Diverse God jul!
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Ha en riktig flott jul folkens 
mvh
mvh
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God Jul .
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- 23.03.2006
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Forøvrig en strålende Jul til alle !!
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GOD JUL!
God Jul.
God Jul!
6
65finger
Gjest
God jul
??????
??????
God jul, alle saman!
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God jul!
Her ble det faktisk hvit jul. Snøen kom i siste liten.
Her ble det faktisk hvit jul. Snøen kom i siste liten.
God jul!
GOD JUL !
Næææ, en løsgjenger går enda rundt her: http://www.hifisentralen.no/forumet...le-sammen-her-pa-hifi-asylet.html#post2417974God Jul trådene er slått sammen.
God Jul, alle sammen.
bjornh, moderator
What ever you do, always give 100% [ Unless your giving blood ].
God Jul!!
God Jul!!
J
Jim I Hendriksen 2nd Edt.
Gjest
Et lite tips med på veien til julefeiring...
God jul til alle!
God Jul!
Z
Zomby_Woof
Gjest
God jul!
C
Cyber
Gjest
God jul fra sør! Nettopp hatt en liten mil med joggeskoa og sett på naturkreftene som lader opp (jf. uvær i morgen)
Slenger på et lite juledikt av TS Eliot:
THE JOURNEY OF THE MAGI
A cold coming we had of it,Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.'
And the camels galled, sorefooted, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
and running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.
Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arriving at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you might say) satisfactory.
All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.
Slenger på et lite juledikt av TS Eliot:
THE JOURNEY OF THE MAGI
A cold coming we had of it,Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.'
And the camels galled, sorefooted, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
and running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.
Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arriving at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you might say) satisfactory.
All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.
Sist redigert av en moderator:
God jul alle sammen, meddebattanter så vel som kranglefanter!
Takk for litt julemagi. Anbefaler også T.S.Elliots Cultivation of Christmas Tree. Orker ikke å reise meg fra godstolen som står 1.9 m fra Grant Green for å klipppe og lime tekst og bilder på PC,n. Gjengir heller første vers ved hjelp av padda:
There are several attitudes towards Christmas,
Some of which we may disregard:
The social, the torpid, the patently commercial,
the rowdy, (the pubs being open till midnight).
And the childish, which is not that of the child
For whom the candel is a star, and the gilded angel
Spreading its wings at the summit of the three
Is not only a decoration, but an angel
...
...
Takk for litt julemagi. Anbefaler også T.S.Elliots Cultivation of Christmas Tree. Orker ikke å reise meg fra godstolen som står 1.9 m fra Grant Green for å klipppe og lime tekst og bilder på PC,n. Gjengir heller første vers ved hjelp av padda:
There are several attitudes towards Christmas,
Some of which we may disregard:
The social, the torpid, the patently commercial,
the rowdy, (the pubs being open till midnight).
And the childish, which is not that of the child
For whom the candel is a star, and the gilded angel
Spreading its wings at the summit of the three
Is not only a decoration, but an angel
...
...
Sist redigert:
... og der fant jeg det hele i en iPad-kopierbar form.
Det skjer ikke ofte, men en sjelden gang må ingeniørhodet mitt bøye seg i støvet for en større kunst og virkelighet:
There are several attitudes towards Christmas,
Sone of which we may disregard:
The social, the torpid, the patently commercial,
The rowdy (the pubs being open till midnight),
And the childish — which is not that of the child
For whom the candle is a star, and the gilded angel
Spreading its wings at the summit of the tree
Is not only a decoration, but an angel.
The child wonders at the Christmas Tree:
Let him continue in the spirit of wonder
At the Feast as an event not accepted as a pretext;
So that the glittering rapture, the amazement
Of the first-remembered Christmas Tree,
So that the surprises, delight in new possessions
(Each one with its peculiar and exciting smell),
The expectation of the goose or turkey
And the expected awe on its appearance,
So that the reverence and the gaiety
May not be forgotten in later experience,
In the bored habituation, the fatigue, the tedium,
The awareness of death, the consciousness of failure,
Or in the piety of the convert
Which may be tainted with a self-conceit
Displeasing to God and disrespectful to children
(And here I remember also with gratitude
St. Lucy, her carol, and her crown of fire):
So that before the end, the eightieth Christmas
(By “eightieth” meaning whichever is last)
The accumulated memories of annual emotion
May be concentrated into a great joy
Which shall be also a great fear, as on the occasion
When fear came upon every soul:
Because the beginning shall remind us of the end
And the first coming of the second coming.
Det skjer ikke ofte, men en sjelden gang må ingeniørhodet mitt bøye seg i støvet for en større kunst og virkelighet:
There are several attitudes towards Christmas,
Sone of which we may disregard:
The social, the torpid, the patently commercial,
The rowdy (the pubs being open till midnight),
And the childish — which is not that of the child
For whom the candle is a star, and the gilded angel
Spreading its wings at the summit of the tree
Is not only a decoration, but an angel.
The child wonders at the Christmas Tree:
Let him continue in the spirit of wonder
At the Feast as an event not accepted as a pretext;
So that the glittering rapture, the amazement
Of the first-remembered Christmas Tree,
So that the surprises, delight in new possessions
(Each one with its peculiar and exciting smell),
The expectation of the goose or turkey
And the expected awe on its appearance,
So that the reverence and the gaiety
May not be forgotten in later experience,
In the bored habituation, the fatigue, the tedium,
The awareness of death, the consciousness of failure,
Or in the piety of the convert
Which may be tainted with a self-conceit
Displeasing to God and disrespectful to children
(And here I remember also with gratitude
St. Lucy, her carol, and her crown of fire):
So that before the end, the eightieth Christmas
(By “eightieth” meaning whichever is last)
The accumulated memories of annual emotion
May be concentrated into a great joy
Which shall be also a great fear, as on the occasion
When fear came upon every soul:
Because the beginning shall remind us of the end
And the first coming of the second coming.