third countries
"Rosselkhoznadzor 19 Jun 2017 allows only direct supply in the Russian Federation of regulated products of high phytosanitary risk originating from Nepal, accompanied by phytosanitary certificates that state only through the checkpoints located in the Russian sector of the external borders of the Eurasian economic Union", – stated in the message of supervising Department.
Restrictions are imposed to prevent the importation to Russia of agricultural products that fall under the sanctions, the report says
They are associated with the increase in traffic not previously shipped to Russia of regulated products from Nepal, which comes to Russia logistics complex ways across EU countries, accompanied by re-export phytosanitary certificates of Belarus.
The request of the Rosselkhoznadzor on the extent of cultivation and production in Nepal, this product has remained unanswered.


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Faith's Story
Faith was a healthy little 4 yr old girl, until one morning, with no warning or cause, she woke up with two collapsed vertebrae. After visiting with many doctors, having multiple bone biopsies and curettages and countless MRIs and scans, she was misdiagnosed and mistreated for 3 years. It wasn't until a final surgery when she was 7, that she was diagnosed with CRMO. She has had many lesions in her vertebra, sacrum, femurs, tibias, fibulas, and ankles. At 13, she is still searching for something that will take the inflammation and pain away and even though she hasn't found it yet, she is hopeful. She has become a strong voice for the CRMO Community and has partnered with many different organizations and agencies to educate and inform others about this rare disease. She believes that all those who suffer from this disease are warriors and are #crmostrong.
"Mommy will you carry me?
- Sadie, age 9
Jaron's Story
When Jaron started to walk we knew something was not quite right. He would walk with a limp and could not move like other kids his age. The limp and limited mobility continued as he got older but Drs did not know what the cause was. The Drs would tell me that "Some kids just move differently... I think he is moving just fine.....I do not see anything wrong with him..." As time progressed he started to scoot on his bottom to go up and down the stairs because it was too difficult to walk. He had difficulty getting dressed because his legs were so stiff he could not bend them. After 8 years of taking him to Drs we finally got the diagnosis of CRMO. It has only been a year since the diagnosis and we are still struggling to treat this disease. We need more research and treatment options for these kids.
"Mom I don't want to be in pain anymore"
- Deja
Chloe's Story
Chloe was an 8 year old, perfectly healthy girl when one day she started complaining of leg pain. The school nurse, her gym teacher, and sadly myself all brushed it off as growing pains. She did not complain everyday, and there really was no pattern to it. This off and on complaint lasted for about two weeks, until out of no where, she completely lost her ability to walk due to the pain.
She was admitted to the hospital for another two weeks before they could get her pain managed and her walking with assistance again. Her pain was not isolated to any specific location on her legs, and it seemed like everyday we spent in the hospital she specified a different spot on her lower extremities. Finally a full body Mri was performed, and it was discovered she had multiple lesions from the pelvis down, in both legs. There were lots of test, scans, bloodwork, etc done, before she was diagnosed. We are fortunate that the team with Texas Children's Hospital were able to diagnose her in five months, and her treatment began immediately. She currently is walking without assistance, and slowly, but surely making improvements.
Max's Story
This is Max. He is 9 years old and was diagnosed with CRMO when he was 8 after 8 months of misdiagnosis. Initially Max experienced off the charts pain in his right knee which lasted about 4 -6 months often times waking in the night inconsolable. He was originally treated by his local pediatrician for Lyme's disease (no known bite) and later with a plan for a year of antibiotics for recurrent strep (never had a positive strep test). Finally, I went with my gut that it was something else and with the help of a new pediatrician was referred to the University of Iowa Hospitals and was lucky enough to have an appointment with Dr. Polly Ferguson. Finally a diagnosis that we could work with! Max had four lesions of which only one was causing pain and we started treatment with daily NSAIDs. Other than the onset Max has had a mild case of CRMO and daily Meloxicam controls most of his inflammation and pain. Every few months he will have a flare that blows right through the medicine but only lasts about a week which is manageable. We are cautious to move to the next tier of medications, but will tackle that obstacle if the need arises.
In addition to CRMO, Max began experiencing stomach issues (pain, loss of appetite with weight loss) after his diagnosis necessitating upper and lower scopes for which nothing was found. He also has chronic lymphadenectomy(16 mos of swollen nodes). Due to poor weight gain, night sweats and some persistent viral infections he had lymph node and bone marrow biopsies to rule out malignancy. Luckily both of those tests were negative. I believe his swollen nodes, stomach issues,seemingly suppressed immune system, poor weight gain and weight loss are connected to his CRMO and I would like to see (and perhaps this is already happening) research look at a systemic approach to the disease as I think it affects more than our children's bones. Max has been lucky thus far with CRMO, but we have been through the gamut worrying about underlying health issues, and he continues to have swollen nodes, night sweats and consistent viral activity.


