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Emil Lucka The Evolution Of Love (Fiscle Part-I)

Liebe
Englisch
95305 Wörter
Ab 18 Jahren
3
1

To The Generations Slowly Rising From The Dark Abyss Of Time To The Twilight Of The Middle Ages, The Satisfaction Of The Sexual Instinct Offered Fewer Difficulties Than The Gratification Of Any Other Need Or Desire. With Every Unpremeditated And Cursory Indulgence The Craving Disappeared From Consciousness And Left The Individual Free To Give His Mind To The Acquisition Of The Necessities Of Life Which Were Far More Difficult To Obtain. Primitive, Prehistoric Man Lived In The Moment. When There Was Plenty Of Food He Gorged To Repletion, Heedless Of The Starvation Which Might Be His Fate To-Morrow Or The Day After. His Thought Had Neither Breadth Nor Continuity. It Never Occurred To Him That There Might Be A Connection Between An Abrupt And Quickly Forgotten Embrace And The Birth Of A Child By A Woman Of The Tribe After What Appeared To Be An Immeasurable Lapse Of Time. He Suspected Witchcraft In The Phenomena Of Pregnancy And Childbirth (To This Day The Aborigines Of Central And Northern Australia Do Not Realise The Connection Between Generation And Birth). As A Rule It Was Remembered That A Certain Woman Had Given Birth To A Certain Child By The Fact Of Her Having Carried It About And Fed It At Her Breast. Occasionally It Was Forgotten To Which Mother A Child Belonged; Perhaps The Mother Had Died; Perhaps The Child Had Strayed Beyond The Boundaries Of The Community And The Mother Had Failed To Recognise It On Its Return. But It Was Clear Beyond All Doubt That Every Child Had A "Mother." The Conception Of "Father" Had Not Yet Been Formed. Experience Had Taught Our Primitive Ancestors Two Undeniable Facts, Namely "That Women Gave Birth To Children" And "That Every Child Had A Mother." [mehr]

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George Gissing The Nether World Part 1

Bildung
Englisch
86259 Wörter
Ab 18 Jahren
2
0

In The Troubled Twilight Of A March Evening Ten Years Ago, An Old Man, Whose Equipment And Bearing Suggested That He Was Fresh From Travel, Walked Slowly Across Clerkenwell Green, And By The Graveyard Of St. James'S Church Stood For A Moment Looking About Him. His Age Could Not Be Far From Seventy, But, Despite The Stoop Of His Shoulders, He Gave Little Sign Of Failing Under The Burden Of Years; His Sober Step Indicated Gravity Of Character Rather Than Bodily Feebleness, And His Grasp Of A Stout Stick Was Not Such As Bespeaks Need Of Support. His Attire Was Neither That Of A Man Of Leisure, Nor Of The Kind Usually Worn By English Mechanics. Instead Of Coat And Waistcoat, He Wore A Garment Something Like A Fisherman'S Guernsey, And Over This A Coarse Short Cloak, Picturesque In Appearance As It Was Buffeted By The Wind. His Trousers Were Of Moleskin; His Boots Reached Almost To His Knees; For Head-Covering He Had The Cheapest Kind Of Undyed Felt, Its Form Exactly That Of The Old Petasus. To Say That His Aspect Was Venerable Would Serve To Present Him In A Measure, Yet Would Not Be Wholly Accurate, For There Was Too Much Of Past Struggle And Present Anxiety In His Countenance To Permit Full Expression Of The Natural Dignity Of The Features. It Was A Fine Face And Might Have Been Distinctly Noble, But Circumstances Had Marred The Purpose Of Nature; You Perceived That His Cares Had Too Often Been Of The Kind Which Are Created By Ignoble Necessities, Such As Leave To Most Men Of His Standing A Bare Humanity Of Visage. He Had Long Thin White Hair; His Beard Was Short And Merely Grizzled. In His Left Hand He Carried A Bundle, Which Probably Contained Clothing. [mehr]

