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Ertha Cat

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  • Art Copyright Jimmy Ruska

    still I rise

    Mood: Straightening things out...

    Posted on 2006-01-19 18:18:04

       You may write me down in history
    With your bitter, twisted lies,
    You may trod me in the very dirt
    But still, like dust, I'll rise.
    Does my sassiness upset you?
    why are you beset with gloom?
    'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
    pumping in my living room.
    Just like moons and like suns,
    With the certainty of tides,
    Just like hopes springing high,
    Still I'll rise.

    Did you want to see me broken?
    Bowed head and lowered eyes?
    Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
    Weakened by my soulful cries.
    Does my haughtiness offend you?
    Don't you take it awful hard
    'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
    Diggin' in my own backyard.
    You may shoot me with your words,
    You may cut me with your eyes,
    you may kill me with your hatefulness,
    But still, like air, I'll rise.

    Does my sexiness upset you?
    does it come as a surprise
    That I dance like I've got diamonds
    At the meeting of my thighs?
    Out of the huts of history's shame
    I rise
    Up from a past that's rooted in pain
    I rise
    I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
    Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
    Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
    I rise
    Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
    I rise
    Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
    I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
    I rise
    I rise
    I rise
    Maya Angelou


    Untitled Entry

    Mood: The Usual

    Posted on 2006-01-13 09:09:34

       now we begn the process of getting our house in order

    Untitled Entry

    Mood: Tired

    Posted on 2006-01-02 07:05:29

       so now the wrapping paper fills the dustbin and the tree is less jaunty that it did.
    People fill the shops looking for that special something that Santa didn't bring them...I wonder ..and just wonder


    Untitled Entry

    Mood: Guess what!?

    Posted on 2005-12-19 02:06:27

       Deck the hall with boughs of holly
    'tis the season to be jolly


    season of goodw

    Mood: The Usual

    Posted on 2005-12-19 02:04:47


    the end

    Mood: Thinking...

    Posted on 2005-12-18 04:55:08

       the following journal entry is an extract from Kevin Fagin's eye witness account in the San Francisco Chronicle, December 14th 2005

    It took 36 agonizing minutes to get to the defining moment of Stanley Tookie Williams' execution

    In two minutes, the team had him lashed down tight: black straps with buckles at his shoulders, chest, waist, knees and feet, and brown-leather Velcro straps at his wrists.

    Williams stared straight up and his lips moved rapidly, praying quietly. At one point, a tiny tear slid down his cheek.

    The three guards left, and five others walked in.

    It was time to insert the needles

    The first catheter slid in messily at the crook of Williams' right elbow, taking just two minutes to seat but spurting so much blood at the needle point that a cotton swab was soaked, shining deep red before it was taped off.

    Then came the real trouble. A medical technician, a woman with short black hair, had to poke for 11 minutes before her needle hit home.

    By 12:10 a.m., the medical tech's lips were tight and white and sweat was pooling on her forehead as she probed Williams' arm.

    At 12:16 a.m., the second needle was inserted. His hands were taped, mummy-like, to the gurney arms. The guards hurried out the door and sealed it, leaving Williams alone with two clear intravenous lines snaking off his arms and into holes in the back wall of the death chamber.
    Williams' chest heaved several times as he lay with his eyes closed, but somewhere in the 15 minutes from 12:20 to 12:35 a.m., the executioners filled his veins with pancuronium bromide to stop his breathing, then potassium chloride to stop his heart.



    Mood: Sigh...

    Posted on 2005-12-10 07:34:55


    Her house is closed and shuttered, but she hasn't gone away.
    Her phone remains unanswered, it echoes in the hall.

    Sometimes she takes it off the hook; hides when the doorbell rings.
    I say I know she's in there, does she not hear me call?

    her post's returned to sender, or left in heaps unread.
    Old friends are so frustrated, she doesn't care at all.


    a triolet

    Mood: Guess what!?

    Posted on 2005-12-07 16:55:46

       O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
    Missing so much and so much?
    O fat white woman whom nobody loves,
    Why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
    When the grass is soft as the breast of doves
    And shivering sweet to the touch?
    O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
    Missing so much and so much?

    -- Frances Cornford



    Mood: Sigh...

    Posted on 2005-12-05 11:52:50

       Pomegranates softly thud,
    Falling from leafless trees.
    December, loitering by the gate
    Is waiting for its cue.
    Tendrils of smoke from afternoon fires
    Linger by the wall.
    Outside of time, this still day
    Comes to a gentle close,
    And kindly autumn slips away.


    Ah Well

    Mood: Relaxing

    Posted on 2005-11-28 16:23:06

       you can't aways get what you want.....but if yoo try
    sometimes...... you get what you need......