lissalee's Xanga

Wednesday, October 08, 2008

Wed, 08 Oct 2008 13:26:06 GMT

big daddy weave

what life would be like lyrics

I wish I was more of a man

Have you ever felt that way

And if I had to tell you the truth

I'm afraid I'd have to say

That after all I've done and failed to do

I feel like less than I was meant to be

What if I could fix myself

Maybe then I could get free

I could try to be somebody else

Who's much better off than me

But I need to remember this

That it's when I'm at my weakest

I can clearly see

He made the lame walk and the dumb talk

And He opened blinded eyes to see

That the sun rises on His time

Yet He knows our deepest desperate need

And the world waits while His heart aches

To realize the dream

I wonder what life would be like if we let Jesus live thru you and me

What if you could see yourself thru another pair of eyes

What if you could hear the truth

Instead of old familiar lies

What if you could feel inside

The power of the hand that made the universe You'd realize

That He made the lame walk and the dumb talk

And He opened blinded eyes to see

That the sun rises on His time

Yet He knows our deepest desperate need

And the world waits while His heart aches

To realize the dream

I wonder what life would be like if we let Jesus live thru you and me

All our hearts they burn within us

All our lives we've longed for more

So let us lay our lives before the one who gave His life for us

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Wed, 30 Jul 2008 19:55:34 GMT

without inspiration I am writing today - without a purpose or goal... just to go with the flow and to see what may happen to be on my mind as my fingers interpret my brain waves. haha... i have 15 minutes till 5 and I am looking forward to being out of here. though there is no plan for the evening it is just the freedom of it that i am craving. to walk out the door and not be payed to look happy and sort mail. to be whoever i be... not that I am super grumpy but i am tired of my receptionist face. ready to take it off! as far as what is going on in my life... who said this was a journal entry? it is a free flowin little note that could venture into any little corner... i wander if anyone else uses their xanga accounts. i dont get the updates anymore and havnt been browsing anyones for a long time. i again have fallen out of touch with some good ol friends. well, the time is passing slowly but i now only have 5 minutes since i had to get up in the middle of this entry and put some envelopes inside of some inboxes.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Tue, 15 Apr 2008 17:52:31 GMT

I got this from someone else; it was fun to do :)

Psychoanalyze yourself; don’t read ahead, just answer the following questions with the first thought that comes to mind. Then read which each answer means at the end.
1. You are not alone. You are walking in the woods. Who is by your side?
Leslie

2. You are walking in the woods. You see an animal. What animal is it?
Deer

3. What interaction takes place between you and the animal?
.I smile and invite the deer to walk with us

4. You walk deeper in the woods. You enter a clearing, and before you is a house, your dream house, how big is it?since were in the woods im will say it is a big log cabin with a loft and open living room / kitchen. It is cozy and has a fire place in the center of the home.
5. Is your dream house surrounded by a fence?
no

6. You enter the house. You walk into the dining room and see the dining room table. What do you see on AND around it?
A bowl with fruit two taper candles and home made quilted placemats

7. You exit the house and a cup is on the ground, what kind is it?
a plastic Sippy cup

8. What do you do with the cup?
Leave it there.

9. You walk to the edge of the property where you find yourself standing at the end of a body of water what kind of water is it?
A I am at the ocean shore – technically it is the ocean but it is an alcove

10. How will you cross the water?
I would take a canoe

The ANSWERS

1. The person who you are walking in the woods with is the most important to you.

2. The size of the animal is representative of your perception of the size of your problems in your life.

3. The severity of the interaction you have with the animal is representative of how you deal with your problems.

4. The size of your dream home is representative of the size of your ambition to solve your problems.

5. A lack of a fence is indicative of an open personality. People are welcome at all times. The presence of a fence indicates a closed personality. You'd prefer people not drop by unannounced.

6. If your answer did NOT include food, flowers, or people, then you are generally unhappy.

7. The durability of the material which the cup is made of is representative of the perceived durability of your relationship.

