Apr 19, 2002 5:14 PM
|Quare de vulva matris mee egressus sum ut viderem laborem et dolorem et consumerentur in confusione dies mei?" Si talia locutus est ille de se quem Deus sanctificavit in utero, qualia loquar ego de me, quem mater mea genuit in peccato?
Heu me, dixerim, mater mea, quid me genuisti, filium amaritudinis et doloris? "Quare non in vulva mortuus sum? Egressus de utero, non statim perii? Cur exceptus genibus, lactatus uberibus," natus "in combustionem et cibum ignis"? Utinam interfectus fuissem in utero, "ut fuisset michi mater mea sepulchrum et vulva eius conceptus eternus." "Fuissem enim quasi qui non essem, de utero translatus ad tumulum." Quis det ergo oculis meis fontem lacrimarum, ut fleam miserabilem humane condicionis ingressum, culpabilem humane conversacionis progressum, dampnabilem humane dissolucionis egressum?
Consideraverim ergo cum lacrimis de quo factus est homo, quid faciat homo, quid futurus sit homo. Sane formatus est homo de terra, conceptus in culpa, natus ad penam. Agit prava que non licent, turpia que non decent, vana que non expediunt. Fit cibus ignis, esca vermis, massa putredinis. Exponam id planius; edissera plenius. Formatus est homo de pulvere, de luto, de cinere: quodque vilius est, de spurcissimo spermate.
Conceptus in pruritu carnis, in fervore libidinis, in fetore luxurie: quodque deterius est, in labe peccati. Natus ad laborem, timorem, dolorem: quodque miserius est, ad mortem. Agit prava quibus offendit Deum, offendit proximum, offendit seipsum; agit vana et turpia quibus polluit famam, polluit personam, polluit conscienciam. Agit vana quibus negligit seria, negligit utilia, negligit necessaria. Fiet cibus ignis qui semper ardet et urit inextinguibilis; esca vermis qui semper rodit et commedit immortalis; massa putredinis qui semper fetet et sordet horribilis.
A. (Have a nice weekend.)
|heee he hee hehehehe hheeeee bwwahhaa bwhwhahaha Nm||Spirito|
Apr 19, 2002 5:38 PM
|On the misery of the human condition. Pope Innocent III 1215||AllisonHayes|
Apr 20, 2002 9:07 AM
|Memento Mori: Remember, we will all die. haahaaheeheehaaheeeheeee
You are walking down the street. You see an 8- or 9-year-old boy. He smiles at you sweetly. You smile back and say, "Hi." He says, "Hey baby, come over here and fu(k me." (Sorry, it's true. Happened the other day. Hey! He's not my stinkin' kid. By the way, I said, "Sure," and he ran away.)
You go to the doctor because you are suffering from dizziness. After a thorough examination, the doctor sits you down and tells you that you are suffering from a common condition called "dizziness." It's the old joke. Doctor! Doctor! It hurts when I go like this. So don't go like that.
You spend a couple of days fooling around with the TV remote trying to shut off the closed-caption function. You feel like a complete idiot. You used to be able to use that closed-caption function, didn't you? You are so desperate to watch Melrose Place without all that typing blocking Heather Locklear's interesting facial expressions (some call it acting), you pass the remote over to the 4-year-old in the house to see if he can fix it. You even consider taking your TV into the shop to be fixed after much mental reconfiguring of your bank account. Finally you realize, after talking to someone on the phone who is watching Melrose Place as it is being picked up by antenna, that a number of programs lately, especially re-runs, are being broadcast with the captions already splashed all over the screen.
You go to use the only public phone within miles and somebody has spit phlegm all over the front of it or worse urinated on the mouthpiece. The absolute best, however, has to be when you insert a quarter into the phone, dial the number, receive a busy signal, stick your hand inside the coin return machine and stick your fingers into a cold slimy gob of spit that someone has deposited there for your sensual pleasure.
You are trying to cash your paycheque at an ATM machine. You are counting on using the cash you receive from the cheque to get home. You put the cheque in the deposit envelope, seal it and deposit it in the envelope slot. The slot swallows the envelope, but the digital display tells you that the envelope is jammed and to "Please clear the envelope slot of obstructions." However, there is no obstruction in the slot, except, possibly, for your deposit envelope, which has long since disappeared. The machine closes down and spits out your transaction record. Your deposit reads as "$0.00." You are stuck in the middle of nowhere with no cash, no cheque and no proof that you ever had a cheque in your possession at all. (This actually happened to me at an ATM a few weeks ago and it took hours to straighten out at the bank. The following week, of course, after the cheque was manually processed, it was discovered inside the machine.)
