Saturday, September 26, 2015


Last evening

With the blessing of decent health, this is the cap of life. Venus, Orion and Sirius in a black sky. And is this final Saturday in September at last that morning I waited for all summer, that long awaited dawn when it's a bit too cool to stay outside on the porch without an extra shirt? Not quite: a comfortable 64F but 95% humidity. Not quite yet. Soon, very soon.

Blather personified as TheD shifts his aim from Jeb! to Gator. Substance? Is there anything to TheD but ego and arrogance? How much do you weigh, TheD? Why do you want to know? So that if you ever fall into a vat of xxx we will know how much to dip out. Henry II, where are you when we need you?

Angry fingerpointing as Mecca deaths go over 700. Something about us is compelled to find someone to blame, someone, anyone, anyone else. Easier if there's already someone we hate. Who went to the cowboy movie at a Saturday morning kiddie matinee at the Ritz Theatre and watched a cattle stampede saw that when panic ignites, animals go instantly out of control. Cattle range, hajj, soccerfans, or fleeing a battlefield, when we panic, we regress to animals. 

Unending and endless wave after wave of migrant tsunami as anti-immigrant demonstrations erupt in Finland. In South Carolina, “The possibility of a wave of refugees … critics worry they will burden services and alter the character of communities” (NYT). In a civilized world, crisis and human need must be fed, clothed, housed; but “burden the services and alter the character of communities” hardly begins to touch the magnitude of the arising and looming sociopolitical catastrophe. To wit like it or not: free immigration in the British Empire.

Fool me once, shame on you. Volkswagen hopes the world of fools will soon trust VW again. Fool me twice, shame on me.

Having brought shame and disgrace on FIFA, Sepp Blatter target of criminal investigation. Is Sepp simply dementia incompetent or just one more greedy power-lusting corporate crook.

As John Boehner sits behind the pope, tearfully watching, listening and hearing, his childhood upbringing surfaces victorious. For the first time in memory, self-reflection on the Christian message has shamed a politician into resigning and going home. If only every sermon could be so moving. If only there were more former Altar boys in Congress. We can thank John for his service, but those who want to come after him overzealously believe that this is war not politics. The proper art of war is unconditional surrender. The reality art of politics is compromise.

Dawn today

At this age and stage, one of my favorite poems is Lewis Carroll's

"You are old, Father William," the young man said,
"And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head—
Do you think, at your age, it is right?"

"In my youth," Father William replied to his son,
"I feared it might injure the brain;
But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again."

and so forth. Carroll's poem is parody, a somewhat sarcastic take-off on Robert Southey's pious original:

"You are old, father William," the young man cried,
"The few locks which are left you are grey;
You are hale, father William, a hearty old man;
Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"In the days of my youth," father William replied,
"I remember'd that youth would fly fast,
And abus'd not my health and my vigour at first,
That I never might need them at last."

"You are old, father William," the young man cried,
"And pleasures with youth pass away.
And yet you lament not the days that are gone;
Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"In the days of my youth," father William replied,
"I remember'd that youth could not last;
I thought of the future, whatever I did,
That I never might grieve for the past."

"You are old, father William," the young man cried,
"And life must be hast'ning away;
You are cheerful and love to converse upon death;
Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"I am cheerful, young man," father William replied,
"Let the cause thy attention engage;
In the days of my youth I remember'd my God!
And He hath not forgotten my age."

Unsure whether I see myself more vividly in Southey or Carroll.

Sign of peace this dawning?

If not peace, hope?

Thos+ in +Time+

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