What does your username/handle mean?
Guest
Join Date: Aug 2015
Location: Atlanta
Posts: 8,674
Mine was the day I joined SR....and interestingly, almost exactly 6 mo to the day before I quit drinking (2/21/16). I knew that some kind of end was coming during those last six months- I didn't know what, but I knew I would quit or....and I finally listened to the dr who told me that Feb that it would be die, in about a year/18 mo if I didn't quit. I quit.
Awww, I love these threads, I always learn something new and interesting about my friends here- HELLO MantaLady!
I chose my user name based on this really lovely and positive Italian song. When I was in my darkest days my boyfriend sent me this song. Not only are the lyrics beautiful but I feel such accomplishment that I am at a place where I can speak and understand Italian clearly.
Here is the song:
Here is the English version:
Wonderful
Its true
Believe me this happened
A night, above a bridge
Staring at the dark water
With the damn desire
Of jumping off
Suddenly
Someone at my back
Maybe an angel
Disguised as passerby
Pulled me back telling me
This…
Wonderful
How come you don’t remember
How much the world is
Wonderful
Wonderful
Even your pain
May look a little
Wonderful
Just look around you
How many gifts you have been given
For you have been invented
The sea
You say you have nothing
Its seems nothing for you the sun!
Life…
Love…
Wonderful
The love of a woman
That loves only you
Wonderful
The light of a morning
The embrace of a friend
The sight of a child
Wonderful
Wonderful
Wonderful
Wonderful…
Wonderful
Just look around you
How many gifts you have been given
For you have been invented
The sea
You say you have nothing
Its seems nothing for you the sun!
Life…
Love…
Wonderful
The love of a woman
That loves only you
The night had ended
And I still could feel you
The taste of life
Wonderful
Wonderful
Wonderful
Wonderful
Wonderful
I chose my user name based on this really lovely and positive Italian song. When I was in my darkest days my boyfriend sent me this song. Not only are the lyrics beautiful but I feel such accomplishment that I am at a place where I can speak and understand Italian clearly.
Here is the song:
Here is the English version:
Wonderful
Its true
Believe me this happened
A night, above a bridge
Staring at the dark water
With the damn desire
Of jumping off
Suddenly
Someone at my back
Maybe an angel
Disguised as passerby
Pulled me back telling me
This…
Wonderful
How come you don’t remember
How much the world is
Wonderful
Wonderful
Even your pain
May look a little
Wonderful
Just look around you
How many gifts you have been given
For you have been invented
The sea
You say you have nothing
Its seems nothing for you the sun!
Life…
Love…
Wonderful
The love of a woman
That loves only you
Wonderful
The light of a morning
The embrace of a friend
The sight of a child
Wonderful
Wonderful
Wonderful
Wonderful…
Wonderful
Just look around you
How many gifts you have been given
For you have been invented
The sea
You say you have nothing
Its seems nothing for you the sun!
Life…
Love…
Wonderful
The love of a woman
That loves only you
The night had ended
And I still could feel you
The taste of life
Wonderful
Wonderful
Wonderful
Wonderful
Wonderful
Member
Join Date: Feb 2019
Posts: 4
After the title character in the story 'Bartleby the Scrivener' by Melville. His response to pretty much everything was "I'd prefer not." I intend that to be my response too, when presented with the opportunity to carry on messing my life up.
Member
Join Date: Aug 2017
Posts: 1,246
My name is a reference to my favourite poem. The poem captures just about everything about my addiction:
Ode to a Nightingale
BY JOHN KEATS
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness,—
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs,
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.
Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and *******:
Already with thee! tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.
I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
And mid-May's eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—
To thy high requiem become a sod.
Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that oft-times hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?
Ode to a Nightingale
BY JOHN KEATS
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness,—
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs,
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.
Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and *******:
Already with thee! tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.
I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
And mid-May's eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—
To thy high requiem become a sod.
Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that oft-times hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?
I wasn't very creative with my username. 'Canuck' is just a slang term for a Canadian. During World War II, there was a comic book hero in Canada called Johnny Canuck. He was a soldier who fought Nazis. Good ole propaganda.
Mine is a made up word containing some letters from my name, some from my (now ex) partner's name and some from our business name - I had been using it as a wifi network name and for no particular reason decided to use it here too. I kinda wish I'd picked something more 'me' but perhaps like some others here, I wasn't thinking too straight when I signed up.
Maud was a cat living on the campus where I worked. I used go hit tennis balls against the backboard at lunch and I noticed her hunting.
The maintenance guys told me she was a stray and that sometimes they gave her parts of their hoagies.
I started feeding her everyday. She was living in one of the open maintenance sheds.
She went from running from me to waiting for me perched on the shed roof.
I did this through the winter. When she started following me and crying when I would leave to return to work, I decided it was time to bring her home.
This wasn't easy, as we had another cat, Phoebe, who was very much an "only cat."
Maud was a beautiful sturdy calico, not my avatar. That's my current cat, Wesley.
Maud lived 20 years. She was a sweetheart.
The maintenance guys told me she was a stray and that sometimes they gave her parts of their hoagies.
I started feeding her everyday. She was living in one of the open maintenance sheds.
She went from running from me to waiting for me perched on the shed roof.
I did this through the winter. When she started following me and crying when I would leave to return to work, I decided it was time to bring her home.
This wasn't easy, as we had another cat, Phoebe, who was very much an "only cat."
Maud was a beautiful sturdy calico, not my avatar. That's my current cat, Wesley.
Maud lived 20 years. She was a sweetheart.
When I joined SR in 2016, my name was 'Icarus', chosen because it was about a guy who suffered- because he took stupid risks and did not listen to anyone..BUT-
after a time, my narrative changed so much- someone here at SR wrote Phoenix was more apt- thus the name. Only coincidence it is about a creature rising from the flames and ashes.
after a time, my narrative changed so much- someone here at SR wrote Phoenix was more apt- thus the name. Only coincidence it is about a creature rising from the flames and ashes.
Miss Perfumado. Great album from one of my favourite singers, Cesaria Evora.
She was from Cape Verde and sang in Cape Verdian Creole. Spine tingling songs of melancholy and longing.
If you ever want to hear a song that you don't understand a word of but can still make you cry... she's the lady for you.
She was from Cape Verde and sang in Cape Verdian Creole. Spine tingling songs of melancholy and longing.
If you ever want to hear a song that you don't understand a word of but can still make you cry... she's the lady for you.
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