Friday, December 2, 2011


I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: `Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear --
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.'
- Percy B. Shelley

I love this poem so much.

Being unwell has forced new awareness of my self-determination - getting out of bed in time for class feels like a small miracle considering what an absolutely shite state my body is in. It's enough to make me ditch all (chocolates, cold drinks, cigarettes etc) so that I'll be good and ready to eat my heart out this weekend - burgers(Lucky Chip/Meat Liquor), bloody steaks and beef drippings chips. MEAT.

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