Tesla Wall

And because Love battles

noreply@blogger.com (Mory) — Thu, 29 Dec 2011 13:20:20 PST

By Pablo Neruda

And because love battles
not only in its burning agricultures
but also in the mouth of men and women,
I will finish off by taking the path away
to those who between my chest and your fragrance
want to interpose their obscure plant.

About me, nothing worse
they will tell you, my love,
than what I told you.

I lived in the prairies
before I got to know you
and I did not wait love but I was
laying in wait for and I jumped on the rose.

What more can they tell you?
I am neither good nor bad but a man,
and they will then associate the danger
of my life, which you know
and which with your passion you shared.

And good, this danger
is danger of love, of complete love
for all life,
for all lives,
and if this love brings us
the death and the prisons,
I am sure that your big eyes,
as when I kiss them,
will then close with pride,
into double pride, love,
with your pride and my pride.

But to my ears they will come before
to wear down the tour
of the sweet and hard love which binds us,
and they will say: “The one
you love,
is not a woman for you,
Why do you love her? I think
you could find one more beautiful,
more serious, more deep,
more other, you understand me, look how she’s light,
and what a head she has,
and look at how she dresses,
and etcetera and etcetera”.

And I in these lines say:
Like this I want you, love,
love, Like this I love you,
as you dress
and how your hair lifts up
and how your mouth smiles,
light as the water
of the spring upon the pure stones,
Like this I love you, beloved.

To bread I do not ask to teach me
but only not to lack during every day of life.
I don’t know anything about light, from where
it comes nor where it goes,
I only want the light to light up,
I do not ask to the night
explanations,
I wait for it and it envelops me,
And so you, bread and light
And shadow are.

You came to my life
with what you were bringing,
made
of light and bread and shadow I expected you,
and Like this I need you,
Like this I love you,
and to those who want to hear tomorrow
that which I will not tell them, let them read it here,
and let them back off today because it is early
for these arguments.

Tomorrow we will only give them
a leaf of the tree of our love, a leaf
which will fall on the earth
like if it had been made by our lips
like a kiss which falls
from our invincible heights
to show the fire and the tenderness
of a true love.

If--- A poem

noreply@blogger.com (Mory) — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 17:47:28 PDT

I am sure that the title of this poem will immediately remind the name of Rudyard Kipling to most of this blog post readers. Who is Kipling? If you wondered, is a sign of lack of general knowledge. Kipling was famous author and poet who coined the historical phrase “The White Man’s Burden" in his poem of the later name. Kipling actually won the Nobel prize in literature in 1907. This is not a post about Kipling, thought I strongly suggest you read this Wikipedia article if I have aroused your interest. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rudyard_Kipling

“If”, today’s poem, was written by the forgotten African American poet Paul Laurence Dunbar. Dunbar was truly a creative genius though lesser known than Kipling due to racial prejudices of his time (which I will not discuss here.) Please read this Wikipedia article about Dunbar,http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_Laurence_Dunbar

There are many things I could say about Dunbar, though I fear I might not be able to do him justice but his work will. Let us judge is genius by his verses.

                       If by Paul Laurence Dunbar

IF life were but a dream, my Love,
And death the waking time;
If day had not a beam, my Love,
And night had not a rhyme, —
A barren, barren world were this
Without one saving gleam;
I'd only ask that with a kiss
You'd wake me from the dream.
If dreaming were the sum of days,
And loving were the bane;
If battling for a wreath of bays
Could soothe a heart in pain, —
I'd scorn the meed of battle's might,
All other aims above
I'd choose the human's higher right,
To suffer and to love!

Page 347

noreply@blogger.com (Mory) — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 17:48:37 PDT

By Mory Keita

I hate boring stuffs though I am a boring guy.

Guess I should hate myself.

I got bored and picked up a book to read, 678 pages long, and well packed.

The story was typical, boy falling for girl. I like those stories.

The boy did everything boys do to get girls attention in romance novels.

You know how it rolls. It was a coup de foudre the first time they met.

Then on page 347, the girl died.

I closed the book and found the writer’s email.

I wrote to her,

“Dear Ms. J.

