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However, it’s Coolidge’s A Friend in Need that became the most popular of the lot. The title comes from the fact that the bulldog in the foreground is seen secretly slipping an ace to his partner, while his competitors give side-glances around the table. