- published: 21 Nov 2013
- views: 159314
Year 22 (XXII) was a common year starting on Thursday (link will display the full calendar) of the Julian calendar. At the time, it was known as the Year of the Consulship of Agrippa and Galba (or, less frequently, year 775 Ab urbe condita). The denomination 22 for this year has been used since the early medieval period, when the Anno Domini calendar era became the prevalent method in Europe for naming years.
Errol Mark Morris (born February 5, 1948) is an American film director. In 2003, The Guardian put him seventh in its list of the world's 40 best directors. In 2003, his film The Fog of War: Eleven Lessons from the Life of Robert S. McNamara won the Academy Award for Best Documentary Feature.
Morris was born in Hewlett, New York on February 5, 1948. When he was two years old, his father died of a heart attack. His mother, a Juilliard graduate, supported Morris and his brother as a music teacher. Morris attended Hewlett Elementary School in a class with Brent Glass, Tony Kornheiser and former Village Voice editor David Schneiderman.[citation needed]
After being treated for strabismus in childhood, he refused to wear an eye patch. As a consequence, he has limited sight in one eye and lacks normal stereoscopic vision.
In the 10th grade, Morris attended the Putney School, a boarding school in Vermont. He began playing the cello, spending a summer in France studying music under the acclaimed Nadia Boulanger, who also taught Morris' future collaborator Philip Glass. Describing Morris as a teenager, Mark Singer wrote that he "read with a passion the forty-odd Oz books, watched a lot of television, and on a regular basis went with a doting but not quite right maiden aunt ("I guess you'd have to say that Aunt Roz was somewhat demented") to Saturday matinées, where he saw such films as This Island Earth and Creature from the Black Lagoon — horror movies that, viewed again 30 years later, still seem scary to him."
I saw your daydream shattering to countless flakes of falling snow
They were bright as stars, and each of them were a magic wish to come true
But sometimes they hurt, unbearably they hurt
And that joy is now pain and it's consuming me day by day
The cloud of love which once you used to envelope my dry heart
has been blown away and now just find the darkest starless night
And your eyes now hurt, they wound me deep inside
And your love is now pain and it's consuming me day by day
And now you hurt, unbearably deep inside
And my hope now it fades, and it's fading day by day
An arson of pain leaves me kneeling in flames
Your weary silence draws my landscapes with rain
So take my last wishes with you far away
And give me one more minute for my last prayer
The silence of time wears all that has been
And you like the time numb the feelings I feel
There is no splendour, nor dream
Just the ruin of our crumbling realm