I‘ve read part of your novel and thus far I have hated everything I liked about it. Your writing is lyrical, your plot is catchy but I could not get over page 347.

The death of the girl pained me a lot. The boy worked hard to get her love and finally when he got it, the girl died. I guess you tried to mimic somehow Romeo and Juliette but Shakespeare ‘Killed’ those two at the end of the play. You killed yours at the middle, right when the reader hopes pours like water from a fountain. I do not know why you killed the girl on page 347, maybe she will return to the boy in her ghostly form or reincarnate in another girl. That is all fine but I will never be able to finish your novel after the girl’s death on page 347.

This is no criticism of your craft (you are actually the first author I have ever emailed) your story is good but you could have ‘killed’ the girl a bit later. You could have allowed the boys efforts to come to fruition.

Best regards,

Mory ”

Ms. J replied two days later (I did not think she would pay attention my email.)

“

Dear Mory,

I am glad you sent me this interesting email. Thank you for reading my novel.

Your inability to read past page 347 tells me a lot about you. Hypothetically speaking, if you were the boy you would have been stuck there after her death. Your problem is not the book it about your emotional state…

J”

I leaned from reading a book something that I may have never learned about myself. Till this day I haven’t been able to read past page 347.

Hell is a lonely place

noreply@blogger.com (Mory) — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 17:49:42 PDT

Charles Bukowski is the newest poet i have discovered. His poetry his eloquent and impregnated with passion. I particularly enjoy his poem, which i am posting for the day, Hell is a lonely place. I hope you enjoy each of its words as i do. The poetry is indeed sad but it's beauty is exquisite.

Hell is a lonely place
By Charles Bukowski

he was 65, his wife was 66, had 
Alzheimer's disease. 

he had cancer of the 
mouth. 
there were 
operations, radiation 
treatments 
which decayed the bones in his 
jaw 
which then had to be 
wired. 

daily he put his wife in 
rubber diapers 
like a 
baby. 

unable to drive in his 
condition 
he had to take a taxi to 
the medical 
center, 
had difficulty speaking, 
had to 
write the directions 
down. 

on his last visit 
they informed him 
there would be another 
operation: a bit more 
left
cheek and a bit more 
tounge. 

when he returned 
he changed his wife's 
diapers 
put on the tv 
dinners, watched the 
evening news 
then went to the bedroom, got the 
gun, put it to her 
temple, fired. 

she fell to the 
left, he sat upon the 
couch 
put the gun into his 
mouth, pulled the 
trigger. 

the shots didn't arouse 
the neighbors. 

later 
the burning tv dinners 
did. 

somebody arrived, pushed 
the door open, saw 
it. 

soon 
the police arrived and 
went through their 
routine, found 
some items: 

a closed savings 
account and 
a checkbook with a 
balance of 
$1.14 
suicide, they 
deduced. 

in three weeks 
there were two 
new tenants: 
a computer engineer 
named 
Ross 
and his wife 
Anatana 
who studied 
ballet. 

they looked like another 
upwardly mobile 
pair.

The jerk, a poem

noreply@blogger.com (Mory) — Sun, 26 Jun 2011 19:29:19 PDT

By Mory Keita ( This is a revised version of the previous poem.)

He is the jerk, dreams of girls.

He is the charming prince in their reveries,

The bold superman who knows how to care.

They love him because he is manly,

And he loves them because they love him.

Yeah, he is the jerk, the man.

He is the one who knows how to woo girls.

He is one who makes them cry tears of love at nights.

Yeah, he is the king, the boss of their hearts.

He holds the key to female’s hearts,

And jealously keeps its secret with malice.

He walks like a star, and speaks like a dork.

Look! He is the master of the game.

The chess-player who has mastered mind-games;

Yeah, he is the jerk the best at his game.

He has learned that a girl’s heart his a chess game,

So he has become a dauntless chess player.

He deceitfully manipulates its 16 pieces like a "real man".

Sometimes, I envy the jerk and his jerky tricks;

Truly, he is a skilful master of psychology.

For, though he is a bloody manipulative “bad boy”,

He has earned the dreams of men : women’s hearts.

Death Song of Boromir

noreply@blogger.com (Mory) — Mon, 30 May 2011 17:18:53 PDT

By J.R.R Tolkien from The Lord Of The Rings

Boromir was a mighty man encompassing human both man strength and weakness. Ready this article to learn about Boromir

Aragorn:
Through Rohan over fen and field where the long grass
grows
The West Wind comes walking, and about the walls it
goes.
'What news from the West, O wandering wind, do you
bring to me tonight?
Have you seen Boromir the Tall by moon or by starlight?'
'I saw him ride over seven streams, over waters wide
and grey;
I saw him walk in empty lands, until he passed away
Into the shadows of the North. I saw him then no more.
The North Wind may have heard the horn of the son of
Denethor.'
'O Boromir! From the high walls westward I looked
afar,
But you came not from the empty lands where no men
are.'

Legolas:
From the mouths of the Sea the South Wind flies, from
the sandhills and the stones;
The wailing of the gulls it bears, and at the gate it
moans.
'What news from the South, O sighing wind, do you bring
to me at eve?
Where now is Boromir the Fair? He tarries and I grieve.'
'Ask not of me where he doth dwell -- so many bones
there lie
On the white shores and the dark shores under the
stormy sky;
So many have passed down Anduin to find the flowing
Sea.
Ask of the North Wind news of them the North Wind
sends to me!'
'O Boromir! Beyond the gate the seaward road runs
south,
But you came not with the ailing gulls from the grey
sea's mouth.'

Aragorn:
From the Gate of Kings the North Wind rides, and past
the roaring falls;
And clear and cold about the tower its loud horn calls.
'What news from the North, O mighty wind, do you
bring to me today?
What news of Boromir the Bold? For he is long away.'
'Beneath Amon Hen I heard his cry. There many foes he
fought.
His cloven shield, his broken sword, they do the water
brought.
His head so proud, his face so fair, his limbs they laid
to rest;
And Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, bore him upon its
breast.'
'O Boromir! The Tower of Guard shall ever northward
gaze
To Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, until the end of days.'

I am still here

noreply@blogger.com (Mory) — Sat, 28 May 2011 15:22:13 PDT

Hello everyone,
It has been about three months I have not updated the blog. Many of you may have worried. I just want to let everyone know that i am still around. The good news is I will shortly Begin posting you poems and many things we share in the Blogsphere.
Mory

Le poète-- Poesie

noreply@blogger.com (Mory) — Sat, 05 Mar 2011 13:37:39 PST

Par Mory Keita

Quand le poète s’assoit sous la nuit étoilée,

Les etoiles forment des constellations d’anges,

Grand créatures céleste plein de vie et d’amour,

Qui errent insouciamment au-delà des nuages.

Ces créatures errent comme des enfants dans les rues.

Ils se lancent au-dessus des nuages comme des pigeons sur le vent,

Tout en Chantant comme des oiseux pencher sur un arbre

Et ils sourissent comme des bonhommes de neige.

A peine le poète commence-t-il à muser sur sa vie amère,

Qu’il se plonge dans les profondes ténèbres de l’existence humaine.

Il se met à frissonner comme si frapper par un grand bise,

Ou comme une passerine effrayer par un épouvantail.

Les anges, attristés par les larmes du poète, descendent sur terre.

Ils encerclent le poète, lui couvrent avec leurs ailes comme un bébé.

Et Soudainement le froid qui froisse le cœur du poète se dissipe.

When the Rose is gone

noreply@blogger.com (Mory) — Wed, 02 Mar 2011 20:25:04 PST

By Jalāl ad-Dīn Muḥammad Balkh ( Rumi)

When the rose is gone and the garden faded
you will no longer hear the nightingale's song.
The Beloved is all; the lover just a veil.
The Beloved is living; the lover a dead thing.
If love withholds its strengthening care,
the lover is left like a bird without care,
the lover is left like a bird without wings.
How will I be awake and aware
if the light of the Beloved is absent?
Love wills that this Word be brought forth

My heart is like a star

noreply@blogger.com (Mory) — Sat, 19 Feb 2011 09:58:27 PST

By Mory Keita

My heart is like a star, brighter that Sirius.

