Hi, I'm a 10 year old girl reading this board. What does "f##king 
mean Llundrub?



--- In [email protected], "Llundrub" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> 
wrote:
> Fucking Awesome. Thank you for this.
>   ----- Original Message ----- 
>   From: TurquoiseB 
>   To: [email protected] 
>   Sent: Monday, May 09, 2005 4:35 PM
>   Subject: [FairfieldLife] Re: Christianity
> 
> 
>   Jim:
>   > Absoultely. The judgement of what is best is purely 
subjective, 
>   > whereas the determination of what is purest can be measured by 
its 
>   > effectiveness.
>   > 
>   > By the way the only time I ever saw a turquoise bee was on the 
>   > island of Java. How did you come by the name?
> 
>   It's an admitted ripoff of the nickname of the Sixth
>   Dalai Lama, Tsangyang Gyatso.
> 
>   The Great Fifth built the Potala and consolidated both
>   the religious and secular life of Tibet.  And then he
>   up and croaked, without really doing what his predecessors
>   had done and letting his fellow monks know where he was to
>   be reborn.  They actually hid the fact of his death for
>   some years, while a Regent ruled Tibet, claiming to still
>   be speaking with with the now-deceased DL on a daily basis.
> 
>   Then, using the techniques that the Tibtetans have devel-
>   oped, they found the dude.  Late.  He was already approach-
>   ing puberty, as opposed to the "rule," which was to be 
>   discovered when he was much younger.  They brought him to
>   the Potala, he passed all the tests, and they named him
>   Dalai Lama.
> 
>   But there was a problem.  He refused to take his vows as
>   a monk, and he refused to take himself as seriously as
>   the monks around him wanted him to.  During the day, he
>   ruled Tibet as its secular and religious leader.  But at
>   night he would sneak out of the Potala and walk down to
>   Shol-town, which was Lhasa's red light district.  There,
>   he would drink and carouse with the girls and a few of
>   his fellow rebel monks, writing poetry and songs in the
>   process.
> 
>   His songs and poetry are still considered among the best 
>   that Tibet has ever produced.  He called himself, as a 
>   poet, the Turquoise Bee.  I've pasted in a few of the
>   songs in below, since you asked, from the late Rick Fields'
>   marvelous book, "The Turquoise Bee."
> 
>   He was so controversial that he was finally murdered.  By
>   the Chinese, but very possibly with the cooperation of 
>   his own fellow monks, for whom he had grown a bit too
>   controversial.
> 
>   I stole his name because I like his attitude.  :-)
> 
>   Unc
> 
>   **********************************
> 
>   White teeth smiling
>   Brightness of skin.
>   On my seat in the high lama's row
>   At the quick edge of my glance
>   I caught her looking at me.
> 
>   **********************************
> 
>   By drawing diagrams on the ground
>   The stars of space can be measured.
>   Though familiar with the soft flesh
>   Of my lover's body
>   I cannot measure her depths.
> 
>   **********************************
> 
>   If young girls never died
>   There would be no need to brew beer.
>   At such a time
>   This is a young man's surest source of refuge.
> 
>   **********************************
> 
>   The meeting place for me and my love
>   Is the dense forest of the southern valley.
>   Except for the chattering parrot
>   No one knows about it.
>   Please, talkative parrot
>   Don't give away our secret.
> 
>   **********************************
> 
>   People talk about me.
>   What they say may be true.
>   But just three short steps
>   Take me to the wine house of my lover.
> 
>   **********************************
> 
>   Don't tell me,
>   "Tsangyang! you're depraved."
>   Just like you
>   I desire pleasure and comfort, too.
> 
>   **********************************
> 
>   Meditating, my lama's face
>   Does not shine in my mind.
>   Unbidden my lover's face
>   Again and again appears.
> 
>   **********************************
> 
>   I sought my lover at twilight
>   Snow fell at daybreak.
>   Residing at the Potala
>   I am Rigdzin Tsangyang Gyatso
>   But in the back alleys of Shol-town
>   I am rake and stud
>   Secret or not
>   No matter.
>   Footprints have been left in the snow.
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
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> 
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