Sonntag: Noch 12 Tage Schule und 8 Klausuren
Dienstag: Noch 10 Tage Schule und 7 Klausuren
Mittwoch: Noch 9 Tage Schule und 6 Klausuren
--> we're getting there...
Update:
Freitag: Noch 7 Tage Schule und 5 Klausuren
life is neongrün
Description:
* I * S * A * B * E * L *
* 4 * E * V * E * R *
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
- Robert Frost
~ ~ ~
"But I don't want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin."
"In fact," said Mustapha Mond, "your're claiming the right to be unhappy."
- Brave New World
~ ~ ~
In dem Blog hier werdet ihr wahrscheinlich bunt gemixt alles mögliche finden, Bücher, Filme, Lieder, Gedichte, Gedichte, Fotos, und was sich sonst noch so alles posten lässt... Photos normalerweise nur für VIPs.
Und über Kommis freu ich mich doch immer - also warum hinterlasst ihr mir nicht einfach mal gleich ein paar davon? ;-)
Liebe Grüße an alle die mich kennen und die ich kenne, ganz besonders an meinen Weicheierkumpel Nick (Möge die Macht mit uns eiern!) und den frisch-geweicheierten Weißen Merlin (und nen schönen Gruß an Fedie!) - BS4ever!!! =))
Joe
- das verlorene Ei
SOUTH DAKOTA ROCKS!
~ neongrün 4ever ~
Profile
SouthDakota112 yo
Isabel =)
United States
Isabel =)
United States
Return to the blog of SouthDakota
Weihnachten, Schule
Ich kann den Text leider nicht finden (Autor ist Norbert irgendwas... ja, da fängt's schon an), aber es war der schlechteste Text den ich je lesen musste.
Ungefähr folgendermaßen gegliedert:
- 1. Behauptung: Ohne Kirche und Gemeinde gibt es kein Christentum. (Aha.)
- 2. Behauptung: Beide sind auf einander angewiesen (Wie das?)
- Autor informiert uns, dass mit institutionsfeindlichen Tendenzen nicht übereinstimmt (wie schön zu wissen...)
- 3. Behauptung: Die Institution selbst gibt im seine persönliche Freiheit und ist Grundlage für seinen personalen Glauben (Wie das? Dazu hätte ich jetzt wirklich gerne eine Begründung....)
- 4. Behauptung: Eine Konkretisierung der Gemeinden (sprich Kirchengründung??) war Jesus Wille (falsch! Das ist nach wie vor umstritten und eig. eher unwahrscheinlich...)
- 5. Behauptung: Ohne Kirche und kirchliche Gemeinden gibt es kein Christentum. (Ach? Hatten wir das nicht schon mal gehört?)
Argh... und wo bitteschön ist hier auch nur ein einziges Argument? Argument für was überhaupt?
Also entweder ich steh echt extrem aufm Schlauch, oder der Text ist einfach nur shitty wrote (wie marg sagen würde...)
Ungefähr folgendermaßen gegliedert:
- 1. Behauptung: Ohne Kirche und Gemeinde gibt es kein Christentum. (Aha.)
- 2. Behauptung: Beide sind auf einander angewiesen (Wie das?)
- Autor informiert uns, dass mit institutionsfeindlichen Tendenzen nicht übereinstimmt (wie schön zu wissen...)
- 3. Behauptung: Die Institution selbst gibt im seine persönliche Freiheit und ist Grundlage für seinen personalen Glauben (Wie das? Dazu hätte ich jetzt wirklich gerne eine Begründung....)
- 4. Behauptung: Eine Konkretisierung der Gemeinden (sprich Kirchengründung??) war Jesus Wille (falsch! Das ist nach wie vor umstritten und eig. eher unwahrscheinlich...)
- 5. Behauptung: Ohne Kirche und kirchliche Gemeinden gibt es kein Christentum. (Ach? Hatten wir das nicht schon mal gehört?)
Argh... und wo bitteschön ist hier auch nur ein einziges Argument? Argument für was überhaupt?
Also entweder ich steh echt extrem aufm Schlauch, oder der Text ist einfach nur shitty wrote (wie marg sagen würde...)
Else Lasker-Schüler
Ein Liebeslied
Komm zu mir in der Nacht - wir schlafen engverschlungen.
Müde bin ich sehr, vom Wachen einsam.
Ein fremder Vogel hat in dunkler Frühe schon gesungen,
Als noch mein Traum mit sich und mir gerungen.