Its light illuminates this dull world,

Like sun shine upon us at dawn.

When my heart shall be broken,

The stars shall shatter like broken mirror

And darkness shall envelope this world.

Without my love there is no love,

Without my light there is no light,

And without light, night shall lonely sleep.

O heart, what is this world without light?

My heart is a star perched above clouds.

When the stars shall shatter, my heart shall break.

But, as long as Sirius and its companion shine,

My love shall always illuminate this dull world

Tales of an idle man-- a poem

noreply@blogger.com (Mory) — Thu, 17 Feb 2011 17:49:34 PST

By Mory Keita

They call me the idle man, the pest, a nuisance to society.

They claim that I spend my days insolently daydreaming,

Because I read tales of man neither my forefathers nor I had seen.

I do not disclaim their sordid claims, for indeed I am a daydreamer.

I have seen far beyond the bounds of common men's thoughts in dreams.

For many a day, I have plucked and pocked my nose in this bathtub,

Visited and slept in golden palaces where I met many fair maidens,

And drunk drinks of fierce battle and lived my youth once more.

In my dreams, I fought alongside intrepid Jason against evil enchanters.

We parted in quest of the Golden Fleece to obtain his rightful throne.

I branded my golden shield like Achilles roaring like the Nemean lion.

After that battle, Ares himself hailed my bravery and troops sang my name.

I also visited Caesar’s palace in Rome and sat at his dinner table.

we discussed issues pertaining to the good of the republic.

then, i was given command of legions of centurions to fight barbarians.

but such a task was too barbarous for my civility.

and then, I flew on a carpet to India and sat atop the Taj Mahal,

listening to the enchanting call to prayer of the Muslims.

It was there that I was taken to a fairy land with enchanting beings.

There I rescued damsels in distress from witches and evil doers.

As I retired from my noble quest, I was taken into the land of the pharaohs.

I felt in love with Cleopatra, fought with mark Antoine and Caesar and reigned.

In short i have lived and traveled across the Milky Way in a hot bathtub,

and I have lived my life to the fullest like the great Ulysses.

Laughing stones-- a poem

noreply@blogger.com (Mory) — Wed, 16 Feb 2011 15:52:49 PST

By Mory Keita

Friends do not joke.
Their hearts must be stone.
Their smiles, dry like the harmattan.
Joke around and be called a fool,
Show friendship and be hated.
Friends must not laugh together.
Friends are foes, foes friends.
Friendship has reached dead end.

Elementary Linear Algebra 9 th ed solution manual

noreply@blogger.com (Mory) — Tue, 01 Feb 2011 22:52:43 PST

Below is the link to download the complete solution manual to Anton's Elementary linear algebra.

DOWNLOAD Elementary linear algebra solution Manual

Good luck!

Le cimetière

noreply@blogger.com (Mory) — Sun, 30 Jan 2011 12:49:07 PST

By Mory Keita

Les cadavres de morts englouties le terrain,

Comme des corbeaux penchés sur de la viande fraiche.

La sérénité du cimetière me fait pense’ a l’éternité.

Ah éternité ! Englouti moi dans ta profondeur sèche ;

Englouti moi que je puisse échapper à la mort.

( English version)

Dead bodies engulf the terrain,

Like crowns perched upon fresh meat.

The serenity of the cemetery makes me think about eternity.

Ah eternity! Sink me into your dry profounder,

Sink me that I can escape death.

Midas -- A poem

noreply@blogger.com (Mory) — Thu, 27 Jan 2011 07:27:28 PST

By Mory Keita

O Muse who sings undying songs into my ears,

Sing unto me songs of that mighty king fate wronged.

When he stood atop Olympus, above cold-hearted Hera,

And said unto the people of Pessinus and to all of Greece,

“I have amassed fortune beyond the Olympian himself,

if you follow me, I shall lead you to greater fortune.”

And the priests of the temple of Hera said unto him,

“O son of Gordias! do not let the curse for your sacrilege

Befall upon your house and people. Beware of the immortals.”

And wise men amongst the people of pessinus came unto him.

They said, "O mighty king! When shall this treasure befall upon us?

Surely we shall hail your name if you fill this town with treasures.”