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Gerald Allan Sohl THE HAND

Ratgeber
Englisch
4237 Wörter
Ab 18 Jahren
2
0

Gerald Allan Sohl Sr. (December 2, 1913 - November 4, 2002) was an American scriptwriter for The Twilight Zone (as a ghostwriter for Charles Beaumont), Alfred Hitchcock Presents, The Outer Limits, Star Trek: The Original Series (using pseudonym "Nathan Butler"), and other shows. He also wrote novels, feature film scripts, and the nonfiction works Underhanded Chess and Underhanded Bridge in 1973. New York Times reviewer Villiers Gerson described his 1953 novel The Transcendent Man as "contain[ing] enough twists to afford the reader a few hours' entertainment" despite being "oversimplified in motivation."[1] P. Schuyler Miller found the plot unconvincing.[2] Gerson later panned Sohl's The Altered Ego, saying "This wordy book lacks characterization, emotion, suspense, and interest."[3] His 1955 Point Ultimate is a piece of Cold War invasion literature: in 1999, a faraway future history at the time of writing, the US lies under a cruel Soviet occupation, reinforced by a deadly artificial disease which makes conquered Americans dependent on the conquerors for the injections which keep them alive. But a dashing Illinois farm boy breaks out in revolt, killing a degenerate soviet governor and his "Commie" American collaborators. Eventually, he becomes a leading member of a very formidable resistance organization which is capable of breaking at will into the occupiers' security headquarters and springing prisoners out, and which had already established a clandestine space program under the Soviets' noses and established a sizable colony on Mars. In the far more low-key The Time Dissolver (1957), Sohl tells the story of a man and a woman who wake up one morning to find that they had inexplicably lost all memory of the past eleven years including any memory of how they ever came to meet and become married to each other, and who embark on a quest to find what happened and to trace back these eleven lost years. Aside from the science fiction aspects, the book captures the atmosphere of late 1950s America. [mehr]

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Petra Michelle Whose Role is it Anyway?

A Collection of Mini-Scripts

Darstellende Kunst
Englisch
8819 Wörter
Ab 14 Jahren
394
0

This collection of mini-scripts was written by me for my blog, Whose Role Is It Anyway? since 2008. They are some of the most popular of many written. I have been an agented screenwriter since 2005. As a screenwriter, FORMATTING is paramount in the film industry. These mini-scripts follow the industry's standards. SCENE HEADINGS are: EXT.-LOCALE-DAY or EXT.-LOCALE-NIGHT or INT.-LOCALE-DAY or INT.-LOCALE-NIGHT. EXT. or INT. are abbreviations for Exterior or Interior. LOCALE is self-explanatory, and DAY or NIGHT is all that's needed; not THE NEXT DAY, EVENTIDE, DUSK, TWILIGHT, etc. NOTE: A change in locale requires another scene heading. DIALOGUE: Less is more. If your character can say something in six words rather than seven, omit the extra word. NARRATIVE: When writing, "Always grab the reader by the throat, sink your thumbs into his windpipe..." THE BEGINNING, THE MIDDLE, THE END; ACT I, ACT II, ACT III, respectively. Every sentence, every paragraph, every scene, every screenplay has a beginning, ACT I, middle, ACT II, and end, ACT III. In the Beginning, Act I -- Lew Hunter "the story starts at the point where nothing before is needed." It sets up the characters and story. The first page of your screenplay begins with FADE IN:, then enter two spaces followed by the first scene heading. In the Middle, Act II -- is where the plot thickens. Unfold the complexity of characters' actions and the conflict caused by their reactions. Act II is inspiration plus perspiration, perspiration, perspiration; 60+ pages, the meat of the screenplay, the "mind-gut." Lew Hunter In the End, Act III -- be it emotional, physical, or a combination of both is what has been written leading to "the accomplishment, the victory, the coup de grace." Lew Hunter The Denouement: "Here's looking at you, kid." The final clarification or resolution of a plot. FADE TO BLACK (The End) NOTE: Free yourself of the monkey mind, and get your ideas down immediately, then go back to edit. Editing during a first draft is a waste of valuable time. A draft is just that, a draft, which will become your first, second, third--however many it takes to get it right. LOOKING PROFESSIONAL: Misspellings, typos, bad grammar, etc. can override a great story. Take screenplay classes, read books on screenplays, and/or actual screenplays of your favorite films. Register your screenplay (drafts, sections for copyright protection) with The Writers Guild of America East (Manhattan, NY) or West (Los Angeles, CA). Look for an agent. Good luck! [mehr]