You ask someone politely to cover their mouth when they cough, then they continue to cough on you as they continue to tell you their amusing anecdote. The next day, when you're sick, they tell you to lighten up, as they continue to tell you yet another amusing anecdote.
Your purse has been stolen. It contains your social insurance card, OHIP card and birth certificate. The social insurance people tell you they can't replace your card without your birth certificate. The birth certificate people want your social insurance card. The OHIP people want both your social insurance card and your birth certificate before they'll replace your card. The lesson for today? Never carry all three pieces of ID in the same purse.
It's been a long day. You're so tired you feel nauseous. You are stuck standing on the bus beside a swarm of teenagers who have just decided to hold a belching contest!
You see your name on a poster advertising that you will be reading at some benefit. This is the first time you've heard about it, and you have a prior commitment. When you don't show up at the benefit, you receive ang
|Your post was cut off||Anvil|
Apr 20, 2002 10:05 AM
|and although I'm depressed enough having read as far as I did, I'd like to see the rest of it. BTW, why the "Allison Hayes" nom de plume? You're not 50' tall are you?|
|You forgot to put "quote marks" around your quote Allison||GST|
Apr 21, 2002 8:07 PM
|AllisonHayes = Ahimsa||xxll|
Apr 21, 2002 9:41 PM
|No rocket science involved on this one.|
|On the misery of the human condition. (continued)||AllisonHayes|
Apr 20, 2002 1:22 PM
|You see your name on a poster advertising that you will be reading at some benefit. This is the first time you've heard about it, and you have a prior commitment. When you don't show up at the benefit, you receive angry phone calls and letters from people who think your no-show is actually a political statement against whatever the cause was that day.
You decide to be nice to a panhandler and give them some money and then five minutes later, when you walk past them again, they ask you again. Face it, in this society, you don't have to be a faceless bureaucrat to be faceless.
You've just washed your car. Suddenly, at the corner of Bloor and Spadina, someone splashes a pail of gray, soapy water across your windshield, the squeegees come out and!
The subway has been mysteriously stalled in the middle of a dark tunnel for 15 minutes, but when the TTC P.A. system comes on you can't hear the announcement because of all of the static. Something about TTC workers clearing the tunnel of a bad case of phlegm.
You tell somebody that you have a problem, and instead of being sympathetic or helpful they thoughtfully exclaim, "Whew! I'm glad that happened to you and not to me!"
btw, plume du nom--only 5'13"
|now, now, there, there (soothing voice)....||Spirito|
Apr 21, 2002 1:28 PM
|If thou faint in the day of adversity, thy strength is small. -- Proverbs 24:10.
Whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth. -- Hebrews 12:6
Every one can master a grief but he that has it. -- Shakespeare.
What gem hath dropp'd and sparkles o'er his chain?
The tear most sacred, shed for other's pain,
That starts at once -- bright -- pure -- from pity's
Already polish'd by the Hand Divine.
fight the powers that be! -- chuck d & Flavor Flave (public enemy)
Shit doesn't smell as much if you don't touch it -- Spirito (yours truly)
whoever you are allisonhayes: i am in parts intrigued, enthralled and becoming infatuated. you are more than allright in my books. ya just got sumthin' about yer woids and thoughts. i know your a much bigger person.
"some cats just swing like that" - nelson algren in the man with the golden arm.
|as allison said to roger corman...||S|
Apr 21, 2002 3:08 PM
|"who do i have to f**k to get off this picture?"|
|Exclusive photo of Spirito joshing us at his computer hahahahaha||AllisonHayes|
Apr 21, 2002 3:48 PM
|You and Ahisma are some really cool slammers.|
|SLAMMER? i like to think im the sincerest guy here..||Spirito|
Apr 21, 2002 4:57 PM
|although i will take it as understood maybe a little twisted.
i dig the pic ( and the band gorrilaz) but im sorry as its extremely rare that i drink beer and as a matter of fact i haven't had a drink since christmas day - no reason just chillin'.
ahimsa im sure could fit the pic and would be proud of the likeness.
but the mystery remains as to who you may be?
pray do tell!
|SLAMMER? i like to think im the sincerest guy here..||AllisonHayes|
Apr 21, 2002 5:31 PM
|Slamming is a way for poets to express a microcosm of the world's concerns-- inspired, distilled and breathed out, in irony.