He unwrapped the golden turban from his hand and said,

“O my people, this is our treasure. Your wish has been granted.”

And they said, “By Hermes, is this the granted treasure?”

He raised his hand towards Helios, bursting out of laughter,

“Hermes is poor. This hand of mine shall enrich us. Hail me.”

And they asked, “Show us gleam of it, if you are truthful.”

He walked in the courtyard and touched a pot. It turned gold.

They sang his name, bowed to him. Cold-hearted Hera burned.

He called upon his young daughter to feast his miracle,

But lo and behold!had he touched her that she turned golden.

“O fate! My beautiful daughter, she is cold like water.”

Midas battered his chest, felt upon his knees in imploring.

He ran to the priests demanding the mercy of the Olympian,

But had he touched them that they too turned gold.

And so were all the peoples of pessinus turned into gold by Midas touch.

And it is said that since that day Midas became poorer and died miserable.

Part 1 :My miserable existence

noreply@blogger.com (Mory) — Fri, 14 Jan 2011 17:30:47 PST

By Mory Keita

Part 1: Genesis

This forest of solitude, with singing birds perched on its colossal branches at sunsets and sunrises, has always been a sanctuary of meditation and peace of heart for my troubled soul. Its enchanting floras and fauns, earth and heaven, and perfumed air like fresh coffee bring the spirit of life itself—a spirit strange to my monstrous being; for of little meaning and relevancy is an outcast’s existence. A life voided of love, affection and things dear to men’s hearts. The more I see of it, the more I realize how miserable and dull my vagabond life has been. Punished by the hands of my own father to endure the curses and sufferings of Atlas, the titan and Sisyphus, the king and hated by men and beasts alike, I hurled my rage in an empty bottle, for my universe is a vacuum with silence and grief as my sole companions. I attempt to relieve my grief by writing down my feelings. My life is but damnation, I do not know the tenders hands of a mother , the enchanting kiss of a lover or heard the wise advice of a caring father like others living creatures. I was born motherless, a result of my father’s experiment to defeat Hades, the god of the underworld.

Atlas supports the earth on his giant shoulders for his rebellion against Zeus, the mighty god of the Olympus, Sisyphus is cursed to eternally push a gigantic boulder to the top of the hill, only to watch it roll back down and to repeat it forever for his avarice, cruelty and mischief. But, I was punished only for being reborn. This miserable existence of mine began in a dark cold cloudy winter days when my father, Victor Frankenstein, a scientist obsessed with life, began his mad quest to discover the secret behind heavens most precious and sacred gift, life.

In his boundless insanity, he spent many years studying the function of the brain, natural philosophy and alchemy at the university he attended. After graduation, he spent his fortune conducting experiments in an isolated laboratory situated at the heart of Berlin, the site of modern western science and civilization. There he gradually began planning his sacrilege creating the needed chemicals and electric circuits to accomplish his inhumane goal. After completing his preparations, he stole my dead body from my grave andiit revived with his electrical machine. Thus, I was reborn. After seeing me, he ran from the laboratory, heart pounding afraid.

Part 2 :My miserable existence

noreply@blogger.com (Mory) — Fri, 14 Jan 2011 17:27:43 PST

By Mory Keita

Part 2: Adventure in the Garden of Eden

After being abandoned by my father, I was drawn to the daily spectacles taking place outside the box in which I lived in. The incessant noises of the crowded streets, the dark smoke of the trains passing by, merchant women calling on pass byes to buy their merchandises, children playing catch me if you can and running in the avenues, a group of old men smoking pipes while others played chess and shared life experiences charmed my wandering spirit. I was particularly intrigued by a university professor, whose name escapes my short memory, who seemed very bright and righteous. Therefore, one night, I decided to secretly venture into his chamber to question him about my father and myself, for if there was a man who would have been able to tell me my identity, it had to be him.

I went to his chamber walking slowly and calmly, like a cat. Seated in the right corner of his vast room, he was reading a book of geology which he seemed to enjoy. I approached him as politely as I could, and then tapped his shoulder. He turned his face towards me.

“Who is this?” he said with a soft gentle tone.