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Boulevard Limo Service Austin
Austin, TX, USA
+1 512-704-4447
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Immigration Background Check - Free Document Search For US Citizenship
Anybody that may be applying to become a UNITED STATE resident is required to undertake a migration background check. Since the Usa already has adequate concerns dealing with its very own lawbreakers, the last thing the nation really wants is to let an additional countries lawbreakers into the united state boundaries. To avoid this from happening the united state Citizenship and Migration Services will certainly inspect the criminal background documents of any sort of applicant for U.S. citizenship with the authorities in charge of keeping that details in the candidate's house country. Moreover, the USCIS will additionally inquire companies like Interpol to make sure that the person securing citizenship has no exceptional criminal record.
Given that the occurring of the 9/11 battles, these immigration document searches have increased considerably as it had appeared that some individuals had slid with the system and still were qualified to take part in the confines of the Usa with questionable documents.
The criminal as well as terrorist record search is growing in popularity and also is a have to action for any sort of business which is employing staff members from one more nation. Any type of firm who is intending on working with a worker from an additional nation will certainly be required to have that worker undertake a record search before the issuance of their work visa into the Usa.
The immigration background check is an indicate of avoiding any unwanted site visitor from foreign soil right into the United States. While the U.S. is open to migration from practically any sort of nation in the world, there is a difference in between a potential applicant which will be a law following U.S. resident as well navigate to this website as someone who is most likely to dedicate a criminal offense within the united state borders.
These rap sheet searches are below to stay because the 9/11 Globe Field Center Bombings and will only enhance over the following few years as the U.S. government undergoes as well as check every person who has obtained UNITED STATE citizenship to ensure that she or he had actually not slid through the splits and also granted citizenship also with a suspicious criminal history in their house nation.


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10 Dec 2017 05:20
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The wedding of your dreams has just come to life and soon, becomes a blur of wonderful memories.
You open your email and your digital wedding images have been delivered! There are so many memorable moments to choose from in your gallery and it's time to design your wedding album!
Here are a few quick tips for putting together your dream album:
Choose your FAVORITE images (not the ones you think you should choose.)
Think of your album as a timeline showcasing your favorite memories of your day. Choose the images you can't live without. Don't overlook the candid moments that show true emotion. Those are the images that will truly transport you back to that moment.
Think simple.
You don't want to overcrowd your album spreads with too many images. Let a meaningful photo stand on its own. Stretch a horizontal image across two pages. Pair two similar images together to recreate a moment.
Let the photos tell a story.
Relive the day as you experienced it. Generally, getting ready shots should go before the ceremony photos, however there can be exceptions. Who says you can't start your album with a stunner from later in the day?
Lay out one spread at a time.
More important than the order of the images is the flow of the images. An album is made up of spreads. Think about each spread (or two pages) as a whole. The pages need to relate to one another by content or style.
Represent the big ceremony moments.
Moments like the bride walking down the aisle, the exchange of rings, the kiss are all "must-have" shots. If you overlooked those items in your first round of favorites, go back through them again and include a few of those.
Choose your favorite images as soon as you can.
Don't procrastinate in choosing your album images. Let your photographer draft a "dream layout" using some extra images to help the flow of the album. A draft of your album will be sent to you. You are welcome to make notes and changes.
Choose the size of your album.
An intimate, shorter wedding wouldn't need as many spreads as an eight-hour wedding. (Basic album packages start at 10 spreads/20 pages, but are able to be produced at 30 spreads/60 pages or even in volumes!)
Think about your walls, too.
The prints that you choose to hang on your wall should also be in your album. Choose from your absolute favorite shots from the day, the ones you connect with most. In addition to your album, be sure to order prints of your entire gallery.
Display your album where it can be enjoyed.
Laying your album out on a coffee table is great for the months after your wedding. Everyone will be asking to see it! Keep it away from dirty fingers and make sure it is not in direct sunlight. This is an heirloom that your children and grandchildren will be asking to see one day!
A wedding album is art — it's meant to be enjoyed and meant to be looked at.
Other articles you might like:


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Amethyst Inn is an 1885 Victorian mansion that retains its original grandeur and charms guests with romance and luxury. Amethyst Inn is surrounded by mansions, tree-lined streets and heritage gardens in the beautiful Rocklands neighborhood and is just a short walk to the Lieutenant Governor's Estate, Craigdarroch Castle, the Art Gallery of Greater Victoria and Antique Row. Amethyst Inn is central to Victoria attractions as well as many fine dining restaurants, Craigdarroch Castle, the Royal BC Museum and Butchart Gardens
Amethyst Inn at Regents Park is a heritage jewel, the most historically significant B&B Inn in Victoria BC and is Victoria's most preferred Inn. This Historic Inn is embellished with many unique architectural features including a fabulous staircase, stained glass, and 17 fireplaces many with antique Mintons tiles, ceiling rosettes and original ceiling and wallpapers. The Parlor and Dining Room are impressive, grand rooms with 13 foot ceilings and the Inn is filled with antiques and quality furnishings.


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2motelsrates.com is a great place to find hotels in Santa Rosa Beach, FL! You will be able to find all the information you need while traveling to Santa Rosa Beach. Below is a list of all the hotels in Santa Rosa Beach, Florida. You will find information on the hotel such as the address, star rating and nightly rates. When you find the hotel you are searching for, simply click to get more information and check rates.
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The U.S. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission has filed a lawsuit
against C.R. England claiming the company violated the Americans with
Disabilities Act.
The lawsuit was filed in the U.S. District Court of the District of
Utah Central Division on Sept. 25.
The suit stems from claims that C.R. England employees allegedly
revealed medical information on a former employee, William Watson, who was a
driver and driver trainer for the company.
The suit alleges that not only did C.R. England employees disclose
Watson's personal medical information concerning a disability to driver
trainees, but they also required that he disclose the information as well.
Court documents did not reveal the nature of Watson's disability.
The EEOC also claimed in the lawsuit that C.R. England employees also
limited, segregated and/or classified Watson on the basis of his disability.
"The effect of the practice … has been to deprive Walter Watson of
equal employment opportunities and otherwise adversely affect his status as an
employee because of his disability," the suit claims.
The lawsuit seeks both past compensation and future losses as a result
of emotional pain, suffering, inconvenience, loss of enjoyment of life and
humiliation – in amounts to be determined at trial.
– By Jami Jones, senior editor