Es öffnen Blumen sich vor allen Quellen
Und färben sich mit deiner Augen Immortellen...
Komm zu mir in der Nacht auf Siebensternenschuhen
Und Liebe eingehüllt Spät in mein Zelt.
Es steigen Monde aus verstaubten Himmelstruhen.
Wir wollen wie zwei seltene Tiere liebesruhen
Im hohen Rohre hinter dieser Welt.
Ein Liebeslied
Komm zu mir in der Nacht - wir schlafen engverschlungen.
Müde bin ich sehr, vom Wachen einsam.
Ein fremder Vogel hat in dunkler Frühe schon gesungen,
Als noch mein Traum mit sich und mir gerungen.
Es öffnen Blumen sich vor allen Quellen
Und färben sich mit deiner Augen Immortellen...
Komm zu mir in der Nacht auf Siebensternenschuhen
Und Liebe eingehüllt Spät in mein Zelt.
Es steigen Monde aus verstaubten Himmelstruhen.
Wir wollen wie zwei seltene Tiere liebesruhen
Im hohen Rohre hinter dieser Welt.
H. M. Enzensberger,
Befragung zur Mitternacht
Wo, die meine Hand hält, Gefährtin,
verweilst du, durch welche Gewölbe
geht, wenn in den Türmen die Glocken
träumen, daß sie zerbrochen sind,
dein Herz?
Wo, welchen Kahlschlag durcheilst du,
die ich berühre wangenzart, welch ein
betäubendes Nachtkraut streift dich,
Träumerin, welch eine Furt benetzt
deinen Fuß?
Wo, wenn der hohle Himmel graut, Liebste,
rauschst du durch Traumschilf, streichelst
Türen und Grüfte, mit wessen Boten
tauscht Küsse, der leise bebt,
dein Mund?
Wo ist die Flöte, der du dein Ohr neigst,
wo das Geheul das lautlos dein Haar
bauscht, und ich liege wie ein Gelähmter
und horch und wach und wohin
dein Gefieder?
Wo, in was für Wälder verstrickt dich,
die meine Hand hält, Gefährtin,
dein Traum?
Befragung zur Mitternacht
Wo, die meine Hand hält, Gefährtin,
verweilst du, durch welche Gewölbe
geht, wenn in den Türmen die Glocken
träumen, daß sie zerbrochen sind,
dein Herz?
Wo, welchen Kahlschlag durcheilst du,
die ich berühre wangenzart, welch ein
betäubendes Nachtkraut streift dich,
Träumerin, welch eine Furt benetzt
deinen Fuß?
Wo, wenn der hohle Himmel graut, Liebste,
rauschst du durch Traumschilf, streichelst
Türen und Grüfte, mit wessen Boten
tauscht Küsse, der leise bebt,
dein Mund?
Wo ist die Flöte, der du dein Ohr neigst,
wo das Geheul das lautlos dein Haar
bauscht, und ich liege wie ein Gelähmter
und horch und wach und wohin
dein Gefieder?
Wo, in was für Wälder verstrickt dich,
die meine Hand hält, Gefährtin,
dein Traum?
"If Obi had listened to the Ani he would have avoided suffering a failure."
--> um... no, if Obi had listened to Ani, they would've probably both turned to the dark side, which means there would've been two Darth Vaders (as if one wasn't enough!)... poor Luke! Or does anyone think he would have managed to defeat those two? nooo way :p So it's really a good thing Obi didn't listen to Ani, but Ani should've listened to Obi instead... So now that we've got this straightened out, could we please change those short story characters name's? I want to get this star wars analogy out of my head...
--> um... no, if Obi had listened to Ani, they would've probably both turned to the dark side, which means there would've been two Darth Vaders (as if one wasn't enough!)... poor Luke! Or does anyone think he would have managed to defeat those two? nooo way :p So it's really a good thing Obi didn't listen to Ani, but Ani should've listened to Obi instead... So now that we've got this straightened out, could we please change those short story characters name's? I want to get this star wars analogy out of my head...