Stichwörter: screenwriting

1,49 US$

Original:Perugu.Ramakrishna Flemingo

Translation:Jagadhaatri

Lyrik und Poesie
Englisch
3399 Wörter
Keine Altersempfehlung
670
3

FLEMINGO..(lONG POEM ON MIGRATED BIRDS) Time is infinite Time is a canoe Time is a winged dove Time is desert silence Time is the rumble of the oceans Time is the showering rain droplet It is the tremor of the heart Time is the lingo of history Time is an eternal test A non stop journey is time A ceased path is time Time is life Time is a flow Time is death Time is the opportune right Time is a tide Time is the breath Time is invisible Time is tangible Time is a scene of beauty The breath of an atom is time The tune of an iota is time Time is the play of life and death Time is the envoy of peace and terror There is no shore that the time has not touched And no ray of light untouched by time Time is the manifestation of the ancient Brahman The modern interpretation of duty is time Time is earthly and heaven Time is eternal Time is the river of life Life is a journey In the stream of time! (2) Journey Is a feature of instability The flow A lively spirit Flower voyages Pollinated From flower to flower The bird travels As love From shore to shore As a lineage Procreation Is the maternal instinct And desire for procreation Is the essence of the expansion of the soul Copulation Is it only pertaining to the man alone? Justice in creation Flourishes in plural Many rain droplets do make a rain Umpteen leaves do make a tree Millions of cells do make one creation Loneliness is not the trait of the world Embossing fetus in the ovum The bird blows the warmth of breath The cosmic universe is Perceived in totality by the inner eye (3) Every move is a journey Every death is a journey Every birth is a voyage Flight is the winning spirit of the migrating birds The effort of the ocean of love Is to procreate As the oceans run With the feet of waves As the air flows In wavy winds As life continues With the unending breaths As the world rounds in Non stop news In wings and wings Do fly and arrive these birds The creatures with passion and patience Thousands of kilometers of restless journey To the destination afar In search of wonderlands A partly witness of the Irrepressible instinct The soaring birds flying Like hunks of the rainbow Like the seven colored sankranthi(pongal rangoli) The flowing sea of the bird flock Floats on the treasures of the blue oceans The jingling song of the migrating birds Is a travel A stopover A sojourn A libido All are the traces of the moving time…. (4) The bird is the Infinite freedom with sprouted wings The eyes filled with a fear And a shiver As the soldier of the border forces The bird is a being, all time alert Onlooker with a quest It is the bird that Smears a mosaic of colors To the ends of the wings And tips of the tails The bird is the one Which casts net and Catches hold of the Jet velocity And the splendor of winds In the moment of hunger It is the bird that Surgically operates the available food And feeds on it as a fork Welcoming a dawn The bird is the Wake up call To the society Crossing a cold night Slivering the foggy morn With its beak Flying fast with its legs apart Runs the bird in prey hunt Testing the air contaminated From the farthest branch Of a tall tree It is the bird that removes the pollution On a sunny afternoon On a choicest water meadow It is the bird that Jumps and thumps And somersaults Playing water khabaddi Fluttering the body Dries its wings Measuring the distance of thousands of miles It is the migrating bird That carries The history of the other side of the world To the culture this side And the race of that land To this generation here The bird is the flying goddess of passion A flying message of peace Completing the journeys By the twilight of dusk Gathering near the tree It is the bird that gets ready for a chorus concert It is the bird that reflects The mynahs of poesy Gandharvas (divine singers) of music And the doyens of music Hunger, sleep, love, and passion Are similar to all the living beings Between birth and death Birds too have relations They are not promiscuous Birds too have a social life They do not know social betrayal The bird that unfolds its broad wings of vast feels Seldom knows selfishness It does not contract with narrow mindedness To the lady bird That sits over in hatching With all balance and patience The snacks of Pulicot Brought tucked in the bags beneath its nose Is fed in pecks and perks by the male The bird is beyond jealousy and hatred To the villagers who saved it from Any one shooting a bullet The bird as a good Samaritan in ardent