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We don't get to New York City very often. We always feel a little like country mice dazzled by the city lights when we arrive. But we love every bit of the city: the soaring architecture, the grand public works, the bridges, the skyscrapers, the statuary.
A favorite sight of ours has always been the towering statue of Atlas which stands outside Rockefeller Center in mid-town Manhattan. Standing an imposing four stories high, this iron Atlas makes an unambiguous statement. The well-muscled figure, head bent and heavy laden, is carrying across his shoulders an enormous globe. He carries the whole weight of the world.
Now, we say the statue of Atlas tells an unambiguous message because we would venture to guess that most of the people who pass by recognize Atlas' dilemma. At one time or another, most all of us have felt like Atlas, haven't we? We, too, have struggled with tasks that seemed over-sized. We've balanced enormous responsibilities. We've struggled with problems so weighty that they've exhausted us and spent our last ounce of energy. We've felt as if everything depended upon us, though we were in serious danger of dropping the ball.
What can we do when it seems we carry the whole weight of the world and we're starting to feel a little shaky? It's at moments like those that the assurances that have come down to us through the ages are most important to remember. Like the millions before us that felt themselves on the verge of collapse, we can take comfort from timeless words our scriptures have preserved for us – words like these: "nothing will be impossible with God," and "I can do all things through him who strengthens me."
Remembering those words is critical because it changes our focus from ourselves to God. We never face our problems alone, after all. Of course our capabilities are limited. But we trust in One whose strength and whose resources are far greater than our own, One who says to us: "Do not fear for I am with you, do not be afraid for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my victorious right hand."
Interestingly, the mighty Atlas who struggles beneath the crushing weight of the world stands across the street from St. Patrick's Cathedral in New You City. And inside the cathedral is a small statue of the boy, Jesus, at perhaps 7 or 8 years old. This little statue stands as a challenge, or maybe a corrective, to viewing life as simply a grueling endurance test. It shows the child with one hand lifted in blessing and the other confidently and easily holding the whole world.
So, when life seems too heavy to bear, remember, you can safely take the weight of the world off your shoulders.
After all, He's got the whole world in his hands.


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Nelson, Mellencamp, Matthews & Young: The Supergroup That Chairs Farm Aid
Advocacy We sat down for a roundtable with the music icons behind the fundraising music festival to learn about their personal connections to American agriculture.
We appreciate you taking the time to tell us about what Farm Aid means to you and what family farmers should mean to America. We'd like to start with you, Willie. What did you experience in 1985 that made you launch Farm Aid?
Willie Nelson: Farming is in my blood. I grew up picking cotton with my family in the summer. I raised pigs for the Future Farmers of America (now called FFA) when I was in high school. I understand how difficult farming is and how hard farmers work to make a living and grow good food for us. In 1985, we were in the middle of a farm crisis in this country. Farmers were struggling to keep their family farms intact. John, Neil and I wanted to do something to help them, use our voices to make a difference in farmers' lives, so we decided to do it the best way we knew how: We invited our artist friends to join us and we played music.
John, what made you come on board when you got that call from Willie?
John Mellencamp: In 1985, the small towns I had grown up in were collapsing. I didn't have to dig very deep to find out it was because family farmers were going out of business. So when Willie called me about doing something to help, I immediately got on board because I wanted to make a difference.
"At Farm Aid I get to be honest with our audience about the state of our farms, the corporate controls farmers are subjected to, and the problems they face."
And do you see the difference you've made?
John Mellencamp: Well, when we first started Farm Aid, I thought it would be a one-time thing and we would make a huge difference. Thirty-one years later, we're all still at it, fighting for family farmers and their way of life. Change takes time and I think we are seeing progress. We're beginning to think about the food we eat and the people who grow it. We see more demand for local, and more demand for organic. There's still a lot more work to do. And as long as I think I can help the family farmer, then I will do so every year. If you want a better world, it starts with you.
Neil, you're known for being one of the most outspoken advocates for farmers in the country. When you first got that call from Willie, what was it about the issue that spoke to you?
Neil Young: The countryside is where I come from, it's easy for me to relate to people who work the land. I understand their way of life and believe in it. At Farm Aid I get to be honest with our audience about the state of our farms, the corporate controls farmers are subjected to and the problems they face. I take my responsibility very seriously, to make sure we celebrate the successes, but also that we don't lose sight of why we do this every year.
Dave, you played at Farm Aid for the first time in 1995, and became such a committed and thoughtful voice for American agriculture that in 2001 Willie personally asked you to join him, Neil and John on Farm Aid's board. Why was this movement important to you?
Dave Matthews: About the time I joined, I became more interested in the quality of food my family and I were eating. So becoming involved in the larger picture of what it means to have healthy food from healthy farms was a natural progression of that interest. It's an issue that affects every single person in our country and one we need to pay very close attention to.
You personally own farmland in Virginia. What have you learned from that experience?
"What we need all Americans to realize is the family farmer has to survive in order for all of us to survive in the way we want to live."
Dave Matthews: I believe there is a sustainable way of farming we can pursue that benefits the farmer and the environment. And from experience we know that one of the best ways to preserve that ideal American vision we have of a farmer working the land is to bring more young farmers into the fold. We need to find creative ways of supporting young farmers, either by helping them lease land or developing systems that give them financial stability. One of the organizations I work with is Local Food Hub, in Charlottesville, Virginia. It connects farmers in Virginia to eaters by distributing their products to local restaurants, grocery stores and colleges and hospitals. I'm really proud of the work we're doing and ways we're helping farmers navigate around issues of supply and infrastructure without adding additional costs to their operations.
Neil, where do see the future of farming in America and what do we need to do to get there?
Neil Young: If we want to save the American farm and the American way of life, we need to change the way we do business in this country. The American farm is disappearing because we have so few young people involved. And when farms change hands, it leaves the door open for big corporations to take control. We need to stand up to corporations, we need to think long and hard about what we're putting in the soil, and we need to pay attention to where our food is coming from. By buying from sustainable family farmers, you're not just supporting farmers, you're also helping preserve our soil so future generations can thrive.
Willie, did you still think you'd be playing at Farm Aid in 2016?
Willie Nelson: I had hoped I wouldn't need to, but I'm very grateful to these guys, John, Neil and Dave, who've lent their support to the movement for so long. Because of their work and the great work our farmer partners do every single day, I think farmers are doing a little better than they were. We still have many issues we have to fix, but we're making progress. What we need all Americans to realize is the family farmer has to survive in order for all of us to survive in the way we want to live.


