My diary, my friend. The repository of my wandering thoughts and priceless drivel. Have you a soul?
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No one has a right to sit down and feel hopeless. There's too much work to do! -- Dorothy Day
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2001-07-30, 11:05 a.m., addendum
Last night I also spent time with C.S. in the backseat of a car. We were being driven to our respective homes, and so in the interlude, we talked. Or tried to. English is his second language (or third, or fourth, or something) and I had a hoarse voicebox. But anyway, we talked. He has a fantastic accent. He taught me how to pronounce the name of his homecity properly: São ('chion', as in "information") Paulo(?) ('bPaulo', where the beginning consonant is a labial 'P' (sort of like how the Mandarin has a soft consonant for 'papa') and the rest is like the name "Paul" but with an "-o" tacked on). The Brasilian way. His name is Cristiano Aperreccio(sp?) De Souza. It sure sounds nice, but I mangle his name horribly so he tells me to call him 'Cris Souza'. Utterly brave guy. He comes to a strange country without knowing anyone, just to improve his English. Woah. He can convey his ideas pretty good, but it's just the concepts which differ. For instance, he is puzzled by the meaning of "stuff". What is the definition of "stuff"? How can it be so many things? PS kindly explains that the word "shit" can be substituted for "stuff" and the meaning would still be the same. Enlightenment dawns on C.S.
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[S] = Story [P] = Poetry
As if... I want to check this and this too |
Well, *I* know you're talented, creative and charming, and that's without having met you, so just imagine what all those fortunate people you see on a daily basis must think... -- M.K.
The Muse but serv'd to ease some friend, not wife,
To help me thro' this long disease, my life. -- Alexander Pope.
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