Dreams

" Yes...I am a dreamer. 

For a dreamer is one 

who can only find his way 

by moonlight, 

and his punishment is 

that he sees the dawn 

before the rest of the world.” 

~ Oscar Wilde

My Name is Ruin

When they called me broken, I knew

When they called me evil, I knew

When they called me ruin, I knew

I would always find my way to you

When I beg forgiveness, they knew

When I beg for mercy, they knew

When I beg for nothing, they knew

I would always find my way to you

My name is ruin, 

my name is vengeance

My name is no one, 

no one is calling

My name is ruin, 

my name is heartbreak

My name is loving, 

but sorrows and darkness

My name is ruin, 

my name is evil

My name's a war song, 

I sing you a new one

My name is ruin, 

my name is broken

My name is shameless, 

I tear you wide open

When I called you poison, you knew

When I called you shameful, you knew

When I called you a liar, you knew

I would always find my way to you

I'll show you ruin, 

I'll show you vengeance

I'll show you no one, 

and no one is calling

I'll show you ruin, 

I'll show you heartbreak

I'll show you loving, 

and sorrow and darkness

I'll show you ruin, 

I'll show you evil

I'll sing you a war song, 

I'll sing you a new one

I'll show you ruin, 

I'll show you broken

I'll show you shameless, 

I'll tear you wide open

Now

3 Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,

7 for the Dwarf-lords in halls of stone,

9 for Mortal Men, doomed to die,

1 for the Dark Lord on his dark throne

In the Land of Mordor 

where the Shadows lie.

One Ring to rule them all,

One Ring to find them,

One Ring to bring them all

and in the darkness bind them.

Now...

A contradiction can not exist in reality. Not in part, nor in whole.

To know and not to know, 

to be conscious of complete truthfulness 

while telling carefully constructed lies, 

to hold simultaneously two opinions 

which cancelled out, 

knowing them to be contradictory

 and believing in both of them, 

to use logic against logic, 

to repudiate morality

while laying claim to it, 

to believe that democracy was impossible 

and that the Party was the guardian of democracy, 

to forget whatever it was necessary to forget, 

then to draw it back into memory again

at the moment when it was needed, 

and then promptly to forget it again, 

and above all, 

to apply the same process

to the process itself—

that was the ultimate subtlety: 

consciously to induce unconsciousness, 

and then, once again, 

to become unconscious of the act of hypnosis

you had just performed. 

The New Colossus

The New Colossus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand 

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles.

From her beacon-hand glows world-wide welcome;
her mild eyes command the air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

"Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. 

"Give me your tired, your poor, 

your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
the wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

~ Emma Lazarus

is graven on a tablet within the pedestal on which the statue stands.

Undiscovered

Sometimes the best way to move into the unknown is to take familiar steps, 

small steps. 

To do ordinary things 

to deal with something that is 

in no way ordinary. 

We're always going someplace new, 

all the time. 

Familiar things just let us pretend that we aren't moving into unfamiliar territory. 

You take those small familiar steps, 

and you try to be honest, 

not to live as if nothing had changed 

but still to go on with your life. 

But there are times 

when what you need 

is a piece of how things used to be.

~Taken

THERE IS ANOTHER SKY

There is another sky,

Ever serene and fair,

And there is another sunshine,

Though it be darkness there;

Never mind faded forests, Austin,

Never mind silent fields -

Here is a little forest,

Whose leaf is ever green;

Here is a brighter garden,

Where not a frost has been;

In its unfading flowers

I hear the bright bee hum:

Prithee, my brother,

Into my garden come!

~ Emily Dickinson