gratitude, Makes the land fertile with its drops Gifting a three times crop and leaves the land The bird must be a role model for the man..!! For sincerity and commitment And discipline. (5) Exodus is an unending journey Migration an age old fete When the hues of life’s backdrop change Exodus is a weapon When the clouds anger Making scarce a droplet of rain The village turns an exodus To the anna datha (farmer) The farmer’s life turns a coolie Exodus transports a generation Exodus changes the way of life At times migration in life Encircles as a whirl pool At times drowns as a typhoon It makes you travel out to the continents For the sake of the tiny belly There is no race and no religion The hunger’s language is universal It may sojourn over anywhere Will make you do anything Stretches its hand until the belly is filled From a dark continent On to the dais of light From an icy country To the warm place Builds the bridge of the seasons (6) The pelicans moving on the wings of time The flamingos that ram in the air car The Painted storks flown in like kites Fluttering on the Konkanai Sails of the waves are the black cranes As the ambassadors of many countries Have taken part in the international conference The nature is all over colorful messages of love All the festivals of love of the bird tourists Are happily celebrated by the youth On all the branches of the land are the happy resorts In whichever village lost is the eye It is the hustle of the moving colorful dreams Are the goods of the empires of Manmadha(god of love) The secrets of Mithuna rasi(Zodiac sign pertaining to love) The hundred puzzles of the colorful flying boats All over the Pulicot lake is the congregation of romantic heroes All over the sky of Pulicot are the airs of emotions Each bird is a hoisted flag of poesy The colorful parrot is a short poem of dreams The dark legged crane that has soiled its feet in the dirt of darkness Washes them in the blue Pulicot The myriad colored sea-parrot Dives into the waters as the water drawing pulley Alone a great sage Stands on single foot in penance When in the shades of waters narayani(heron) appears He chants the manthra of gutakayaswaha(i.e. to swallow it) Folding its wings to the sides of time Gudaswami(the paddy bird or pond heron) Takes thrice a dip in the Pulitheertham(name of a place) As if thousands of women Are stilled as a picture In the postures of classical Indian dances On the dais are the postures of the imitating flamingos The everlasting fight of the usurpers for the water treasure And for the enticing damsels As if the Nelapattu has blown the snake charm Every now and then they journey to the home Naughty kids being the waves, Floating are the winged boats The structure that has turned The Pralaya Kaveri(stormy Kaveri) Into pranaya Saveri(lovable Saveri(a raga)) In the radiant jugalbandi of the jalatharangini Is the passionate shower of dazzling ragas As soon as it dawns in Pulicot Spreading the colorful carpet Entwining the hues of spring and winter Flows as a soaring garden of blooms Watering the mouth of the awaiting sea. (7) The bird guests under the boundless skies Are the messiahs of universal brotherhood The romantic tales carried over by the great poets The Manmadhas(gods of love) who well knew the secrets of love Lovers they are, who have left their family and place With an ardent desire to beget off springs Though in the size of a seed, but vast are their hearts Their eyes are like lamps without wicks To spread light is their message To perceive life is their philosophy Life is a penance Life is radiance Life is a dawn Life is providence Life a tune of the creation From generation to generation pervades life From earth to heaven is the debate of puranas Life is an eternal stream of time! The birds are the flags hoisted by the King of time!! (8) There – On each branch is a concert In each nestle, a sonata Every tree a cluster of myriad hues A bird fete all over the lands Chirps and tickles Coos and laughs Many a confluences of umpteen springs of ragas Many a sum of joy With the exciting songs of the round eyed ones The climate is delighted In the highways of power filled skies A colorful dream unfolds The milky-way Turns a rosy hued stream In the time of saran navarathri Saphari Theerdham(name of a place) Relaxes in the conference of arts The banjara(wagabond) birds that have come Croon the songs of coos They spread out the treasure troves of love Onto the nest of the worlds To the noises of the love making birds All the stars peer down to the earth The ways of love of the romantic hearts Breathe out the passions in loneliness Stretching his