Person A holds a baby (or a baby pet) and is very delighted, dandling it. Suddenly, the baby (or baby pet) burps/pees on them and A’s clothes are ruined. B can’t help laughing. Bonus: A is a character who is normally more the serious/quiet type.
This morning, as every other morning, I was bound and left for dead inside the black site. Though concussed again into a stupor, through diligence and main courage, I roused myself and the man and freed my limbs in the deal.
Uncontained and now firmly expressing my dissatisfaction, the man who is not my mother trussed me into the seat and took me in the wheeled contrivance to some wastrels den. It was brightly lit and while he dandled me on his knee , some brigand set to the man ‘bout the head and shoulders with small blades! He sat placidly by, somehow unaware of the danger; still, whilst rooting for his decapitation and mine own emancipation, my attention was drawn instead by an immense glowing box.
Whatever be this ‘miley cyrus’, i have never seen the like. I am aghast.
This intriguing study looks at a time when the very act of smiling was improper and radical – and the moment when this changed. By Kathryn Hughes
In the autumn of 1787, gallery-going Parisians didn’t know where to look. On the walls of the Louvre hung a self-portrait by the eminent artist Elisabeth-Louise Vigée Le Brun. In some ways the painting was deeply conventional. Mme Vigée Le Brun was dandling her infant daughter on her knee in a gesture that managed to invoke both the Virgin Mary and the new bourgeois ideal of “natural” motherhood. The problem was her mouth. It was smiling. Not just an enigmatic Mona Lisa smirk, but a proper one which showed her teeth. Was Vigée Le Brun mad, a slut or some kind of wild revolutionary? The only thing to do was rush past, and pretend you hadn’t seen.
Okay guys, maybe I’m overreacting because I’m paranoid, but look.
Look the way Mabel is. Seriously, I don’t think there is a lot of people who sleep “arms up” like that. Moreover, she is a cuddly person, with Waddles by her side, I thought that she would dandle him. And then it hurts me. She have the same pose that in front of the portal.
Look the way Dipper lose his hat. I didn’t understand why he is wearing while sleeping, moreover he didn’t wear it during the Northwest party. But maybe it’s foreshadowing : Dipper is losing his hat and we’re gonna see his mark more than ever.
The end was near, the end was here since the beginning. As we can see with the ball. It was here since the first opening…
AUSTIN, Texas — Betsy Garcia hovers nervously outside an abortion clinic in McAllen, Texas. After accepting a pamphlet from someone on the street, she goes to a different building where a woman in a white coat greets her with warmth. The woman offers to show Betsy a graphic video about abortion, then the two pray in front of a crucifix before the teen exposes her belly for an ultrasound. “God is going to bless you in a tremendous way with this child,” says the woman as she presses a rosary into the girl’s hands. The final scene shows a radiant Betsy dandling her 6-month-old daughter on her lap.
So goes thepromotional video for the McAllen Pregnancy Center, a crisis-pregnancy facility established in 2008 to dissuade women from having abortions. The video was released in April, when there was still an abortion clinic to lure women from.
Poetry Mixtape #11: As Weary-Hearted as that Hollow Moon - Cynicism in Love
1. “Modern Love” by John Keats
And what is love? It is a doll dress’d up For idleness to cosset, nurse, and dandle; A thing of soft misnomers, so divine That silly youth doth think to make itself Divine by loving, and so goes on Yawning and doting a whole summer long, Till Miss’s comb is made a pearl tiara, And common Wellingtons turn Romeo boots; Then Cleopatra lives at number seven, And Antony resides in Brunswick Square. Fools! if some passions high have warm’d the world, If Queens and Soldiers have play’d deep for hearts, It is no reason why such agonies Should be more common than the growth of weeds. Fools! make me whole again that weighty pearl The Queen of Egypt melted, and I’ll say That ye may love in spite of beaver hats.
2. from Modern Love by George Meredith
What are we first? First, animals; and next Intelligences at a leap; on whom Pale lies the distant shadow of the tomb, And all that draweth on the tomb for text. Into which state comes Love, the crowning sun: Beneath whose light the shadow loses form. We are the lords of life, and life is warm. Intelligence and instinct now are one. But nature says: ‘My children most they seem When they least know me: therefore I decree That they shall suffer.’ Swift doth young Love flee, And we stand wakened, shivering from our dream. Then if we study Nature we are wise. Thus do the few who live but with the day: The scientific animals are they. – Lady, this is my sonnet to your eyes.
3. “One Parting” by Carl Sandburg
Why did he write to her, “I can’t live with you”? And why did she write to him, “I can’t live without you”? For he went west, she went east, And they both lived.
4. “Oh, when I was in love with you” by A. E. Housman
Oh, when I was in love with you, Then I was clean and brave, And miles around the wonder grew How well did I behave.
And now the fancy passes by, And nothing will remain, And miles around they’ll say that I Am quite myself again.
5. “Adam’s Curse” by William Butler Yeats
We sat together at one summer’s end, That beautiful mild woman, your close friend, And you and I, and talked of poetry. I said, ‘A line will take us hours maybe; Yet if it does not seem a moment’s thought, Our stitching and unstitching has been naught. Better go down upon your marrow-bones And scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones Like an old pauper, in all kinds of weather; For to articulate sweet sounds together Is to work harder than all these, and yet Be thought an idler by the noisy set Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen The martyrs call the world.’ And thereupon That beautiful mild woman for whose sake There’s many a one shall find out all heartache On finding that her voice is sweet and low Replied, ‘To be born woman is to know— Although they do not talk of it at school— That we must labour to be beautiful.’ I said, ‘It’s certain there is no fine thing Since Adam’s fall but needs much labouring. There have been lovers who thought love should be So much compounded of high courtesy That they would sigh and quote with learned looks Precedents out of beautiful old books; Yet now it seems an idle trade enough.’
We sat grown quiet at the name of love; We saw the last embers of daylight die, And in the trembling blue-green of the sky A moon, worn as if it had been a shell Washed by time’s waters as they rose and fell About the stars and broke in days and years.
I had a thought for no one’s but your ears: That you were beautiful, and that I strove To love you in the old high way of love; That it had all seemed happy, and yet we’d grown As weary-hearted as that hollow moon
6. “Eros Turannos” by Edwin Arlington Robinson
She fears him, and will always ask What fated her to choose him; She meets in his engaging mask All reasons to refuse him; But what she meets and what she fears Are less than are the downward years, Drawn slowly to the foamless weirs Of age, were she to lose him.
Between a blurred sagacity That once had power to sound him, And Love, that will not let him be The Judas that she found him, Her pride assuages her almost, As if it were alone the cost.— He sees that he will not be lost, And waits and looks around him.
A sense of ocean and old trees Envelops and allures him; Tradition, touching all he sees Beguiles and reassures him; And all her doubts of what he says Are dimmed with what she knows of days— Till even prejudice delays And fades, and she secures him.
The falling leaf inaugurates The reign of her confusion; The pounding wave reverberates The dirge of her illusion; And home, where passion lived and died, Becomes a place where she can hide, While all the town and harbor side Vibrate with her seclusion.
We tell you, tapping on our brows, The story as it should be,— As if the story of a house Were told, or ever could be; We’ll have no kindly veil between Her visions and those we have seen,— As if we guessed what hers have been, Or what they are or would be.
Meanwhile we do no harm; for they That with a god have striven, Not hearing much of what we say, Take what the god has given; Though like waves breaking it may be, Or like a changed familiar tree, Or like a stairway to the sea Where down the blind are driven.
7. “The Nymph’s Reply to the Shepherd” by Sir Walter Raleigh
If all the world and love were young, And truth in every Shepherd’s tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move, To live with thee, and be thy love.
Time drives the flocks from field to fold, When Rivers rage and Rocks grow cold, And Philomel becometh dumb, The rest complains of cares to come.
The flowers do fade, and wanton fields, To wayward winter reckoning yields, A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall.
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of Roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten: In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
Thy belt of straw and Ivy buds, The Coral clasps and amber studs, All these in me no means can move To come to thee and be thy love.
But could youth last, and love still breed, Had joys no date, nor age no need, Then these delights my mind might move To live with thee, and be thy love.
8. “Go and Catch a Falling Star” by John Donne
Go and catch a falling star, Get with child a mandrake root, Tell me where all past years are, Or who cleft the devil’s foot, Teach me to hear mermaids singing, Or to keep off envy’s stinging, And find What wind Serves to advance an honest mind.
If thou be'st born to strange sights, Things invisible to see, Ride ten thousand days and nights, Till age snow white hairs on thee, Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me, All strange wonders that befell thee, And swear, No where Lives a woman true, and fair.
If thou find'st one, let me know, Such a pilgrimage were sweet; Yet do not, I would not go, Though at next door we might meet; Though she were true, when you met her, And last, till you write your letter, Yet she Will be False, ere I come, to two, or three.
9. “Marriage a-la-Mode” by John Dryden
Why should a foolish marriage vow, Which long ago was made, Oblige us to each other now When passion is decay’d? We lov’d, and we lov’d, as long as we could, Till our love was lov’d out in us both: But our marriage is dead, when the pleasure is fled: ‘Twas pleasure first made it an oath.
If I have pleasures for a friend, And farther love in store, What wrong has he whose joys did end, And who could give no more? ‘Tis a madness that he should be jealous of me, Or that I should bar him of another: For all we can gain is to give our selves pain, When neither can hinder the other.