Oh mann, heute Triathlon... *k.o.bin* 300m Schwimmen (loved it!), 12km Radfahren (der absolute Horror, ich merk dass ich seit Jahren nimmer aufm Fahrrad gesessen bin) und dann direkt danach noch 2km Laufen, was ja normal net so das Problem wäre, aber wenn man vom Radfahren schon so gut wie tot ist... xD Und dann grillen, das war das Beste. Trotzdem, bin froh dass ich es mal ausprobiert habe. :D Wir waren nur zu fünft, einschließlich Lehrer...die anderen mussten Volleyball spielen, hehe^^ *schadenfroh* xD
Mary sat musing on the lamp-flame at the table
Waiting for Warren. When she heard his step,
She ran on tip-toe down the darkened passage
To meet him in the doorway with the news
And put him on his guard. "Silas is back."
She pushed him outward with her through the door
And shut it after her. "Be kind," she said.
She took the market things from Warren's arms
And set them on the porch, then drew him down
To sit beside her on the wooden steps.
"When was I ever anything but kind to him?
But I'll not have the fellow back," he said.
"I told him so last haying, didn't I?
'If he left then,' I said, 'that ended it.'
What good is he? Who else will harbour him
At his age for the little he can do?
What help he is there's no depending on.
Off he goes always when I need him most.
'He thinks he ought to earn a little pay,
Enough at least to buy tobacco with,
So he won't have to beg and be beholden.'
'All right,' I say, 'I can't afford to pay
Any fixed wages, though I wish I could.'
'Someone else can.' 'Then someone else will have to.'
I shouldn't mind his bettering himself
If that was what it was. You can be certain,
When he begins like that, there's someone at him
Trying to coax him off with pocket-money,
In haying time, when any help is scarce.
In winter he comes back to us. I'm done."
"Sh! not so loud: he'll hear you," Mary said.
"I want him to: he'll have to soon or late."
"He's worn out. He's asleep beside the stove.
When I came up from Rowe's I found him here,
Huddled against the barn-door fast asleep,
A miserable sight, and frightening, too
You needn't smile - I didn't recognise him
I wasn't looking for him - and he's changed.
Wait till you see."
"Where did you say he'd been?"
"He didn't say. I dragged him to the house,
And gave him tea and tried to make him smoke.
I tried to make him talk about his travels.
Nothing would do: he just kept nodding off."
"What did he say? Did he say anything?"
"But little."
"Anything? Mary, confess
He said he'd come to ditch the meadow for me."
"Warren!"
"But did he? I just want to know."
"Of course he did. What would you have him say?
Surely you wouldn't grudge the poor old man
Some humble way to save his self-respect.
He added, if you really care to know,
He meant to clear the upper pasture, too.
That sounds like something you have heard before?
Warren, I wish you could have heard the way
He jumbled everything. I stopped to look
Two or three times - he made me feel so queer
To see if he was talking in his sleep.
He ran on Harold Wilson - you remember
The boy you had in haying four years since.
He's finished school, and teaching in his college.
Silas declares you'll have to get him back.
He says they two will make a team for work:
Between them they will lay this farm as smooth!
The way he mixed that in with other things.
He thinks young Wilson a likely lad, though daft
On education - you know how they fought
All through July under the blazing sun,
Silas up on the cart to build the load,
Harold along beside to pitch it on."
"Yes, I took care to keep well out of earshot."
"Well, those days trouble Silas like a dream.
You wouldn't think they would. How some things linger!
Harold's young college boy's assurance piqued him.
After so many years he still keeps finding
Good arguments he sees he might have used.
I sympathise. I know just how it feels
To think of the right thing to say too late.
Harold's associated in his mind with Latin.
He asked me what I thought of Harold's saying
He studied Latin like the violin
Because he liked it - that an argument!
He said he couldn't make the boy believe
He could find water with a hazel prong
Which showed how much good school had ever done him.
He wanted to go over that. But most of all
He thinks if he could have another chance
To teach him how to build a load of hay"
"I know, that's Silas' one accomplishment.
He bundles every forkful in its place,
And tags and numbers it for future reference,
So he can find and easily dislodge it
In the unloading. Silas does that well.
He takes it out in bunches like big birds' nests.
You never see him standing on the hay
He's trying to lift, straining to lift himself."
"He thinks if he could teach him that, he'd be
Some good perhaps to someone in the world.
He hates to see a boy the fool of books.
Poor Silas, so concerned for other folk,
And nothing to look backward to with pride,
And nothing to look forward to with hope,
So now and never any different."
Part of a moon was falling down the west,
Dragging the whole sky with it to the hills.
Its light poured softly in her lap. She saw
And spread her apron to it. She put out her hand
Among the harp - like morning - glory strings,
Taut with the dew from garden bed to eaves,
As if she played unheard the tenderness
That wrought on him beside her in the night.
