I don’t care what anyone says…this image still freaks me the fuck out.
He’s a bean people!! Drinking COFFEE!!!

I don’t care what anyone says…this image still freaks me the fuck out.

He’s a bean people!! Drinking COFFEE!!!

Sneezles

 Christopher Robin

Had wheezles

And sneezles,

They bundled him

Into

His bed.

They gave him what goes

With a cold in the nose,

And some more for a cold

In the head.

They wondered

If wheezles

Could turn

Into measles,

If sneezles

Would turn

Into mumps;

They examined his chest

For a rash,

and the rest

Of his body for swellings and lumps.

They sent for some doctors

 In sneezles

 And wheezles

 To tell them what ought

 To be done.


All sorts of conditions

Of famous physicians

Came hurrying round

At a run.

They all made a note

Of the state of his throat,

They asked if he suffered from thirst;

They asked if the sneezles

Came after the wheezles,

Or if the first sneezle

Came first.

They said, “If you teazle

A sneezle

Or wheezle,

A measle

May easily grow.

But humour or pleazle

 The wheezle

 Or sneezle,

 The measle

 Will certainly go.”

 They expounded the reazles

 For sneezles

 And wheezles,

 The manner of measles

 When new.

 They said, “If he freezles

 In draughts and in breezles,

 Then PHTHEEZLES

 May even ensue.”

 

Christopher Robin

Got up in the morning,

The sneezles had vanished away.

And the look in his eye

Seemed to say to the sky,

“Now, how to amuse them today?”

—A. A. Milne

 

Tags: a.a. milne flu

bergdorfgoodman:

Practice makes personal: Today’s WSJ on the perils of poor penmanship.

bergdorfgoodman:

Practice makes personal: Today’s WSJ on the perils of poor penmanship.

(Source: bergdorfgoodman)

Now the Sierra tree, the Sierra wildflower glow
Near polished granite, bright as is the snow 
That hoods the mountains of Yosemite 
In my remembrance. These I truly know 
That I have seen with my own eyes, and yet 
There merges with them an unreckoned crowd 
Of things more richly seen, of farther heights 
Than I have ever traveled; seasons strange 
And dangerous moments on that stony range
 That Muir was first to call the Range of Light; 
Moments of wisdom and intenser sight.  And these I owe to one 
Who built his campfire on the canyon rim, 
Who woke at dawn, and felt surrounding him 
The mind of God in every living thing, 
And things unliving, from the snowy ring 
Of peaks, to, near his bed, the smallest heather 
Lifting a fragile head  
                              to greet the sun.
“For  John Muir, a Century and More After His Time” from The  Selected Poems  of Janet Lewis edited by R.L. Barth. Published in 2000 by  Swallow  Press/Ohio University Press, Athens, Ohio  (www.ohioswallow.com).
Source: The Selected Poems of Janet Lewis (Ohio University Press, 2000)

Now the Sierra tree, the Sierra wildflower glow

Near polished granite, bright as is the snow

That hoods the mountains of Yosemite

In my remembrance. These I truly know

That I have seen with my own eyes, and yet

There merges with them an unreckoned crowd

Of things more richly seen, of farther heights

Than I have ever traveled; seasons strange

And dangerous moments on that stony range

That Muir was first to call the Range of Light;

Moments of wisdom and intenser sight. And these I owe to one

Who built his campfire on the canyon rim,

Who woke at dawn, and felt surrounding him

The mind of God in every living thing,

And things unliving, from the snowy ring

Of peaks, to, near his bed, the smallest heather

Lifting a fragile head

                              to greet the sun.

“For John Muir, a Century and More After His Time” from The Selected Poems of Janet Lewis edited by R.L. Barth. Published in 2000 by Swallow Press/Ohio University Press, Athens, Ohio (www.ohioswallow.com).

Source: The Selected Poems of Janet Lewis (Ohio University Press, 2000)

kateoplis:

That’s about $30,000 for every Libyan citizen — about one-third of whom live in poverty — and it doubles Libya’s prewar annual output, whose oil reserves are the largest in Africa.