8. What you did with the cup is representative of your attitude.

9. The size of the body of water is representative of the size of your sexual desire.

10. The way you cross the water is representative to how easy or hard you expect your life to be.

Monday, February 11, 2008

Mon, 11 Feb 2008 16:25:25 GMT

wow it has been ages since I wrote anything here. life is so unpredictable but nothing extremely exciting has been happening in my life... just havn't updated in a long time! Last night I decided to start focusing on the brighter side of life. I have always viewed myself as a very positive person but slowly I let that optomism slip and realize I'm a little grouchy about stupid things that are not worth the extra energy to complain or even use facial muscles and frown about. Instead of telling you any sob story or explain any minor problems in my life process of "growing up" and being a "big girl" I wanna expound on how blessed I am. I have so much and yet think I have a right to complain. I have a warm bed to sleep in, both parents are alive and care about me. I have beautiful sisters who love me, beautiful friends who are unique and diverse in every way. I have a healthy body that is equipped with strong muscles to walk, run, skip, dance, feed myelf, I have healthy blood cells that feed my heart that is beating right without me even giving a thought. I have hope. I have been shown grace that makes unconditional love possible for me to receive and give. I was born into a country which does not always treat everyone equally, but I have the blessing of knowledge and intelligence which I can use to make my world a better place.

high heals in maine

Mon, 19 Nov 2007 18:50:29 GMT

so, I woke up this morning and decided to break out the high heals. Might I remind you that I am a bit inexperienced when it comes to tromping around in shoes that elevate me at least 2 1/2 inches anyways. Picture me walking out the door to face 5 steps and a low railing down to an uneven brick side walk on a cold wintery feeling Monday morning (a cool morning for the typical northeastern). As I cross the street and proceed to continue walking down the sidewalk to my car parked a couple blocks away I think to myself "I am not feeling very Mainey right now" I notice a grey haired lady in a cute purple coat and very comfy gymshoe sandles with black socks, walking very confidently. Well, I made it to the car safely without any twisted ankles or skinned knees (thinking back to my high heal twisty fun back in summer in which I tore my favorite jeans and had a lovely sore for a month) Upon arriving at work my boss who has never commented on my shoes or apparel previously asked if I bought a new pair of shoes and I said No, I just never wore these because I didn't think they were very Maine-Like. And he reassured me that they were "office approved". So, although I had no doubt that they were "office approved" I decided it was worth the wobbly walk to the car. After a few conversations with co-workers I realized that me wearing high heals could be a bit against the unspoken rules for it brings me towering above and over my somewhat short boss and he madde the comment to everyone that I look sexy in them. So I guess I am aloud to break the unwritten tall law in the office though I do not necessarily want to be checked out by my boss let me rephrase that - I dont want to be checked out by my creepy boss haha - so, I pose a question to all who may read this random post - should I wear the heals? haha Just thought I'd see what responses I may get

My Love, I cannot live without you

Sun, 21 Oct 2007 22:12:18 GMT

From The Sunday Times

October 14, 2007

My love, I cannot live without you

French philosopher Andre Gorz wrote his terminally ill wife a moving letter before their joint suicide last month. Here we publish it in Britain for the first time

The joint suicide of André Gorz, the French philosopher and founder of the magazine Le Nouvel Observateur, and his British-born wife Dorine, who was suffering from a fatal disease, has turned the love letter that he wrote to her into a surprise bestseller.

Gorz, 84, a friend of Jean-Paul Sartre, and Dorine, 83, committed suicide by lethal injection at their home in the village of Vosnon, east of Paris, on September 22. Two days later a friend found them lying side-by-side in their bedroom.

Gorz’s 75-page Lettre à D. Histoire d’un Amour (Letter to D. Story of a Love), published a year earlier, was a tribute to his wife. One French critic described the work, which won him a wider audience than his essays on ecology and anti-capitalism, as his “intellectual and emotional testament”.

