AdamSmith

While I all over the place identify as a hard-lefty, I also remember the Founders had no notion at all of partisan politics. They thought we would be a never-ending cacophony & competition of individual independent political views, to the common good. What things have descended to today with K Street, the Court’s allowance of outright commercial theft of the vote, etc etc.

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/30257963-12-rules-for-life

NM

He refuted his son lock stock & barrel before he died

Exactly. My odd business is market research into software used to engineer manufactured products. ’Change management,’ I.e. how to get entrenched altacaccas to change, is always the main thing.

Walking to the grocery store, wearing a hazmat suit! ...Just about.

Cross-reference to the current ongoing discussion of Billy Graham elsewhere here.

There have been a few journal articles that suggest the risk of losing our status as the global sovereign debt currency to China (of all!) may be what will finally wake us up to a web of interconnected ills.

Billy picks up all the essential ambiguities.

Sorry, Jewish dad to son.

Jewish son to Jewish dad: ”I want you to transfer me to Beth Israel.” ”You’re in Mass General, the best hospital in all of Boston.” Dad: “I know, I can’t complain.” Son: “You have the best doctors.” ”I know, I can’t complain.” ”The best nurses.” ”I can’t complain.” ”Well, what?” ”That’s just it — I can’t complain.”

Don’t really know what “drust” means. https://www.uline.com/Product/Detail/H-1859BLU/Recycling-Containers/Rubbermaid-Office-Recycling-Container-10-Gallon-Blue?pricode=WA9181&gadtype=pla&id=H-1859BLU&gclsrc=aw.ds&&gclid=EAIaIQobChMI3vjynafz6AIVEFYMCh1dmwBGEAQYAyABEgKN4fD_BwE

This old/young thing can now be dropped in the drust bin until his case comes up.

I think that, unlike many of his peers, he was motivated by love not hate. He also wrote in his autobiography that he had basically no interest in the arguments among what he called “different ecclesiastical systems,” i.e., various Christian denominations major and minor. He went even further on a few occasions into the universality of God, such as once saying, “I have met many Buddhists who live a far more Christ-like life than some of our professed Christian brothers and sisters.”

Franklin is one of the biggest human turds on earth. His own father delivered one of the most quietly cutting condemnations I have ever heard. When a journalist asked Billy what he thought about his son calling Islam “very wicked and evil,” Billy simply replied, “I have many friends in that part of religion.”

Your note on the self-categorizations gay vs queer is priceless. I am absolutely not the former. I like everything. I think this public-self-labeling pressure forces many into a narrower self-image than is necessary or reality-based.

