Wednesday, 3 December 2014

A Year, a Year, a Year For The Blog!

Ach Mein Gott!
Never imagined it would come so far...
Let's see-
1568 page views!
India, USA, France, Poland, Russia, Romania, Vietnam, Germany, Ukraine, Spain, Singapore and Czech Republic!

Thank you all! It is for you that I perform, audience, cause on the web, you can say all you want, but unless there is someone hearing as good as you, we might just keep on blabbering to ourselves.

I was pretty lonely, honestly.
A lonely nihilist who found a vent to take out his trash-
But, apparently, it wasn't a vent, and it wasn't trash.

You know that terrific moment, when, you just know, someone is listening
Someone is listening on the other side!
Someone is out there
Appreciation followed
So, I guess.
Thanks for being such a good listener. 
Sometimes, I did imagine it myself to be empty.

‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,   
   Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses   
   Of the forest’s ferny floor:
And a bird flew up out of the turret,   
   Above the Traveller’s head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;   
   ‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;   
   No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,   
   Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners   
   That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight   
   To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,   
   That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken   
   By the lonely Traveller’s call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,   
   Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,   
   ’Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even   
   Louder, and lifted his head:—
‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,   
   That I kept my word,’ he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,   
   Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house   
   From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,   
   And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,   
   When the plunging hoofs were gone.
 Walter de la Mare's, The Listeners

And you did listen, yeah.
Thank you. 
Thank you.
For this madman needed a friend, and you were one in the time of need.

As Tears Go By

No more neglecting this. The blog is a part of me.
 Signing out,
I don't have anything cynical to say,...

Follow by Email

Recognize anyone?