Austar Union
25-04-2005, 12:56
Study Hall 186 , the University of Political Science, Anatoba City
"Will you walk into my parlour?" said the Spider to the Fly,
'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;
The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,
And I've a many curious things to shew when you are there."
Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "to ask me is in vain,
For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."
"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the Spider to the Fly.
"There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin,
And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in!"
Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "for I've often heard it said,
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!"
Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, " Dear friend what can I do,
To prove the warm affection I 've always felt for you?
I have within my pantry, good store of all that's nice;
I'm sure you're very welcome -- will you please to take a slice?"
"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "kind Sir, that cannot be,
I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!"
"Sweet creature!" said the Spider, "you're witty and you're wise,
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I've a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf,
If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself."
"I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you 're pleased to say,
And bidding you good morning now, I'll call another day."
The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again:
So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready, to dine upon the Fly.
Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing,
"Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing;
Your robes are green and purple -- there's a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead!"
Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly,
Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by;
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew,
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue --
Thinking only of her crested head -- poor foolish thing! At last,
Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,
Within his little parlour -- but she ne'er came out again!
And now dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly flattering words, I pray you ne'er give heed:
Unto an evil counsellor, close heart and ear and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly.
[B]Spider and the Fly, by Mary Howitt
Alexander bit down harder on the tip of his pencil as he looked over the next page. On it was a beautiful illustration of one of the most magificant creatures on this god-given Earth. Colored black as the dark night, its scientific name was the Araneide. And despite how amazing this small creature was, people were so afraid. 'Perhaps,' he pondered to himself, 'It was such tales as these which brought down the social fears of this.' Surely though stories such as these would at least have some effect on the overall mindset of men, especially when told just as tiny children. Could it be possible that the deep regret felt by those with a phobia could have been actually invented by the authors of texts such as these, people such as Mary Howitt? Still, he watched further on as the image was detailed so descriptively about each and every aspect of the Spider. Blowing on the dusty pages barely made a difference in such dim light provided in the hall, eyes straining to read under the lamp.
As he began to write in his journal, he was soon joined by an old friend from the lecture theatre. Adam had been his companion ever since he was a freshman at the university campus, however had been unfortunately transfered into another theatre due to classing restrictions recently placed upon the teachers here. The board of directors had argued that the budget allowed for the hiring of at least three more, meaning that the quality of education could be increased incredibally. How would these men know anyway, since it must have been years since they ever studied in a new environment given the look of their age. It had been a topic of debate recently among the student population; just how old were these men and women of importance? Still, it was probably one nobody could truly know unless the directors chose to announce it. Fat chance.
"Alexander, you wanted me for something?" questioned Adam as he sat across from him.
"Actually I did," replied Alex squinting into the darkness. "Have you ever heard of the Araneide?"
Adam nodded as the book was turned toward him. On the left had been presented the poem and text references from Mary Howitt, and on the right sat the detailed illustration. It looked more like some kind of signatory than anything, being a creature of so much controversy. He was sure he had seen the image elsewhere, but he really wasnt sure where. Still, it was a generic image so he may have noticed something similar. The book was old afterall; rather obvious given it was mostly a mix of both dust and yellow, worn pages. It smelled of mothballs.
Adam spoke up from the darkness, "Yes of course. The spider has been portrayed as a cunning beast in more than twenty thousand known through history, and over five hundred modern texts also. Mostly are of purely fiction, but they certainly illustrate the widley held attitudes of both yesterday and today."
"Good. Do you also remember the conversation we had between ourselves probably about seven months ago?" asked Alexander smiling. He had something in his eye, and it wasnt of the physical.
Adam sat back, his eyes widening in surprise, "I thought you were joking..."
Alexander shook his head and placed his hands on the table clasped together. He certainly had something in mind, and it had only become apparent to Adam just now. What ideas could have been fathomed by such great minds as his, were to speculation of the masses. Only one could be certain, and that was probably only Alex himself; not even God. He turned the book back around and flipped over the page to the next. On it had been pictured several great minds through history, including artists like de Vinchi, and political greats such as Martin Luther King. Storms were certainly brewing.