The Owl in the Sarcophagus Wallace Stevens I Two forms move among the dead, high sleep Who by his highness quiets them, high peace Upon whose shoulders even the heavens rest, Two brothers. And a third form, she that says Good-by in the darkness, speaking quietly there, To those that cannot say good-by themselves. These forms are visible to the eye that needs, Needs out of the whole necessity of sight. The third form speaks, because the ear repeats, Without a voice, inventions of farewell. These forms are not abortive figures, rocks, Impenetrable symbols, motionless. They move About the night. They live without our light, In an element not the heaviness of time, In which reality is prodigy. There sleep the brother is the father, too, And peace is cousin by a hundred names And she that in the syllable between life And death cries quickly, in a flash of voice, Keep you, keep you, I am gone, oh keep you as My memory, is the mother of us all, The earthly mother and the mother of The dead. Only the thought of those dark three Is dark, thought of the forms of dark desire. II There came a day, there was a day--one day A man walked living among the forms of thought To see their lustre truly as it is And in harmonious prodigy to be, A while, conceiving his passage as into a time That of itself stood still, perennial, Less time than place, less place than thought of place And, if of substance, a likeness of the earth, That by resemblance twanged him through and through, Releasing an abysmal melody, A meeting, an emerging in the light, A dazzle of remembrance and of sight. III There he saw well the foldings in the height Of sleep, the whiteness folded into less, Like many robings, as moving masses are, As a moving mountain is, moving through day And night, colored from distances, central Where luminous agitations come to rest, In an ever-changing, calmest unity, The unique composure, harshest streakings joined In a vanishing-vanished violet that wraps round The giant body the meanings of its folds, The weaving and the crinkling and the vex, As on water of an afternoon in the wind After the wind has passed. Sleep realized Was the whiteness that is the ultimate intellect, A diamond jubilance beyond the fire, That gives its power to the wild-ringed eye. Then he breathed deeply the deep atmosphere Of sleep, the accomplished, the fulfilling air. IV There peace, the godolphin and fellow, estranged, estranged, Hewn in their middle as the beam of leaves, The prince of shither-shade and tinsel lights, Stood flourishing the world. The brilliant height And hollow of him by its brilliance calmed, Its brightness burned the way good solace seethes. This was peace after death, the brother of sleep, The inhuman brother so much like, so near, Yet vested in a foreign absolute, Adorned with cryptic stones and sliding shines, An immaculate personage in nothingness, With the whole spirit sparkling in its cloth, Generations of the imagination piled In the manner of its stitchings, of its thread, In the weaving round the wonder of its need, And the first flowers upon it, an alphabet By which to spell out holy doom and end, A bee for the remembering of happiness. Peace stood with our last blood adorned, last mind, Damasked in the originals of green, A thousand begettings of the broken bold. This is that figure stationed at our end, Always, in brilliance, fatal, final, formed Out of our lives to keep us in our death, To watch us in the summer of Cyclops Underground, a king as candle by our beds In a robe that is our glory as he guards. V But she that says good-by losing in self The sense of self, rosed out of prestiges Of rose, stood tall in self not symbol, quick And potent, an influence felt instead of seen. She spoke with backward gestures of her hand. She held men closely with discovery, Almost as speed discovers, in the way Invisible change discovers what is changed, In the way what was has ceased to be what is. It was not her look but a knowledge that she had. She was a self that knew, an inner thing, Subtler than look's declaiming, although she moved With a sad splendor, beyond artifice, Impassioned by the knowledge that she had, There on the edges of oblivion. O exhalation, O fling without a sleeve And motion outward, reddened and resolved From sight, in the silence that follows her last word-- VI This is the mythology of modern death And these, in their mufflings, monsters of elegy, Of their own marvel made, of pity made, Compounded and compounded, life by life, These are death's own supremest images, The pure perfections of parental space, The children of a desire that is the will, Even of death, the beings of the mind In the light-bound space of the mind, the floreate flare... It is a child that sings itself to sleep, The mind, among the creatures that it makes, The people, those by which it lives and dies.

P.S. This phrase itself is worthy of a Yale literary seminar.

Padam Padam Versions: #1#2 This tune which haunts me day and night This tune wasn't written today It comes from as far away as I come Dragged around by a hundred thousand musicains One day this tune will drive me mad A hundred times I've wanted to say why But it's interrupted me It always speaks before i do And its voice drowns out my voice Padam...padam...padam It comes running up behind me Padam...padam...padam It plays me the trick of: do you remember Padam...padam...padam It is a tune that points me out And I drag after me like a mistake child This tune that knows everything by heart It says: "Remember your loves Remember because it's your turn There's no reason why you shouldn't cry Encumbered with your memories "And me, I see again those who remain My 20 years * make the drum beat I see the succession of gestures flash by All the comedy of love To this tune which just keeps playing Padam...padam...padam The "I love you"s of 14th July ** Padam...padam...padam... The "always" that you buy dirt cheap Padam...padam...padam The "would you's" are there in piles And all this to come upon on the corner of the street This tune that recognised me Listen to the commotion which it causes me As if my whole past went marching by Need to keep some sorrow for later I've got scores full in this tune which beats. Which beats like a wooden heart https://lyricstranslate.com/en/padam-padam-padam-padam.html-7

Seems like what one should have done all along.