hands of rays, sun of the dawn Applies henna in stealth Unfolding the doors of their hearts The blooms color themselves in serenity Color is the manifestation of spirit of life! The lands that were not greeted till the day before Today are, the life of the birds summit The trees that were faded till the day before Are today the strings played veenas Thousands of flute songs of Krishna Now the morns of Nelapattu Are the wavy streams of sweet melodies Now the evenings of Nelapattu Are the springs of songs of the elixir of love A pelican tucks in its lover Into the nestle of its wings A painted stork nearing it Woos its beloved with its long snout The sabari crane in the tune of passion Loses himself to the sweet song of its lady love Turning its body into breath the wood pecker Smears all over the body of its heart throb Not only the floods of milky bosoms But the ardor of sperm too flows In the great yagna of the Santhana Lakshmi(the goddess of children) Millions of lives are dawned (9) Not only the Devakakulu But all the birds are the ancient kith and kin! All our visiting birds are Manvanthara purandharas!(the age old lords of Heaven) We assume the Bulbul to be an alien When have we seen it as a peace monger? We feel the blind crane as the evil spirit Have we ever counted it as the Charioteer of virtue? Though the python is black in color It is as good hearted as the dark lord (Lord Krishna) All the beautiful dances of the red breast are The festoons of light of the happy family ways In the life rituals of the branches Pour in the fuel of lively smiles In the bright journey of procreation, both the branches Ignite the lights of new radiances Numerous tales of love, umpteen loves Each branch is the cottage of Vathsayana(the author of Kama Sutra) Every nestle is a sound of music No creation, no rains, no destruction No progress of the world is possible without the family life Children are to the man, seeds of time And the ovum is the radiance of dynamism for the bird From the seed the tree and from the tree the seed Is the first step to the world’s progress To the yagna(ritual sacrifice) of the migrating birds The flourishing Kadapa tree is the dais The tree is the green flag hoisted by the nature The tree is the comfort to the exhausted mankind To the alien birds that crossed the oceans The tree is the temple of conjugal bliss To the on spreading bird dynasties The tree is the temple of the secret of creation (10) Time is always an open book All are open truths that are snuggled into it Time is a teacher that seldom taught anything to anyone Time is the emissary that tells every one everything The foreign birds are the prophets of yoga of life They are the bosom friends that do not know the hatreds of the borders They are the alien yogis that do not have lust They are the enlightened ones that have seen the secret of the kala chakra(the cycle of time) Greets in the universal lingo, and ecstasies They are well cultured ones that conduct unity camps Holy souls overflow in joy To the emigrant flock with the touch of this land In the lush green shade Appear the dreams of morrow’s generation That’s why I say bird is the indication of time It is the symphony of the past, present and future The holy fire of confluence is the endorsement of trikala tantra Bird loves a bird Soul copulates with the soul Nelapattu is the dais of the perseverance of Poundarika Nelapattu is the indication of age old yagas The sowing of seeds of life from generations Nature is the balancing measure here It is here that nature takes another breath And here the world gives birth to another creation This little land after crossing over the oceans Is a living home for a race It is a pillow of the joys and sorrows Where the dharma of Buddha has excelled It is the stage of dance for the danseuse Rathi Devi(wife of kamadeva, the lord of love) That knew the mystic tune or the tune of mysticism It’s the moment that seeks the justification of the soul Having understood the inevitability of the mortal body Forgetting the body pleasure, and pleasure of the body Manmadha becomes a passionate yogi here It’s the nature that fulfils it’s duty on this land Turning to be a man, it furthers the creation Congregation of birds that have no disparities An egalitarian equality The fragrance of passion to the ones who open eyes And to the eyes closed sages The liberation of the soul Time, changing colors as seasons For a minute, ecstasies as birds It’s here that begins an end To the time infinite The foundation is laid here From the end to the endless (11) Flamingo offers with love to its lady The bedisa(silver fish) that it brings