"Spoonerism"- from dictionary.com

spoonerism \SPOO-nuh-riz-uhm\, noun: The transposition of usually initial sounds in a pair of words.

Some examples: * We all know what it is to have a half-warmed fish ["half-formed wish"] inside us. * The Lord is a shoving leopard ["loving shepherd"]. * It is kisstomary to cuss ["customary to kiss"] the bride. * Is the bean dizzy ["dean busy"]? * When the boys come back from France, we'll have the hags flung out ["flags hung out"]! * Let me sew you to your sheet ["show you to your seat"].

Spoonerism comes from the name of the Rev. William Archibald Spooner (1844-1930), a kindly but nervous Anglican clergyman and educationalist. All the above examples were committed by (or attributed to) him.

a thought on democracy

"democracy in essence is a conservative arrangement. If all interests are represented, how can you make rapid and fundamental reforms?"
- Prof Jia Qingguo, Beijing Uni

from The crisis of Islam"- Bernard Lewis

"The word revolution has been much misused in the modern Middle East, being applied to - or claimed for - many events which would more appropriately be designated by the French coup d'etat, the German Putsch, or the Spanish pronunciamiento. The political experience of the English speaking peoples, interestingly provides no equivalent term."

"Does this mean that Islam is a theocracy? In the sense that god is seen as the supreme sovereign, the answer would have to be yes indeed. In the sense of governement by a priesthood, most definitely not. The emergence of a priestly hierarchy and its assumption of ultimate authority in the state is a modern innovation and is a unique contribution of the late Ayatollah Khomeini of Iran to Islamic thought and practice."

de "La Civilization"

tout, oui, tout est annihile par la voix de la mer. Seule subsiste la gigantesque melancolie del'outrefois, quand tout etait a commencer, tout a esperer. Naissance a soi et au monde

Rape Shield Law

Limits the use of a victim's prior sexual history as an attempt to undermine the credibility of the victim's testimony.
1978- US Congress enacted Rule 412 of the Federal Rules of Evidence which declares that, evidence offered to prove the victim engaged in other sexual behavior, or evidence offered to prove any victim's sexual predisposition is inadmissible in any civil or criminal proceeding involving alleged sexual misconduct.
Argument for- safeguards victims from being humiliated and thus acts as an encouragement to report rapes.
Argument against- norms on sexual behavior more relaxed, therefore, in general, one stands to lose less if one's sexual record is brought up in public than was the case in the 70s. Therefore, this law is somewhat outdated. Also, it may hinder an accused rapist from a fair trial- cases where women have had a history of falsely accusing men of assault and rape- this info cannot be used in court.
The Kobe Bryant case brings to light the practicality of this law when a celebrity is involved. Everything is known about the alleged victim because of all the media coverage- thus, potential jurors are already prejudiced by all the hype in their faces.

from "Satanic Verses" by Rushdie

He knew that his father had finally run hard enough and long enough to wear down the frontiers between the worlds, he had run clear out of his skin and into the arms of his (dead) wife, to whom he had proved, once and for all, the superiority of his love. Some migrants are happy to depart.

killer memories

I am creating far too many memories, far too quickly. The nostalgia that will be triggered when I eventually sit down on some verandah and start reminiscing (should I smoke a pipe to complete the picture?) will be crushing, suffocating. I am scared of memory.

So what to do about it?
Avoid all retrospection? Constantly strive to replace the old memories with new, more glamorous ones? To push those ghostly loves and moments that nip and yap at my soul to the farthest corners of my known universe?

Seems like a (pathetic) temporary fix. For there they lie like dormant volcanoes, waiting to be unleashed by a random whiff of cologne or a tune or the slanted handwriting on a letter that I hold in my trembling fingers. Their potency is undiminished in their incognito stage.

Sometimes when I shut up, I hear them swirl around me, silent hound-like specters. They watch me with big beady eyes from the thick foliage as I bike down the gravel road through the woods in the gathering darkness. Crunch, crunch, creep, creep. They wait patiently for the slightest moment of vulnerability, for the slightest deviation from my purposeful path, to envelop me and cascade gleefully through my whole being. And I will shudder with the painful delight of nostalgia.