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Never Happy

When I lived in Manhattan, I never needed to know when winter officially arrived. I could count on one particular coworker to announce it. The official date changed every year, but he never failed to signify it by dropping by my office first thing in the morning, a Starbucks commuting coffee mug in his hand, and saying, “Boy, oh, boy, do you believe how cold it is? Damn!”

Having just peeled off watch cap, ear muffs, scarf, gloves, and a ten pound top coat, I could — while watching the sleet moving horizontally across the windows — say with some conviction, “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do believe how cold it is.”

With this exchange, the first of a daily ritual that would be repeated between us for months without variation, I knew that winter had been declared open.

In New York City, there are really only two seasons — “Winter” and “Street Repair.” Winter was cold and inconvenient. “Street Repair” was hot and inconvenient. My coworker wasn’t happy with either. Yet he never failed to announce the beginning of “Road Work.” The official date changed every year, but he never failed to signify it by dropping by my office first thing in the morning, his Starbucks commuting coffee mug in his hand, and saying, “Boy, oh, boy, do you believe how hot it is? Damn!”

He was a living, breathing, mind-numbing example of why the number two fantasy of people who work in offices is the ruthless slaughter of one or more of their coworkers. (The number one fantasy? I don’t have to tell you. You know. And you should be ashamed of yourself.)

When I moved to southern California, this was one little daily irritation I was happy to leave behind along with “Winter” and “Road Work.” Southern California has only one season, “Traffic,” but since you have to go to “Traffic” in order to be in season that was okay. I no longer needed to kill my coworker, only tailgaters.

As a hermit in the hills above Laguna Beach, however, I discovered another two seasons — “No birds” and “Birds.” That’s otherwise known as “Not Spring” and “Spring.” When the birds leave sometime around the Christmas holidays, you don’t really notice it. At least I didn’t until I passed a neighbor, ye olde Starbucks commuting coffee mug in his hand, on his daily constitutional and he said, “Boy, oh, boy, do you believe how quiet it is? Damn! Sure wish the birds would come back.”

He walked on but I stopped and turned slowly to look at him. Brief memories of fantasized mayhem washed over my mind until I shook my head and thought, “No. Can’t be. Just your imagination,” and went on my way.

But, of course, what couldn’t be, was. Over the course of the next few months, I’d pass this neighbor on our overlapping walks and he’d invariably say, just to be neighborly, “Boy, oh, boy, do you believe how quiet it is? Damn! Sure wish the birds would come back.”

In time, of course, the birds, as birds will, did come back. I noticed it one day when, just at dawn, a bird woke me with a Bachesque series of trills and calls. A day or so later, when passing my neighbor on the hill, he said, “Boy, oh, boy, did you hear that bird this morning? Terrific!”

But nature is not decorative no matter how much we might wish it would be. Where you have one bird, you get two. When you have two, you get ten. And ten is just the prelude to a hundred or even more, as Alfred Hitchcock knew.

About a month after the first return of the birds, I was awakened by a cacophony of bird calls hooting and screeching at the first crack of light. I shrugged it off and went outside to get the paper from the drive way. My bird-loving neighbor lives diagonally across the intersection. I picked up the paper to go inside when I heard the sliding door to his deck open. I looked across and saw him in his underwear stagger sleepily out into the rising and falling cloud of colorful bird calls, wipe the sleep from his sad eyes, and shout out into the pristine morning, “Shut… UP!”

Even in paradise it seems that some people are never really happy. Must be the traffic.


[Note: I don’t write a lot about “blogging” mostly because it always feels like some arcane techno version of Inside Baseball. Today’s article by Robert Tracinski, however, makes some valuable and salient points about our rush to convenience at the expense of free speech and free expression and a free and uncensored internet. — GVDL ]

“Was social media a mistake? Two recent events crystallized my answer to this question. First, conservative comedian Steven Crowder had his Twitter account suspended for a week because he posted a video on YouTube that was critical of “gender fluidity” and used a Bad Word. The video was also pulled from YouTube, which you might not think of as a social media platform, even though it definitely is.

“Then Brandon Morse noticed Twitter was preventing him from tweeting a link to an article by a controversial conservative columnist. This follows stories of Google-owned YouTube “demonetizing” videos by conservatives, unplugging them from the ability to make money from ads, and Facebook and Google targeting conservative sites for hilariously inaccurate and tendentious “fact checks.” It’s becoming clear that the big social media companies are targeting ideas and thinkers on the Right, and not just the far-out provocateurs and trolls like Milo Yianopoulos, but everyone.

“What strikes me most is the contrast between this and the Internet era before social media, before Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube swallowed up everything. I’m talking about the 2000s, the great era of the blogs. Do you remember what that blog era was like? It felt like liberation.

“The era of blogging offered the promise of a decentralized media. Anybody could publish and comment on the news and find an audience. Guys writing in their pajamas could take down Dan Rather. We were bypassing the old media gatekeepers. And we had control over it! We posted on our own sites. We had good discussions in our own comment fields, which we moderated. I had and still have an extensive e-mail list of readers who are interested in my work, most of which I built up in that period, before everybody moved onto social media.

“But then Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube came along and killed the blogs. There were three main reasons they took over.

“The first was that maintaining your own website is kind of a bother. It doesn’t cost much money to buy a web address, set up hosting, load up WordPress, and get going—but social media sites are free. It does cost a fair bit of time to set up and moderate a blog and to deal with the various technological complications that arise. Figuring out how to post ads or take subscriptions and get paid for your work is even more time-consuming…..


“So the blogs were mostly outcompeted. A few of the best and most interesting blogs became full-fledged online publications, but a lot of the small, quirky, one-person amateur bloggers moved onto social media. That turned out to be a big mistake, because the era of social media has recentralized the media. Instead of a million blogs—what Glenn Reynolds of Instapundit fame called an “Army of Davids“—we now have a social media economy mostly controlled by three big companies: Twitter, Facebook, and Google.

“So we get shadowbanning, arbitrary Twitter suspensions, and Twitter throttling the traffic of people they don’t like and controlling what articles you can tweet links to. We traded the old mainstream media gatekeepers for new, worse, less publicly accountable gatekeepers in Silicon Valley—a new breed of pinch-nosed Puritans with pink hair, piercings, and tattoos, who will shut us down if we don’t use the right pronouns….

RTWT AT  Was Social Media A Mistake? Here’s An Experiment To Find Out


Timelapse of the Entire Universe:

On a cosmic time scale, human history is as brief as the blink of an eye. By compressing all 13.8 billion years of time into a 10 minute scale, this video shows just how young we truly are, and just how ancient and vast our universe is. Starting with the big bang and culminating in the appearance of homo sapiens, this experience follows the unfolding of time at 22 million years per second, adhering closely to current scientific understanding.

Who knows? Perhaps the entire expansion and then contraction of this Universe, our Universe, is but one breath in the life of God.

Or are we yet the center of such circles,
our fall a rise above the shawl of night,
where all shall shine contained within
that single soul, that heart of stars;
that interface where souls and suns
and Earth’s far scattered waters meet?

– – Interface

“God is the photograph of everything at once.” Seen from the Outside.


in Just- spring by ee cummings

in Just-
spring       when the world is mud-
luscious the little lame baloonman 

whistles       far       and wee

and eddyandbill come 
running from marbles and 
piracies and it's 

when the world is puddle-wonderful 

the queer 
old baloonman whistles 
far       and       wee 
and bettyandisbel come dancing 

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and


baloonMan       whistles 

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A post shared by Swayzeelife (@swayzeelife) on

“I shall wear my glassfloor breaking HillaryBubble Suit as I insanely exceed my namesake Sir Edmund Hillary’s conquest of Mount Everest by becoming the first woman to reach the summit … and stay there.”


Let’s Review 55: “Curate” Ate My Lists

The sudden ubiquity of the verb “curate” gives one the feeling that a sort of linguistic occupation force crept in and took over in the dead of night. It is as if everyone else went to a workshop on the subject while you were fast asleep, and then you awoke, like Rip Van Winkle, to a changed world, full of new locutions you were expected to adopt instantly, without the benefit of explanation or justification. When, and why, did break-ins become “home invasions”? When, and why, did the weatherman begin referring to rain and snow as “precipitation events”?