"Warren," she said, "he has come home to die:
You needn't be afraid he'll leave you this time."
"Home," he mocked gently.
"Yes, what else but home?
It all depends on what you mean by home.
Of course he's nothing to us, any more
Than was the hound that came a stranger to us
Out of the woods, worn out upon the trail."
"Home is the place where, when you have to go there,
They have to take you in."
"I should have called it
Something you somehow haven't to deserve."
Warren leaned out and took a step or two,
Picked up a little stick, and brought it back
And broke it in his hand and tossed it by.
"Silas has better claim on us you think
Than on his brother? Thirteen little miles
As the road winds would bring him to his door.
Silas has walked that far no doubt to-day.
Why didn't he go there? His brother's rich,
A somebody - director in the bank."
"He never told us that."
"We know it though."
"I think his brother ought to help, of course.
I'll see to that if there is need. He ought of right
To take him in, and might be willing to
He may be better than appearances.
But have some pity on Silas. Do you think
If he'd had any pride in claiming kin
Or anything he looked for from his brother,
He'd keep so still about him all this time?"
"I wonder what's between them."
"I can tell you.
Silas is what he is - we wouldn't mind him
But just the kind that kinsfolk can't abide.
He never did a thing so very bad.
He don't know why he isn't quite as good
As anyone. He won't be made ashamed
To please his brother, worthless though he is."
"I can't think Si ever hurt anyone."
"No, but he hurt my heart the way he lay
And rolled his old head on that sharp-edged chair-back.
He wouldn't let me put him on the lounge.
You must go in and see what you can do.
I made the bed up for him there to-night.
You'll be surprised at him - how much he's broken.
His working days are done; I'm sure of it."
"I'd not be in a hurry to say that."
"I haven't been. Go, look, see for yourself.
But, Warren, please remember how it is:
He's come to help you ditch the meadow.
He has a plan. You mustn't laugh at him.
He may not speak of it, and then he may.
I'll sit and see if that small sailing cloud
Will hit or miss the moon."
It hit the moon.
Then there were three there, making a dim row,
The moon, the little silver cloud, and she.
Warren returned - too soon, it seemed to her,
Slipped to her side, caught up her hand and waited.
"Warren," she questioned.
"Dead," was all he answered.
- Robert Frost
Waiting for Warren. When she heard his step,
She ran on tip-toe down the darkened passage
To meet him in the doorway with the news
And put him on his guard. "Silas is back."
She pushed him outward with her through the door
And shut it after her. "Be kind," she said.
She took the market things from Warren's arms
And set them on the porch, then drew him down
To sit beside her on the wooden steps.
"When was I ever anything but kind to him?
But I'll not have the fellow back," he said.
"I told him so last haying, didn't I?
'If he left then,' I said, 'that ended it.'
What good is he? Who else will harbour him
At his age for the little he can do?
What help he is there's no depending on.
Off he goes always when I need him most.
'He thinks he ought to earn a little pay,
Enough at least to buy tobacco with,
So he won't have to beg and be beholden.'
'All right,' I say, 'I can't afford to pay
Any fixed wages, though I wish I could.'
'Someone else can.' 'Then someone else will have to.'
I shouldn't mind his bettering himself
If that was what it was. You can be certain,
When he begins like that, there's someone at him
Trying to coax him off with pocket-money,
In haying time, when any help is scarce.
In winter he comes back to us. I'm done."
"Sh! not so loud: he'll hear you," Mary said.
"I want him to: he'll have to soon or late."
"He's worn out. He's asleep beside the stove.
When I came up from Rowe's I found him here,
Huddled against the barn-door fast asleep,
A miserable sight, and frightening, too
You needn't smile - I didn't recognise him
I wasn't looking for him - and he's changed.
Wait till you see."
"Where did you say he'd been?"
"He didn't say. I dragged him to the house,
And gave him tea and tried to make him smoke.
I tried to make him talk about his travels.
Nothing would do: he just kept nodding off."
"What did he say? Did he say anything?"
"But little."
"Anything? Mary, confess
He said he'd come to ditch the meadow for me."
"Warren!"
"But did he? I just want to know."
"Of course he did. What would you have him say?
Surely you wouldn't grudge the poor old man
Some humble way to save his self-respect.
He added, if you really care to know,
He meant to clear the upper pasture, too.
That sounds like something you have heard before?