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DG Jamaican Ginger Beer
Jamaica knows. Good music, good drinks, and good people make the best nights.
Copywriter : Hannah Heller
Art Director: Keri Speer
in-store promotion
Shakers, complete with special recipes, will be sold by the limes, and sleeves of cups will be sold in the aisles with the ginger beer.
Spotify house party playlist
For those who don't like playing DJ, play the ad-free beats of the D&G sponsored playlist.


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Cinema x Etnies Collab featuring Nathan Williams & Corey Martinez from Cinema Wheel Co. on Vimeo.
Cinema and Etnies teamed up to get a collab shoes, apparel and wheels line done and to promote it they flew Nathan Williams and Corey Martinez to California to film clips. Here it is now and it sure is hot. Last nollie to icepick grind down the rail from Williams was a mad move.


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Recent Posts
- CfP Surveillance & Religion Panel, EuARe Bologna, March 2019
- What is practical theology?
- Surveillance and religion panel – a proposal for EUROPEAN ACADEMY OF RELIGION ANNUAL CONFERENCE
- Borders, benefits, and biomedicine: surveillance and social justice.
- Special Issue of 'Surveillance & Society' on Religion
Recent Comments
- David Baker on A surveillance Christmas
- Eric Stoddart on A surveillance Christmas
- David Baker on A surveillance Christmas
- Eric Stoddart on Your profession and surveillance?
- Eric Stoddart on "Cheese": Tesco face detection
Category Archives: journals
New issue of 'Practical Theology' journal now available.
Volume 6, Number 3 / 2013 of Practical Theology is now available on the essential.metapress.com website at http://essential.metapress.com/content/w381124nx511/. This issue contains: Editorial – Eric Stoddart, p. 253 What On Earth Is She Thinking Of, Still Attending Church? – Susan Shooter, … Continue reading
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