"Will you walk into my parlour?" said the Spider to the Fly,
'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;
The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,
And I've a many curious things to shew when you are there."
Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "to ask me is in vain,
For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."
"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the Spider to the Fly.
"There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin,
And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in!"
Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "for I've often heard it said,
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!"
Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, " Dear friend what can I do,
To prove the warm affection I 've always felt for you?
I have within my pantry, good store of all that's nice;
I'm sure you're very welcome -- will you please to take a slice?"
"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "kind Sir, that cannot be,
I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!"
"Sweet creature!" said the Spider, "you're witty and you're wise,
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I've a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf,
If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself."
"I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you 're pleased to say,
And bidding you good morning now, I'll call another day."
The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again:
So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready, to dine upon the Fly.
Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing,
"Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing;
Your robes are green and purple -- there's a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead!"
Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly,
Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by;
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew,
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue --
Thinking only of her crested head -- poor foolish thing! At last,
Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,
Within his little parlour -- but she ne'er came out again!
And now dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly flattering words, I pray you ne'er give heed:
Unto an evil counsellor, close heart and ear and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly.
[B]Spider and the Fly, by Mary Howitt
Alexander bit down harder on the tip of his pencil as he looked over the next page. On it was a beautiful illustration of one of the most magificant creatures on this god-given Earth. Colored black as the dark night, its scientific name was the Araneide. And despite how amazing this small creature was, people were so afraid. 'Perhaps,' he pondered to himself, 'It was such tales as these which brought down the social fears of this.' Surely though stories such as these would at least have some effect on the overall mindset of men, especially when told just as tiny children. Could it be possible that the deep regret felt by those with a phobia could have been actually invented by the authors of texts such as these, people such as Mary Howitt? Still, he watched further on as the image was detailed so descriptively about each and every aspect of the Spider. Blowing on the dusty pages barely made a difference in such dim light provided in the hall, eyes straining to read under the lamp.
As he began to write in his journal, he was soon joined by an old friend from the lecture theatre. Adam had been his companion ever since he was a freshman at the university campus, however had been unfortunately transfered into another theatre due to classing restrictions recently placed upon the teachers here. The board of directors had argued that the budget allowed for the hiring of at least three more, meaning that the quality of education could be increased incredibally. How would these men know anyway, since it must have been years since they ever studied in a new environment given the look of their age. It had been a topic of debate recently among the student population; just how old were these men and women of importance? Still, it was probably one nobody could truly know unless the directors chose to announce it. Fat chance.
"Alexander, you wanted me for something?" questioned Adam as he sat across from him.
"Actually I did," replied Alex squinting into the darkness. "Have you ever heard of the Araneide?"
Adam nodded as the book was turned toward him. On the left had been presented the poem and text references from Mary Howitt, and on the right sat the detailed illustration. It looked more like some kind of signatory than anything, being a creature of so much controversy. He was sure he had seen the image elsewhere, but he really wasnt sure where. Still, it was a generic image so he may have noticed something similar. The book was old afterall; rather obvious given it was mostly a mix of both dust and yellow, worn pages. It smelled of mothballs.
Adam spoke up from the darkness, "Yes of course. The spider has been portrayed as a cunning beast in more than twenty thousand known through history, and over five hundred modern texts also. Mostly are of purely fiction, but they certainly illustrate the widley held attitudes of both yesterday and today."
"Good. Do you also remember the conversation we had between ourselves probably about seven months ago?" asked Alexander smiling. He had something in his eye, and it wasnt of the physical.
Adam sat back, his eyes widening in surprise, "I thought you were joking..."
Alexander shook his head and placed his hands on the table clasped together. He certainly had something in mind, and it had only become apparent to Adam just now. What ideas could have been fathomed by such great minds as his, were to speculation of the masses. Only one could be certain, and that was probably only Alex himself; not even God. He turned the book back around and flipped over the page to the next. On it had been pictured several great minds through history, including artists like de Vinchi, and political greats such as Martin Luther King. Storms were certainly brewing.