It’s Probably Nothing 1: Facebook failing, Zuckerberg and Sandberg absent: Meanwhile, executives are selling shares like crazy, including a plan by Mark Zuckerberg to sell almost $13 billion worth of shares by mid-2019.

It’s Probably Nothing 2: China is banning people with bad ‘social credit’ from using planes and trains

The whole aim of practical politics is to keep the populace alarmed (and hence clamorous to be led to safety) by menacing it with an endless series of hobgoblins, all of them imaginary. ~H. L. Mencken

President Trump: Rocking the Swamp With Who’s Next The president’s administration was in chaos in a time of national crisis, one in which the very fate of our free republic hung in the balance. There were internecine battles inside his cabinet, which was composed of many who opposed, and in some instances sought, his position. There were vitriolic condemnations of him as a “tyrant” and a “baboon” (among reams of other epithets) from the opposition party and the enemy. And, yes, there was a hostile press to report every scurrilous charge, juicy rumor and latest defeat regarding the president. Yet, while irritating, this was not the president’s primary concern. What mattered was saving America; and finding the generals he needed to do it.

‘They’ll squash you like a bug’: how Silicon Valley keeps a lid on leakers “You go into Facebook and it has this warm, fuzzy feeling of ‘we’re changing the world’ and ‘we care about things’. But you get on their bad side and all of a sudden you are face to face with [Facebook CEO] Mark Zuckerberg’s secret police.”

Forget Watergate. It will be the distant past once the Inspector General’s reports—there apparently will be more than one—start to come out. This will be the “Gate of Gates.” The Reckoning of the FBI Has Begun | Roger L. Simon

Don’t Let Liberals Win By Making You Care I guess this means we don’t meet your exacting moral standards anymore. Oh wait, we already failed that test – all of us have the blood of children on our hands because a school got shot up by some creep who wasn’t us that Democrat-led government agencies knew about and failed to stop. [click to continue…]

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“You ought to know not to stand by the window / Somebody see you up there”

After the Towers fell on 9/11 this was on heavy rotation in my Brooklyn apartment looking out on “The Pile”across the river where the fires would burn, burn deep for many months.

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Go With the Throw

“When I was a boy I had a fleeting glimpse
Out of the corner of my eye”

— Pink Floyd, Comfortably Numb

The inscape of our world is always with us, omnipresent; a third that walks beside us. We are the ones who shut it out, who lose the thread when tangled in the web of daily events, who forever forget that we can always remember.

To live always in the light, in the presence of the now, is something that is perhaps only possible for saints, as it is, for brief moments, available to poets. The power and luminosity rising out of the base ground of being can easily overwhelm our reduced senses; can strike us dumb, leave us numb.

20 And he said, Thou canst not see my face: for there shall no man see me, and live. Exodus 33

At the same time this state of being is the state that we seek in our blind tapping towards God, thirsting for the merest sip of it, listening for the smallest hint of it, when we are in prayer or meditation, or satisfied at last to just sit silently with ourselves.

At times we despair and turn our back on it, the pearl of great price we shall never possess, never grasp in this life. But the hints persist and proliferate always in the natural world about us. They haunt us in the shadows of our soul. To have tasted the smallest crumb initiates a hunger never slaked by the senses alone. Once seen, even in the briefest glimpse, the sight is never forgotten. But if we drop our shields just a bit, we can see glimmer of that greater light almost at will.

Here’s one technique for reaffirming the basic evidence of wonder in our world; that the world is made of a perceptible mystery beyond our means of measuring, but not beyond all sight unless we will ourselves blind.
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Vile, raddled, drunk old shrike takes yet another tumble – If Trump never accomplished one single thing other than pulling this monstrous, power-mad harpy’s fangs for good, the nation would still owe him an enormous debt of gratitude. Instead of receiving even the slightest sympathy from real Americans, the Hildebeast ought to be attacked and/or mocked every time the opportunity presents itself—vigorously, venomously, and without mercy or hesitation, right up until the day when she takes yet another of her habitual dipsomaniacal tumbles and breaks her filthy fucking neck at last.