The writing or poems might portray cyclists (Ichabod or Spirito interviews); or they may be religious (Memento mori), whatever. They can be personal, or meditative. They inform; they educate, but mostly they entertain.
You and Ahisma provide ritual entertainment, bringing strangers together to listen to each other. You guys are sincere, just orthogonal.
|orthogonal? whats that a bedroom position? Nm||Spirito|
Apr 22, 2002 5:09 AM
|de contemptus mundi --you wretched pig hahahahaha||AllisonHayes|
Apr 20, 2002 9:56 AM
|. . . Man was formed of dust, slime and ashes: what is even more vile, of the filthiest seed. He was conceived from the itch of the flesh, in the heat of passion and the stench of lust, and worse yet, with the stain of sin. He was born to toil, dread, and trouble; and more wretched still, was born only to die. He commits depraved acts by which he offends God, his neighbor, and himself; shameful acts by which he defiles his name, his person, and his conscience; and vain acts by which he ignores all things important, useful and necessary. He will become fuel for those fires which are forever hot and burn forever bright; food for the worm which forever nibbles and digests; a mass of rottenness which will forever stink and reek. . .
Man is conceived of blood made rotten by the heat of lust; and in the end worms, like mourners, stand about his corpse. In life he produced lice and tapeworms; in death he will produces worms and flies. In life he produced dung and vomit; in death he produces rottenness and stench . . . Of what advantage, then, are riches, food, and honors? For riches will not free us from death, neither food protect us from the worm nor honors from the stench.
Pope Innocent III, 1207
|i was thinking the exact same thing - - -||liv2padl|
Apr 20, 2002 11:47 AM
|only i didn't know quite how to say it. :-O|
|translation - he who does depraved, vain & indecent things||AllisonHayes|
Apr 20, 2002 2:12 PM
|Of the Misery of Man
"Why came I out of my mother's womb to see labor and sorrow and that my days should be spent in confusion?" If he whom God sanctified in the womb spoke such things about himself, what things shall I say of myself, whom my mother brought forth in sin? Ah me, I might say, my mother, why did you bear me, the son of bitterness and sorrow?" "Why did I not die in the womb? Having come out of the belly, why did I not perish at once? Why received upon the knees, suckled at the breasts"born "for burning and for fuel for the fire"? If only I had been destroyed in the womb, so "that my mother might have been my grave and her womb an everlasting conception." "For I should have been as if I had not been, carried from the womb to the grave." Who therefore will give my eyes a fountain of tears so that I may bewail the miserable beginning of the human condition, the culpable progress of human behavior, the damnable ending of human dissoluteness. With tears I might consider what man is made of, what man does, what man will be. Man is indeed formed from earth, conceived in sin, born to pain. He does depraved things that are unlawful, shameful things that are indecent, vain things that are unprofitable. He becomes fuel for the fire, food for the worms, a mass of putridnesss. I shall show this more clearly; I shall analyze more fully. Man is formed of dust, of clay, of ashes: what is more vile, from the filthiest sperm. He is conceived in the heat of desire, in the fervor of the flesh, in the stench of lust: what is worse, in the blemish of sin. He is born to labor, fear, sorrow: what is more miserable, to death. He does depraved things by which he offends God, offends his neighbors, offends himself. He does vain and shameful things by which he pollutes his fame, pollutes his person, pollutes his conscience. He does vain things by which he neglects serious things, neglects profitable things, neglects necessary things. He will become fuel for the inextinguishable fire that always flames and burns; food for the immortal worm that always eats and consumes; a mass of horrible putridness that always stinks and is filthy.
A.H.(Have a nice weekend.)
|LOTARIO DEI SEGNI OF MISERIA CONDICIONIS HUMANE||GST|
Apr 21, 2002 8:40 PM
|Ahsmia forgot his quote marks too http://www.thelatinlibrary.com/innocent.html |
For other latin works for all you latin lovers
|That Pope sure is a card eh? (NM)||mikebikr|
Apr 22, 2002 6:57 AM