Somewhere over the rainbow skies are blue...

member? is it something importat? i think so. however there is few thing i'd love to forget. it's such a pain... but doesnt matter... i can live with it i suppose

I have gorogus little friend - Renia. she has got really wonderful voice. How horrible, that I heard it first time today

It's been ages since II wrote last time. Normal. I don't have enough time to write that stupidness. Hoever sometimes I have to write something. I can't forget how to write in english. I suppose, that I'm doing a lot of misteakes. Although, I'll be write. For me, not for you. You can read it, but my text are usually pointless. And now I want to write something to my flatmates: I LOVE YOU. Becouse they'll may read it. I'm a bit stupid due to I've written that, but it doesnt matter.
And no it high time to paste a text.

The Foggy Dew

words and music by Father P. O'Neill

'Twas down the glen one Easter morn
To a city fair rode I.
When armed line of marching men
In squadrons passed me by.
No pipes did hum, no battle drum
Did sound its loud tattoo
But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey's swell
Rang out in the foggy dew.

Right proudly high over Dublin town
They hung out a flag of war.
'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky
Than at Suvla or Sud el Bar.
And from the plains of Royal Meath
Strong men came hurrying through;
While Brittania's huns with their great big guns
Sailed in through the foggy dew.

O' the night fell black and the rifles' crack
Made "Perfidious Abion" reel
'Mid the leaden rail, seven tongues of flame
Did shine o'er the lines of steel.
By each shining blade a prayer was siad
That to Ireland her sons be true,
And when morning broke still the war flag shook
Out its fold in the foggy dew

'Twas England bade our wild geese go
That small nations might be free.
But their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves
On the fringe of the gray North Sea.
But had they died by Pearse's side
Or fought with Cathal Brugha,
Their names we'd keep where the Fenians sleep
'Neath the shroud of the foggy dew.

The bravest fell, and the solemn bell
Rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Watertide
In the springing of the year.
And the world did gaze with deep amaze
At those fearless men, but few
Who bore the fight that freedom's light
Might shine through the foggy dew.

Ah, back through the glen I rode again
and my heart with grief was sore
For I parted then with valiant men
whom I never shall see more.
But to and fro in my dreams I go and
I'd kneel and pray for you,
For slavery fled, O glorious dead, when
you fell in the foggy dew.

I have some troubles with understanding whole text, but music is wonderful. So tranquil, peaceful. I love it. I ought to hear it : ) It's worth to hear. Really : ))

                        Desiderata

Go placidly amidst the noise and haste
and remember what peace there may be in silence
As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly & clearly; and listen to others, even the dull
& ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud & aggressive persons, for they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others; you may become vain & bitter;
for always there will be greater & lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your career, however humble; it is a real
possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity & disenchantment it is perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nature strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune
but do not distress yourself with imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gently with yourself.
You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is
unfolding as it should.
Therefor be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labours & aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life
keep peace with your soul.
With al its sham, drudgery & broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.
Be careful. Strive to be happy.

Found in old Saint Paul's Church in Boltimore, dated 1692

If there is anyone who wants and is able to check and improve my mistakes I'll be grateful. If you have any comments please write!

I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world

I see skies of blue and clouds of white
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world

The colours of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of people going by
I see friends shakin' hands, sayin' "How do you do?"
They're really saying "I love you"

I hear babies cryin', I watch them grow
They'll learn much more than I'll ever know
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world
Yes, I think to myself, what a wonderful world

What a wonderful world, by George Weiss and Bob Thiele
[singing (my favourite): especially Louis Armstrong and Eva Cassidy]

Sometimes I see that someone have thrown away bread. Think, there are a lot of people who can't eat anything. There are the same with some houses. There are empty houses nearby my one. And there are plenty of peaople living on the street. And, look: there is beautiful sky above. Can you see it? How often do you look up, on the sky and clouds? It's so beautiful. Could you imagine, that lots of people is uncapable of seeing the sky? Let's look around and think: "What a wonderful world, and what wonderful life I have. Friends, family, and surrounding world." Cheer up. Life isn't your enemy!!

Promise me , when you see,
a white rose you'll think of me
(...)
I will be your ghost of a rose...

Ghost of a Rose, by Blackmores Night

There are few days when I feel that I have to write something. And it doesn't matter what and who may read it. I must so I do it. And when I feel, that the time to write is comeing I probably open that page. And you, if only you want to, will have possibility to read my madness . That's all from me today.

They were stricken, surely, nearly blind in the keep of some primordial darkness. And yet it was their time, and they came out into the light, one after another, until the way out was lost to them. Loss was in the order of things, then, from the beginning. Their emergence was a small thing in itself, and unfinished. But it gave them to know that they were and who they were. They could at last say to themselves. "We are..."

The Names: A Memoir, by N. Scott Momaday

I was stricken, surely, nearly blind in the keep of some primordial darkness. And yet it was my time, and I came out into the light until the way out was lost to me. Loss was in the order of things, then, from the beginning. My emergence was a small thing in itself, and unfinished. But it gave me to know that I was and who I was. I could at last say to myself: "I am..."