“Sorry for the interruption sir….” I replied back as gently as I could.

Before I could articulate my sentence he ran heart pounding afraid and disappeared from my sight . I went back to the laboratory, wondering about the cause of the professor’s sudden disappearance. “What is the ghost that scared this gentleman or was it simply my giant posture and pale face?” I wondered throughout the day in solitude.

Long I spent waiting, thinking and dreaming—dreaming like a lazy dog of an unknown father’s return, but my patience was in vain. So, the next day, at dawn I disguised my self like a typical townsman by wearing some old cloths left by my father before his sudden departure.Dressed like an upper class gentleman, i walked slowly and confidently. To my unpleasant surprise, the people seemed to be in fear of seeing a hideous monster like me, as they murmured to each other. Hatred consumed their souls, but despite their envious and heinous eyes, I continued my journey of exploring the town.

The town, with its majestic vista and rich people had nothing more enchanting than my precious Lady Janet. She was a pearl of heavenly beauty—a beauty above earthly minds.

                                          Soft and gentle like snow,
                                          She climbs the moon like shadow
                                          Then her beauty fades forever.

The first time I saw her passing by, our eyes met and like a god-sent angel, she smiled at me. Much I marveled in knowing that such an enchanting ghastly creature could have a sincere interest in a monster like me. Isn’t fantastic—beauty and the beast.I followed her gently to pay my compliments to her loveliness. “Excuse me my lady. May I know your name?” I said calmly approaching her, “Ewww, Monster, Monster!!” she yelled hysterically running like a fearful tiger chased by elephants or Cerberus itself. Much I marveled again, “Why such a delicate flower would run from a gentleman being courteous”. Saddened and disappointed by this unorthodox conduct, I isolated myself for days to meditate on reasons people are scared of me, and decided to venture into the wildness. After days of thinking, I came to the conclusion that in the Garden of Eden, all creatures of god are not equal in status— only appearance matters, not personality nor intention.

Part 3 :My miserable existence

noreply@blogger.com (Mory) — Fri, 14 Jan 2011 17:26:37 PST

By Mory Keita

Part 3 : Day of judgement

All stood before the Lord to testify and receive honors for their deeds but I was the only one blamed for the misery and fate of mankind. Behold, an angry crowd of poor peasants approached , axes and machetes in hand, ready to attack and beat me till my last breath. “Monster,” they shouted furiously hurling young and old, men and women like possessed by a mysterious invisible dark force pushing them. Barking dogs, mounted horse men positioned to attack and kill me at any instant, and an angry mob of peasants with red eyes, furious like bulls, chased me while shouting “kill the monster, kill the monster.” I felt the need to prove my innocence, believing in the teachings of the book of the Lord, which promise fair judgment for all.

“What monstrous sin did I commit to deserve such hospitality?” I asked peacefully of them, but their shadows approaching me kept growing bigger and bigger.

“Kill the monster, kill him!” they repeated louder than before, branding their tools and arms against me, ordering their dogs and pets to bait me and tear my body into shreds , leaving me with pain and injuries.

“Hear me, O noble people, I never insulted you, touched your properties, plantations or herds. All I ever wanted was food and water to appease my hunger and thirst. Is this how you treat strangers?” I tried to reason with them.

They heard, but did not listen; they saw but did not reason. They continued approaching me.

“O good heaven, what have I done to deserve such a burden on my head that no mortal has ever had?”

Their shadows approached my silhouette quickly.

“Monster,” a priest leading the crowd shouted at me, the cross of Christ at hand “by the heavens that bend above us, tell me, and tell me what thou satanic creature want from us?”

“I am sorry, food” I replied quickly.

“Monster,” he said again,“by the God that protect us all, tell me, tell me banished creature, messenger of evil what dost thou want from us?”

Seeing that I had no chance of convincing them of my good intentions, I ran, hiding behind trees in the forest and bushes. But they pursued me and tried to kill me until I disappeared from their sights. From that day I learned that the only just judgment is God’s, not men’s.