with its nose How much it longs for its lover When it succeeds to fly in whirls Catching the vanjaram(the scomber or the seer -fish )in the net of its nose Fluttering its wings dreams of off springs Who must have taught so many tunes to these birds? How was such passion adorned to these round eyed ones? Which bird was that have shown way to this place? That results every year in this compulsory family fair The ecstasy of life in the foreyard of Nelapattu Wings sprout to the nestlings The tiny fish school, become their food grains Pulicot is the field of water crop The tiny shrimp is the fruit of the crop Fluttering its wings the blue flamingo Hounds the snake fish The crooked nose lakumuki(king fisher) bird Chase the mattagidasa(the sucking fish, called the Echeneis)) Having shattered the line of the girasa(short) fish The baby paraja(Rasica) crow feels joyous The sky seems congested To the nestlings that got wings The blue lake is the food store To the red breast that has learnt to fly In the battle for food To the shouts of hunger and The dance of the Bharatha(Titlark or Pippit called in Dakhini Chendul)) bird Searching for prey Bulbul is the food Hunger is the age old enemy to all the living beings To gratify hunger is peace for any being Even the gods of heaven savor elixir in hunger When big fish is swallowing the small ones Why is it wrong if birds feed on fish? As if the rainbows had bathed As the Apsaras (divine courtesans of the heaven)cast their charms Festival of colors on the waves of Pulicot A divine game of the baby sparrows The water meadow filled with children Looks like a conference of joy and gay In the eyes of the bird watchers Reflects a kaleidoscope of colors From Nelapattu to Pulicot This bird festival Flows like a stream of water colors The celebration reaches the skies Neither trap nor net, and no hook Beak is the mere weapon The battle of hunger seldom stops Even in tides and in the nets of waves and typhoons All the expertise lies in hunting However a great jalapushpam(fish) The test is to catch the prey with its beak Is the sanguine trait shared Pulicot is the resort for a change of climate For the progress of the breed the trunks of Nelapattu are the residencies The Pralaya Kaveri is now the grace f love Every nestling born here is morrow’s bird The yester born narayana(the common heron) The water parrot that fed on this land Having breathed his first in the nest of this tree Can the alien Sabari ever forget? The colorful dreams of the pelicans The blooms of hope of their beautiful nights The cool breeze and the odor of the soil of Nelapattu Can the red breast ever lose memory of this honeymoon? The ecology of India echoed with The divine violin notes of gratitude The land is infinite and sky vast As the flow of time the ocean too is boundless The one who called these foreign birds as aliens The one who made immigration as inheritance If he goes from this village Begets a child in that great nation Earns a green card and citizenship But how can the egg laid here be an alien? Can the way of pariga(the rose colored Starling or theCholam bird. Pastor roseus) brought up in the Pralaya Kaveri be changed? This soil is remembered by every bird And hence every year it turns up to its motherland! (12) The scene of the skies blooming in myriad colors On the branches of the rubber trees is The sweet home of the flamingo and pelican Reflects the groping families of man In the spreading apartment culture In the shades of the hoods of the waters of Pralaya Kaveri Joyously bathes the Siberia Forgetting the tiresomeness of thousands of miles As the armed forces of navy The meghmalhar(a raga that invokes rain God) song of the bird How many brushes of the artist must have bowed in reverence? To this sea parrot Umpteen canvases must have lost their faces In the symphony of the chirps of love birds is The still picture of the happy NRI doves The music of sarigama (the seven music notes)that teaches the soaring music to the heart At least once in a year…… The passion for the embrace of the motherland The longing to kiss the soil of birth The son of the soil who lost his inner face Forgetting the roots of life in the battle Having turned into a machine At least …now Have to transmigrate into the bird! Conclusion All the souls become one The cosmic treasures become divine souls In the confluence of the water treasures of India Taking a holy dip turn to be the holy souls What may be the divinity of the migrating birds They always worship Narayana in waters. Telugu original: Perugu Ramakrishna Eng trans: Jagaddhatri [mehr]

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