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While I revel in the death of no one, I cannot abide the hagiographic nonsense that is presently being offered by persons across the spectrum about how recently departed Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia was “passionate” and brilliant, ad infinitum. There is nothing brilliant about putrescence, nothing insightful and worthwhile about venality posing as insight. To say that there is nothing unconstitutional about executing innocent people (as he did in fact say), or that it’s OK to imprison persons for “gay sex,” among other things, is never the work of a genius no matter the big words and poetic flair with which they might say it. Those opinions are evil, vile and worthy of utter derision. They are not the work of a genius, but a fetid little man whose moral calibration slouched towards those of Torquemada and the Inquisitors. I feel for his family and mourn their personal loss. And that is the extent of my mourning, as it is the only type of which one such as this is deserving.
—Tim Wise |
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Well Done...
“It is good to love many things, for therein lies the true strength, and whosoever loves much performs much, and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is well done.” - Vincent van Gogh |
Show
“Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.” - Anton Chekhov |
To...
To hear never-heard sounds, To see never-seen colors and shapes, To try to understand the imperceptible Power pervading the world; To fly and find pure ethereal substances That are not of matter But of that invisible soul pervading reality. To hear another soul and to whisper to another soul; To be a lantern in the darkness Or an umbrella in a stormy day; To feel much more than know. To be the eyes of an eagle, slope of a mountain; To be a wave understanding the influence of the moon; To be a tree and read the memory of the leaves; To be an insignificant pedestrian on the streets Of crazy cities watching, watching, and watching. To be a smile on the face of a woman And shine in her memory As a moment saved without planning. - Dejan Stojanovic |
Your journey...
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Walt Whitman's Song of Myself #21
I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul,
The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me, The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate into a new tongue. I am the poet of the woman the same as the man, And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man, And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men. I chant the chant of dilation or pride, We have had ducking and deprecating about enough, I show that size is only development. Have you outstript the rest? are you the President? It is a trifle, they will more than arrive there every one, and still pass on. I am he that walks with the tender and growing night, I call to the earth and sea half-held by the night. Press close bare-bosom'd night — press close magnetic nourishing night! Night of south winds — night of the large few stars! Still nodding night — mad naked summer night. Smile O voluptuous cool-breath'd earth! Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees! Earth of departed sunset — earth of the mountains misty-topt! Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just tinged with blue! Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river! Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake! Far-swooping elbow'd earth — rich apple-blossom'd earth! Smile, for your lover comes. Prodigal, you have given me love — therefore I to you give love! O unspeakable passionate love. |
Poema Del Renunciamiento José Angel Buesa Pasaras por mi vida sin saber que pasaste. Pasaras en silencio por mi amor, y al pasar, fingire una sonrisa, como un dulce contraste del dolor de quererte ... y jamas lo sabrás. Soñare con el nacar virginal de tu frente; soñare con tus ojos de esmeraldas de mar; soñare con tus labios desesperadamente; soñare con tus besos ... y jamás lo sabrás. Quizas pases con otro que te diga al oido esas frases que nadie como yo te dirá; y, ahogando para siempre mi amor inadvertido, te amare más que nunca ... y jamás lo sabrás. Yo te amare en silencio, como algo inaccesible, como un sueño que nunca lograré realizar; y el lejano perfume de mi amor imposible rozará tus cabellos ... y jamás lo sabrás. Y si un día una lágrima denuncia mi tormento, -- el tormento infinito que te debo ocultar -- te diré sonriente: "No es nada ... ha sido el viento". Me enjugaré la lágrima ... ¡y jamás lo sabrás! |
Note: The words for this poem are in the above/previous post. |
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“The best thing for being sad," replied Merlin, beginning to puff and blow, "is to learn something. That's the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then — to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the only thing for you. Look what a lot of things there are to learn.”
― T.H. White, The Once and Future King |
We must travel in the direction of our fear. ― John Berryman
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