Warren, I wish you could have heard the way
He jumbled everything. I stopped to look
Two or three times - he made me feel so queer
To see if he was talking in his sleep.
He ran on Harold Wilson - you remember
The boy you had in haying four years since.
He's finished school, and teaching in his college.
Silas declares you'll have to get him back.
He says they two will make a team for work:
Between them they will lay this farm as smooth!
The way he mixed that in with other things.
He thinks young Wilson a likely lad, though daft
On education - you know how they fought
All through July under the blazing sun,
Silas up on the cart to build the load,
Harold along beside to pitch it on."
"Yes, I took care to keep well out of earshot."
"Well, those days trouble Silas like a dream.
You wouldn't think they would. How some things linger!
Harold's young college boy's assurance piqued him.
After so many years he still keeps finding
Good arguments he sees he might have used.
I sympathise. I know just how it feels
To think of the right thing to say too late.
Harold's associated in his mind with Latin.
He asked me what I thought of Harold's saying
He studied Latin like the violin
Because he liked it - that an argument!
He said he couldn't make the boy believe
He could find water with a hazel prong
Which showed how much good school had ever done him.
He wanted to go over that. But most of all
He thinks if he could have another chance
To teach him how to build a load of hay"
"I know, that's Silas' one accomplishment.
He bundles every forkful in its place,
And tags and numbers it for future reference,
So he can find and easily dislodge it
In the unloading. Silas does that well.
He takes it out in bunches like big birds' nests.
You never see him standing on the hay
He's trying to lift, straining to lift himself."
"He thinks if he could teach him that, he'd be
Some good perhaps to someone in the world.
He hates to see a boy the fool of books.
Poor Silas, so concerned for other folk,
And nothing to look backward to with pride,
And nothing to look forward to with hope,
So now and never any different."
Part of a moon was falling down the west,
Dragging the whole sky with it to the hills.
Its light poured softly in her lap. She saw
And spread her apron to it. She put out her hand
Among the harp - like morning - glory strings,
Taut with the dew from garden bed to eaves,
As if she played unheard the tenderness
That wrought on him beside her in the night.
"Warren," she said, "he has come home to die:
You needn't be afraid he'll leave you this time."
"Home," he mocked gently.
"Yes, what else but home?
It all depends on what you mean by home.
Of course he's nothing to us, any more
Than was the hound that came a stranger to us
Out of the woods, worn out upon the trail."
"Home is the place where, when you have to go there,
They have to take you in."
"I should have called it
Something you somehow haven't to deserve."
Warren leaned out and took a step or two,
Picked up a little stick, and brought it back
And broke it in his hand and tossed it by.
"Silas has better claim on us you think
Than on his brother? Thirteen little miles
As the road winds would bring him to his door.
Silas has walked that far no doubt to-day.
Why didn't he go there? His brother's rich,
A somebody - director in the bank."
"He never told us that."
"We know it though."
"I think his brother ought to help, of course.
I'll see to that if there is need. He ought of right
To take him in, and might be willing to
He may be better than appearances.
But have some pity on Silas. Do you think
If he'd had any pride in claiming kin
Or anything he looked for from his brother,
He'd keep so still about him all this time?"
"I wonder what's between them."
"I can tell you.
Silas is what he is - we wouldn't mind him
But just the kind that kinsfolk can't abide.
He never did a thing so very bad.
He don't know why he isn't quite as good
As anyone. He won't be made ashamed
To please his brother, worthless though he is."
"I can't think Si ever hurt anyone."
"No, but he hurt my heart the way he lay
And rolled his old head on that sharp-edged chair-back.
He wouldn't let me put him on the lounge.
You must go in and see what you can do.
I made the bed up for him there to-night.
You'll be surprised at him - how much he's broken.
His working days are done; I'm sure of it."
"I'd not be in a hurry to say that."
"I haven't been. Go, look, see for yourself.
But, Warren, please remember how it is:
He's come to help you ditch the meadow.
He has a plan. You mustn't laugh at him.
He may not speak of it, and then he may.
I'll sit and see if that small sailing cloud
Will hit or miss the moon."
It hit the moon.
Then there were three there, making a dim row,
The moon, the little silver cloud, and she.
Warren returned - too soon, it seemed to her,
Slipped to her side, caught up her hand and waited.
"Warren," she questioned.
"Dead," was all he answered.
- Robert Frost
*lol*
okay... kinda depressing
but unforunately...
probably kinda true...
