From 24a2e3305241a48360fcb6258611b0d95ee4a4e2 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: hundredvisionsguy Date: Sun, 23 Apr 2023 17:17:04 -0700 Subject: [PATCH 1/5] changing line 6 for all the 90s fans --- do_not_go_gentle.txt | 2 +- 1 file changed, 1 insertion(+), 1 deletion(-) diff --git a/do_not_go_gentle.txt b/do_not_go_gentle.txt index dd02b1f..d45b935 100644 --- a/do_not_go_gentle.txt +++ b/do_not_go_gentle.txt @@ -3,7 +3,7 @@ Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1953 Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; -Rage, rage against the dying of the light. +Rage, rage against the machine. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they From 1e95a2623ca5478218b8fe55cab30ee88c3372b0 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Chris Winikka <3827026+HundredVisionsGuy@users.noreply.github.com> Date: Sun, 23 Apr 2023 17:53:23 -0700 Subject: [PATCH 2/5] Update conflict_lesson.txt --- conflict_lesson.txt | 2 +- 1 file changed, 1 insertion(+), 1 deletion(-) diff --git a/conflict_lesson.txt b/conflict_lesson.txt index 7d8566d..dd7883a 100644 --- a/conflict_lesson.txt +++ b/conflict_lesson.txt @@ -1,4 +1,4 @@ -DO NOT EDIT THIS FILE (yet). A +DO NOT EDIT THIS FILE (yet). B This file is for use later in the "Intro to Sprinting" lesson. You will be told when to edit this file. IF you opened it by accident, simply close it, do not save any changes in it, etc, until told to do so. From d707b8e1ccbd0e1060de06a84ed38b9288c9d2dd Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: hundredvisionsguy Date: Sun, 23 Apr 2023 18:19:23 -0700 Subject: [PATCH 3/5] adding my favorite poem --- love_song_j_alfred_prufrock.txt | 172 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 1 file changed, 172 insertions(+) create mode 100644 love_song_j_alfred_prufrock.txt diff --git a/love_song_j_alfred_prufrock.txt b/love_song_j_alfred_prufrock.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5583163 --- /dev/null +++ b/love_song_j_alfred_prufrock.txt @@ -0,0 +1,172 @@ +The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock +By T.S. Eliot + +⁠⁠S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse +⁠⁠A persona che mai tornasse al mondo, +⁠⁠Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. +⁠⁠Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo +⁠⁠Non torno vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero, +⁠⁠Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo. + + +Let us go then, you and I, +When the evening is spread out against the sky +Like a patient etherized upon a table; +Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, +The muttering retreats +Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels +And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: +Streets that follow like a tedious argument +Of insidious intent +To lead you to an overwhelming question. . . . + +Oh, do not ask, "What is it?" +Let us go and make our visit. + +In the room the women come and go +Talking of Michelangelo. + +The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes, +The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes, +Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening, +Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains, +Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys, +Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, +And seeing that it was a soft October night, +Curled once about the house, and fell asleep. + +And indeed there will be time +For the yellow smoke that slides along the street, +Rubbing its back upon the window-panes; +There will be time, there will be time +To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; +There will be time to murder and create, +And time for all the works and days of hands +That lift and drop a question on your plate; +Time for you and time for me, + +And time yet for a hundred indecisions, +And for a hundred visions and revisions, +Before the taking of a toast and tea. + +In the room the women come and go +Talking of Michelangelo. + +And indeed there will be time +To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?" +Time to turn back and descend the stair, +With a bald spot in the middle of my hair— +(They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!") +My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin, +My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin— +(They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!") +Do I dare +Disturb the universe? +In a minute there is time +For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse. + +For I have known them all already, known them all: +Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, + +I have measured out my life with coffee spoons; +I know the voices dying with a dying fall +Beneath the music from a farther room. +⁠So how should I presume? + +And I have known the eyes already, known them all— +The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase, +And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin, +When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall, +Then how should I begin +To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? +⁠And how should I presume? + +And I have known the arms already, known them all— +Arms that are braceleted and white and bare +(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!) +Is it perfume from a dress +That makes me so digress? +Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl. +⁠And should I then presume? +⁠And how should I begin? + +⁠*⁠*⁠*⁠* + +Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets + +And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes +Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? . . . + +I should have been a pair of ragged claws +Scuttling across the floors of silent seas. + +⁠*⁠*⁠*⁠* + +And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully! +Smoothed by long fingers, +Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers, +Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me. +Should I, after tea and cakes and ices, +Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis? +But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed, +Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter, +I am no prophet—and here's no great matter; +I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker, +And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, +And in short, I was afraid. + +And would it have been worth it, after all, +After the cups, the marmalade, the tea, + +Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me, +Would it have been worth while, +To have bitten off the matter with a smile, +To have squeezed the universe into a ball +To roll it toward some overwhelming question, +To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead, +Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"— +If one, settling a pillow by her head, +⁠Should say: "That is not what I meant at all; +⁠That is not it, at all." + +And would it have been worth it, after all, +Would it have been worth while, +After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets, +After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor— +And this, and so much more?— +It is impossible to say just what I mean! +But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen: +Would it have been worth while +If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl, +And turning toward the window, should say: +⁠"That is not it at all, +⁠That is not what I meant, at all." + +⁠*⁠*⁠*⁠* + +No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be; +Am an attendant lord, one that will do +To swell a progress, start a scene or two, +Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool, +Deferential, glad to be of use, +Politic, cautious, and meticulous; +Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; +At times, indeed, almost ridiculous— +Almost, at times, the Fool. + +I grow old . . . I grow old . . . +I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. + +Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? +I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. +I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. + +I do not think that they will sing to me. + +I have seen them riding seaward on the waves +Combing the white hair of the waves blown back +When the wind blows the water white and black. + +We have lingered in the chambers of the sea +By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown +Till human voices wake us, and we drown. \ No newline at end of file From ee572bc5979b8ad61922fa5c6d24046fb7ad7236 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: hundredvisionsguy Date: Sun, 23 Apr 2023 18:33:57 -0700 Subject: [PATCH 4/5] correcting do_not_go_gentle --- do_not_go_gentle.txt | 4 ++-- 1 file changed, 2 insertions(+), 2 deletions(-) diff --git a/do_not_go_gentle.txt b/do_not_go_gentle.txt index ac6256e..dd02b1f 100644 --- a/do_not_go_gentle.txt +++ b/do_not_go_gentle.txt @@ -1,9 +1,9 @@ Do not go gentle into that good night -Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1955 +Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1953 Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; -Rage, rage against the machine. +Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they From b959fb2bbea64da7798de3b117b66e72fa50dde2 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: hundredvisionsguy Date: Sun, 23 Apr 2023 18:38:00 -0700 Subject: [PATCH 5/5] correcting do_not_go_gentle again --- do_not_go_gentle.txt | 2 +- 1 file changed, 1 insertion(+), 1 deletion(-) diff --git a/do_not_go_gentle.txt b/do_not_go_gentle.txt index dd02b1f..c08e518 100644 --- a/do_not_go_gentle.txt +++ b/do_not_go_gentle.txt @@ -1,5 +1,5 @@ Do not go gentle into that good night -Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1953 +Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1955 Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day;