The couple met by chance at a card game in 1947 and married in 1949. “You will soon be 82. You have shrunk six centimetres and you weigh just 45 kilos and you are still beautiful, gracious and desirable,” the book starts. “It is now 58 years that we have lived together and I love you more than ever.”

Gorz goes on to describe finding out in 1973 that Dorine, who managed foreign rights for the publisher Galilée, suffered from an incurable condition caused by the contrast agent lipiodol that was used for x-rays before a back operation that she underwent in 1965. Traces of the agent reached her skull and led to cysts in her cervix, painfully pressuring her nerves.

Two years later the couple learnt that she also suffered from another illness:

‘I took a photo of you, from behind: you are walking with your feet in the water on the beach of La Jolla. You are 52. You are amazing. It’s one of the images of you that I like best.

I looked at that photo for a long while after we got back home, when you told me you wondered if you didn’t have some sort of cancer. You’d already wondered that before we left for the United States but hadn’t wanted to say anything to me. Why not? ‘If I have to die, I wanted to see California beforehand,’ you told me calmly.

Your endometrial cancer hadn’t been picked up in your annual checkup. Once the diagnosis was made and the date of the operation set, we went to spend a week in the house you’d designed. I carved your name in the stone with a chisel. That house was magic. All the spaces had a trapezoidal shape. The bedroom windows looked out over the treetops.

The first night, we didn’t sleep. We were both listening to each other breathing. Then a nightingale started singing and a second one, further away, started answering. We said very little to each other. I spent the day digging and looked up from time to time at the bedroom window. You were standing there, motionless, staring into the distance. I am sure you were practising taming death in order to fight it without fear. You were so beautiful and so determined in your silence that I couldn’t imagine you giving up living.

I took time off from Le Nouvel Observateur and shared your room at the clinic. The first night, through the open window, I heard all of Schubert’s Ninth Symphony. It is etched in me, every note. I remember every moment spent at the clinic. Pierre, our doctor friend from the CNRS (Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique), who came to hear your latest news every morning, said to me: ‘You are going through moments of exceptional intensity. You’ll remember this always.’ I wanted to know what chances the oncol-ogist gave you of surviving five years. Pierre brought me the answer: ‘50-50.’

When you came out of the clinic we went back to our house. Your spirit thrilled me and reassured me. You’d escaped death and life took on a new meaning and a new value. A friend immediately understood this when you saw him at a party. He stared into your eyes for a long time and he said to you: ‘You’ve seen the other side.’ I don’t know how you responded or what else you said. But these are the words he said to me, straight afterwards: ‘Those eyes! Now I understand what she means to you.’

You had seen ‘the other side’; you’d come back from the land no one comes back from. This changed your perspective. We made the same resolution without consulting each other. An English Romantic once summed it up in a sentence: ‘There is no wealth but life.’

During the months you were convalescing, I decided to take my retirement at 60. I started counting the weeks till I could pack up. I took pleasure in cooking, in tracking down organic produce that would help you get your strength back, in ordering the specially tailored medications that a homeopath had recommended you take.

Ecology became a way of life and a daily practice without ceasing to imply the requirement of a completely different civilisation. I’d reached the age where you ask yourself what you’ve done with your life, what you would like to have done with it. I had the impression of not having lived my life, of having always observed it at a distance, of having developed only one side of myself and being poor as a person. You were, and always had been, richer than I was. You’d blossomed and grown in every dimension. You were at home in your life; whereas I’d always been in a hurry to move on to the next task, as though our life would only really begin later.

I asked myself what was the inessential that I needed to give up in order to concentrate on the essential. I told myself that, to grasp the reach of the upheavals that were looming in every domain, there had to be more space and time for reflection than the full-time exercise of my profession as a journalist allowed.

I was amazed that my leaving the journal, after 20 years of collaboration, was neither painful to myself nor to others. I remember having written that, at the end of the day, only one thing was essential to me: to be with you. I can’t imagine continuing to write, if you no longer are. You are the essential without which all the rest, no matter how important it seems to me when you are there, loses its meaning and its importance. I told you that in the dedication of my last work.

