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Showing posts from 2011

Sonnet 73

Sonnet 73 (1609) William Shakespeare That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west; Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. In me thou seest the glowing of such fire, That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the deathbed whereon it must expire, Consumed with that which it was nourished by. This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long. That time of year you may in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me you see the twilight of such day As after sunset fades in the west;

This Years End Time

This Years End Time   Please excuse the rush and haphazard in my writing, I'm in a hurry and want to get this out before the 21 st . Those of you that know me understand that I have no problem with the Apocalypse – in fact, I've always encouraged it through both thought and deed, (because faith without work is a dead thing without juice or forward momentum-- as if that needs explaining.) What bothers me is not the death of billions of people, though it's sad in a way I can't even conceive of -- it's that someone sat around and read the Bible, praise be to the lord, and after much and careful study came up with a date – and that's just sick. Religion is all and only a faith thing – if you could prove any of it, it would be science. And the faith thing is fundamental – it's what keeps it from just being another mental illness of the delusional sort. Sure, it's fine to think of it a pure trick for social control, or perhaps a way for

Eat the Rich

From Vanity Fair, By Joseph E. Stiglitz  -- full article linked "A lexis de Tocqueville once described what he saw as a chief part of the peculiar genius of American society—something he called “self-interest properly understood.” The last two words were the key. Everyone possesses self-interest in a narrow sense: I want what’s good for me right now! Self-interest “properly understood” is different. It means appreciating that paying attention to everyone else’s self-interest—in other words, the common welfare—is in fact a precondition for one’s own ultimate well-being. Tocqueville was not suggesting that there was anything noble or idealistic about this outlook—in fact, he was suggesting the opposite. It was a mark of American pragmatism. Those canny Americans understood a basic fact: looking out for the other guy isn’t just good for the soul—it’s good for business The top 1 percent have the best houses, the best educations, the best doctors, and the best lifesty

Cold Comfort for Change

Cold Comfort for Change In our wailing And shaking of fists, Prayers to what we prefer of reason Touch lightly on the thing beneath. These gestures made through the movement of time Rub softly and abrade the mindful eye. Yet still eager for sighs of discontent As they leak from curled lips, As shaped by the unseen gnashing of carious teeth -- Breathing into an anguished distraction The pain of it falls into a of thing of itself. We set fire to the altar by change And gnaw loose from the traps that we’ve laid. Mike Brady/ 2011

“Self-control in kids predicts future success, study says”

http://www.chicagotribune.com/health/la-heb-tiger-mother-20110124,0,337942.story This fits with my ongoing observations that god died a long time ago, and that we are now left to find meaning in a rotting three ringed circus tent of cause and effect -- a corpse left behind by a slightly pissed Deity to kind of fuck with us– a sort of old-testamenty styled policy and procedure manual of ridged, yet animated, organization that leaves all morality and ethics up to a combination of peer pressure and crowd control -- all to be run by grown up  bullies that used to beat on us in grade school and the anal retentive door gooders that fast tracked through high school by pretending and agreeing better than those of us lacking in both persistence and any sort of attention span. But I digress. Self-control is just code for doing what other people tell you to do, just as tolerance is code for putting up with other peoples shit until you get used to it. It’s not about creativity,