Hillary and ‘What Happened’ in India Hillary’s attire for her acrobatic spill was a jaunty straw hat, strappy Birkenstocks, a kurti, and capris that resembled enormous white sails. Even stranger than her getup were Hillary’s male escorts, especially since a few days prior, she had accused white females of leaning on men to tell them how to vote.

The sad plight of Hillary Clinton Women like Clinton have spent their entire adult lives hating the society in which they live and wanting to change it. They’ve spent their entire adult lives trying to convince other women to hate the society in which they live and wanting to change it. How exhausting. So, after all that time, after all those decades of trying to get women to think as feminists do, imagine what it was like for Clinton to be rejected by more than half of the women who look like her (white). Even worse, she lost them to a white alpha male who (wisely) rejects the feminist label and who represents everything feminists have fought against for decades?

Compassionate Racism | The reason America has urban reservations full of useless black people is the rich people in charge of us ran out of ways to fix things like black crime and poverty. They simply got tired of shoveling the sand of egalitarianism and the blank slate , against the tide of biological and racial reality. The great cultural revolution that started in the middle of the last century was not the liberation of blacks and women, as is always claimed. It was the liberation of rich people from their duties to the lower classes and society as a whole.

“The timid civilized world has found nothing with which to oppose the onslaught of a sudden revival of barefaced barbarity, other than concessions and smiles. The spirit of Munich is a sickness of the will of successful people, it is the daily condition of those who have given themselves up to the thirst after prosperity at any price, to material well-being as the chief goal of earthly existence. Such people— and there are many in today’s world—elect passivity and retreat, just so as their accustomed life might drag on a bit longer, just so as not to step over the threshold of hardship today—and tomorrow, you’ll see, it will all be all right. But it will never be all right! The price of cowardice will only be evil; we shall reap courage and victory only when we dare to make sacrifices.” — Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
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Woman #1: I don’t think I have ever met a man who is an extreme Leftie Democrat who isn’t a complete pussy.

Why is it that virtually all males whose sentiments lay at that end of the political spectrum all seem to be girly men, gay, 98-pound weaklings, failures at business, librarians, fops, Ned Flanders, Hollywood entertainers who would not be employed otherwise, or ankle-biting sycophants? I’ve never met a man who calls himself a “feminist” or supports OxFam to be the least bit attractive. Is there a connection between low testosterone and supporting Libtard causes?

Woman #2: Dudette, you triggered my soapbox button! :-P

It started in the 70s. Men started saying they were feminists so they could get laid. These things usually come down to one or all of three things: money, sex, power.

Throughout the 70s, 80s and 90s, men fell into a state of general confuzzlement about women. Open the door and be called a male chauvinist pig, or don’t open the door and be called a rude, mysoginist asshole?

Tough call.

Men are always trying to figure out what women want. Women are constantly amazed that men are not psychic. Men aren’t especially fond of loud, rage-filled, man-hating chicks, but it was de rigeur back then, for my generation, to be *powerful,* and for we young women, anger was often confused with power. So even though many of us were obnoxious, men put up with it, because they still wanted to have sex with us.
This is where the pussification started.

RTWT: The Pussification of Western Men

[HT Never Yet Melted]


Pure Science


Titanium skaters on lakes of metallic hydrogen
Strew constant curves of crystalline
Isotopes of orange uranium
All about our vacant house.

Enigmas of equations
Slide lattices to rest
In beds of powdered strontium,
Molding energy as form suggests.

In the place of flux we find new forms,
And our flux-formed spaces fold
The charms of magnet’s fever
Which conduct the core from pole to pole.
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How To Stop School Shootings

A Sane Man speaks out: “You can’t “out progress” evil. Two things can be right at once: a gun can be used for evil, a gun can be used for good.”


Drive-By: Elizabeth Warren. Obviously.

HappyAcres (@HappyHectares) | Twitter


“Live Not By Lies” — Alexander Solzhenitsyn

The simplest and most accessible key to our self-neglected liberation lies right here: Personal non-participation in lies. Though lies conceal everything, though lies embrace everything, but not with any help from me.