Twenty-three years have gone by since we went off to live in the country, first in ‘your’ house, which radiated a sense of meditative harmony. A harmony we enjoyed for only three years. They started building a nuclear power station nearby and that drove us away. We found another house, very old, cool in summer, warm in winter, with huge grounds. It was a place where you could be happy.

Where there was only a meadow you created a garden of hedges and shrubs. I planted 200 trees there. For a few years we still did a bit of travelling; but all the vibrating and jolting around involved in any means of transport, no matter what, triggers headaches and pain through your whole body. Arach-noiditis has forced you, little by little, to abandon most of your favourite activities. You hide your suffering. Our friends think you’re ‘in great shape’. You’ve never stopped encouraging me to write. Over the 23 years we’ve spent in our house, I’ve published six books and hundreds of articles and interviews.

We’ve had dozens of visitors from every corner of the globe and I’ve given dozens of interviews. I surely have not lived up to the resolution made 30 years ago: to live completely at home in the present, mindful above all of the richness that is our shared life. I’m now reliving the instants when I made that resolution with a sense of urgency. I don’t have any major work in the pipeline. I don’t want ‘to put off living till later’ - in Georges Bataille’s phrase – any longer.

I am as mindful of your presence now as in the early days and would like to make you feel that. You’ve given me all of your life and all of you; I’d like to be able to give you all of me in the time we have left.

You’ve just turned 82. You are still beautiful, graceful and desirable. We’ve lived together now for 58 years and I love you more than ever. Lately I’ve fallen in love with you all over again and I once more carry inside me a gnawing emptiness that can only be filled by your body snuggled up against mine.

At night I sometimes see the figure of a man, on an empty road in a deserted landscape, walking behind a hearse. I am that man. It’s you the hearse is carrying away. I don’t want to be there for your cremation; I don’t want to be given an urn with your ashes in it. I hear the voice of Kathleen Ferrier singing, ‘Die Welt ist leer, Ich will nicht leben mehr’ and I wake up. I check your breathing, my hand brushes over you.

Each of us would like not to survive the other’s death. We’ve often said to ourselves that if, by some miracle, we were to have a second life, we’d like to spend it together. ’

Extracted from Lettre à D. Histoire d’un Amour by André Gorz. Translated by Julie Rose

Friday, October 12, 2007

Fri, 12 Oct 2007 01:19:11 GMT

Tuesday, October 09, 2007

Tue, 09 Oct 2007 17:47:31 GMT

Happy Day!

Wednesday, October 03, 2007

Wed, 03 Oct 2007 19:08:32 GMT

A western businessman was conducting his Japanese guest around the busy city. Because of traffic congestion they used bus and underground railway. The businessman was proud of his local knowledge of the system, and by clever use of the map and timetable, he got them to their various destinations much quicker than the average tourist could have done. He was particularly proud of one trick: "There, we saved twenty minutes by changing trains and taking the other line".
The Japanese smiled broadly. When they got to their station, the businessman hustled the other up the stairs, and out into the fresh air.
Nearby was a secluded little grassy area with some seats. The Japanese sat down, and looked benevolently on the world passing by.
"Hey, what are you doing just sitting there?" gasped the western businessman.
"Oh, I'm just using up the 20 minutes we saved on the train".

i love it!

Thu, 27 Sep 2007 14:34:47 GMT

what is better than waking up to classical music on my alarm clock to the sound of rain outside my opened window with my kitty purring next to me? Well, maybe a few things are better but this morning it was pretty nice! I love the rain and the cool air! Nothing much to report on here other than I hope everyone has a great weekend (if you happen to read this) Also, I am going to try to start doing graphic design again in the attempts to create my own personal little company in the future that does logo concepts, and other things such as CD designs, brochures, letterheads, booklets etc... maybe learn how to do web design (kinda a whole other realm) SO if you want me to do a little project for free I would love it for the experience and for my portfolio. Ta Ta for now