Part 4 :My miserable existence

noreply@blogger.com (Mory) — Fri, 14 Jan 2011 17:25:33 PST

   By Mory Keita

   Part4: Revelation
   “To be, or not to be, that is the question."
   Hamlet, Shakespeare

   Long I walked searching, like a desert nomad, for father’s location. I crushed earth and heaven wandering across seas and land like Ulysses “following knowledge like a sinking star beyond the utmost bond of human thought”.
   I finally found my father’s mansion in an isolated place in Scotland and decided to pay him a visit that night. When darkness enveloped the sky like carpet, I adventured into his chamber through a broken window. While jumping at the window, I imagined my father jumping on my shoulders, crying of happiness. I imagined him ordering a banquet for his beloved son's return.
            I calmly entered the entrance to his chamber room and sat in an old chair in a dark corner of the room and began contemplating the family's tableaus hung on the tall, decorated walls of the chamber. These are my ancestors, great gentlemen and ladies; I felt pride in my heart seeing the nobles of my lineage. Suddenly, there came a tapping as someone entering the door. I hid by the rose decorated curtain covering the window, then there came a person entering. My heart pumped as I observed the tall silhouette approaching my hideout.
“Father,” I said uncovering myself.
“Who are you? What are you doing in my chamber?” he instantly replied, shivering as if he had feared this moment for so long.
“I am… I am your son,” I replied, approaching the sun light to make my face more visible and distinguishable.
“Do not approach me, Monster,” he yelled trembling, “I have no son.”
He took a few seconds to look at my face, and then, realizing who I was, moved backward little by little as if searching to escape.
“Have you forgotten me father?” I said astonished by his hostile welcome.
“No, my God, what have I done? You are a mistake”   he said with remorse, hands on his chest.
Confused, I looked into his blue eyes and said, “but, I am your son, flesh of your flesh”.
“Don’t you understand you are not human, you are a monster, my punishment for my sins” he said crying.
   My soul felt like a asteroid from sky. I parted from the chamber, sad, furious, and lost, then set out to travel the world while waiting of a revelation from heaven.

Part 5 :My miserable existence

noreply@blogger.com (Mory) — Fri, 14 Jan 2011 17:42:07 PST

By Mory Keita

Part 5: Exodus

After my many disappointments, I set myself to traveling the uncivilized parts of the world in quest of knowledge and understanding. In that mid-October, I took the road to the Americas where I tried to live in harmony with nature’s wilderness. Living there, I found an inner peace and sense of belonging cultivated in harmony with the elements constituting the universe. I have found a new purpose in life— accepting who I am.

          To conclude my long and boring life story, I would like to explain the nature of happiness. Happiness is not beauty, talent or prestige. It is an inner voice that shows us the light to something farther ahead, a greater understanding of the world and its principles. Happiness is a combination of knowledge, identity and a sense of purpose.This is the tale of my miserable existence.

He Wishes For The ClothsOf Heaven By W,B Yeats

noreply@blogger.com (Mory) — Thu, 06 Jan 2011 13:20:39 PST

I thought i would share with you one of my favorite poems , W.B Yeats' He wishes for the clothes of heaven. despite its brevity this poem conveys strong emotions and thoughts.

Had I the heaven's embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Advise needed on writing

noreply@blogger.com (Mory) — Sun, 26 Dec 2010 09:08:47 PST

Dear friends and readers,

I am currently working on my first novel. I have been trying to continue writing but I am having trouble keeping up with the plot due confusions. The problem is that i cannot decide whether to write my novel in first or third person. I know that both POV have advantages and disadvantages. I personally feel that the first person conveys directly the message to the reader but for some reason i am unable to continue writing the novel in first person. Moreover, when I try to rewrite a chapter in third person, I feel like something vital in the story has been lost. Due to those complications, I am starting to think that I should abandon my current novel but I have come so far and I am certain that it will be a success if written correctly.

Is it better to write a romance novel in first or third person? Do you know some tips to help me in the novel writing process? By the way, I have written many short stories before but this is my first novel. If you are willing to read parts of my novel in progress and provide your feedback, please leave your email address in the comment box below or email me at morykeita94@gmail.com.