This opens a breach in the imaginary encirclement caused by our inaction. It is the easiest thing to do for us, but the most devastating for the lies. Because when people renounce lies it simply cuts short the lies’ existence. Like an infection, they can exist only in a living organism.

We do not exhort ourselves. We have not sufficiently matured to march into the squares and shout the truth our loud or to express aloud what we think. It’s not necessary.

It’s dangerous. But let us refuse to say that which we do not think.

This is our path, the easiest and most accessible one, which takes into account our inherent cowardice, already well rooted. And it is much easier—it’s dangerous even to say this—than the sort of civil disobedience which Gandhi advocated.

Our path is to talk away from the gangrenous boundary. If we did not paste together the dead bones and scales of ideology, if we did not sew together the rotting rags, we would be astonished how quickly the lies would be rendered helpless and subside.

That which should be naked would then really appear naked before the whole world.

So in our timidity, let each of us make a choice: Whether consciously, to remain a servant of falsehood—of course, it is not out of inclination, but to feed one’s family, that one raises his children in the spirit of lies—or to shrug off the lies and become an honest man worthy of respect both by one’s children and contemporaries.

And from that day onward he:

  • Will not henceforth write, sign, or print in any way a single phrase which in his opinion distorts the truth.
  • Will utter such a phrase neither in private conversation not in the presence of many people, neither on his own behalf not at the prompting of someone else, either in the role of agitator, teacher, educator, not in a theatrical role.
  • Will not depict, foster or broadcast a single idea which he can only see is false or a distortion of the truth whether it be in painting, sculpture, photography, technical science, or music.
  • Will not cite out of context, either orally or written, a single quotation so as to please someone, to feather his own nest, to achieve success in his work, if he does not share completely the idea which is quoted, or if it does not accurately reflect the matter at issue.
  • Will not allow himself to be compelled to attend demonstrations or meetings if they are contrary to his desire or will, will neither take into hand not raise into the air a poster or slogan which he does not completely accept.
  • Will not raise his hand to vote for a proposal with which he does not sincerely sympathize, will vote neither openly nor secretly for a person whom he considers unworthy or of doubtful abilities.
  • Will not allow himself to be dragged to a meeting where there can be expected a forced or distorted discussion of a question. Will immediately talk out of a meeting, session, lecture, performance or film showing if he hears a speaker tell lies, or purvey ideological nonsense or shameless propaganda.
  • Will not subscribe to or buy a newspaper or magazine in which information is distorted and primary facts are concealed. Of course we have not listed all of the possible and necessary deviations from falsehood. But a person who purifies himself will easily distinguish other instances with his purified outlook.

No, it will not be the same for everybody at first. Some, at first, will lose their jobs. For young people who want to live with truth, this will, in the beginning, complicate their young lives very much, because the required recitations are stuffed with lies, and it is necessary to make a choice. Alexander Solzhenitsyn — Live Not By Lies


“When Men Get Bored: ” Forging A Pizza

Carpenter and master blacksmith Scott Wadsworth, one of my favorite Americans and a most Essential Craftsman, has this little diversion on his shockingly good You Tube Channel: The Essential Craftsman.

The forge in question runs up to around 2,100 – 2,200 degrees. Pizza Hut needs to just Sit. Down.

[CONTINUING our discussions of “What If?” when it comes to drastic solutions to the current American experience Kurt Schlichter is on point this morning.]

Won’t look like rain. Won’t look like snow.
Won’t look like fog. That’s all we know.

Bartholomew and the Oobleck

Let’s talk terrain and numbers. Remember the famous red v. blue voting map? There is a lot of red, and in the interior the few blue splotches are all cities like Las Vegas or Denver. That is a lot of territory for a counter-insurgent force to control, and this is critical. The red is where the food is grown, the oil pumped, and through which everything is transported. And that red space is filled with millions of American citizens with small arms, a fairly large percentage of whom have military training.

Remember what two untrained idiots did in Boston with a couple of pistols? They shut a city down. Now multiply that by several million, with better weapons and training.
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