Best Regards,

Mory

A propos de l'amour et de la Beauté

noreply@blogger.com (Mory) — Thu, 02 Dec 2010 15:48:51 PST


Est-il possible d’aimer sans beauté ou de voir de la beauté sans l’amour ? Par beauté, je parle de l’apparence physique et par amour, du sentiment qui nous rajeunis. Les anciens maitres de philosophie et de science nous apprennent que l’amour est une manifestation de la beauté. Alors, je me demande que ’ce qui manifeste l’amour. Es la beauté ? Soyons raisonnable, est-il possible de séparer les deux ? Peut-on imaginer même l’amour sans une couverture de beauté ? La découverte de la signification du mot « amour » est certes une tache qui demande de la patience et de ferveur et surtout de l’expérience. Cette expérience, à mon avis, vient avec le temps. Ces implications nous apparaissent et changent comme des saisons. C’est une alternance qui nous fait questionner l’existence d’une réalité. Par-là, je parle de réalité amoureuse et non pas de la connaissance du sentiment en elle-même. Je ne me considère de n’importe quelle façon comme un charmant garçon, ni cime une personne avec une connaissance du monde de la science ou de la poésie qui égal celle des Socrate, Newton, Platon et Baudelaire. Ma connaissance et compréhension de l’amour n’est pas livresque et elle ne dérive nullement d’un expriment scientifique ou d’une sensation poétique, mais de leçons j’ai tiré de mes expérience amoureuses. Alors, cher lecteurs, Que penser vous de l’amour et elle reconnaissable ? Pourquoi ou pourquoi pas ?

Penelope --- A poem

noreply@blogger.com (Mory) — Thu, 17 Feb 2011 11:49:22 PST

By Mory Keita

A day without my love is a day without sunshine,

And a night spent without him is like a starless night.

Sunsets and sunrises do but, like the sea, part us.

Stars shadow compared to his beauty and majesty,

Moon and sun, perched there above Olympus like clouds,

Envy our eternal happiness for all are but paltry jewelries.

Light and dark are but cruel illusion to compress our love.

Why should we abide by the laws of nature?

Why should we rest our love on these seashores?

A day without my love is eternity spent in solitude,

And night spent without him is like a barren horizon.

Fight my love, O my brave king, rage like wounded wind.

I shall wait for your return on every Ithacan seashore singing;

Singing with wounded wind songs of thou lost and return,

“O there he comes, there he stands, and there is my love,”

Fight my love like the wind, for thou heart art ageless.

O Olympians when shall thou return my love to my heart?

For like a falling star, my heart sinks into seas of sorrow.

I,Mory,Thor

noreply@blogger.com (Mory) — Sat, 09 Oct 2010 21:27:38 PDT

          He firmly stood atop a giant skyscraper in downtown New York, observing the streets, contemplating the empire of peace he has created. An empire ruled by him, king of kings, Monarch of monarchs, Caliphs of caliphs, and God of gods- him the Punisher. As he walked down the crowded street, his name was constantly hailed by ignorant, fearful simpletons, “All hail the Punisher, we are thy humble servants." He glorified himself for bringing chaos, which he called peace, along with his demonic steps. He called dictatorship, democracy, chaos, peace and the world, his eternal kingdom. To symbolize his supremacy over the city, he replaced the head of the status of liberty with his own and placed his giant status atop the Empire State building.

          But behold! His reign of terror was to come to an end when I,Mory,Thor, god of thunder rebelled against him. I went to his “celestial palace” one early morning, defeated his guards with my godly fury. Then, I shouted at him “Give up, the punisher. Your reign of terror is over".
" Terror?" he replied mockingly “I bring peace to this world and the people like me."
"Come out of your cage, fight me coward if thou are deserving of thy name." I furiously yelled at him.
" Prepare to confront my fury", he instantly replied.

          He suddenly threw his smelly body upon me and we began fighting. After endless hours of intense fighting, I finally smacked him with my mighty hammer and thunder stroke him. He perished like a vulture. With rebellious bravery, I brought real "peace" to the world and vanquish forever chaos.

          Since that memorable event that defined the faith of mankind, humans are still hailing my name “All hail Mory,Thor, our Savior."

Note: This is piece of writing is purely fictional. To learn more about Thor,encourage you to click here to read the Wikipedia article.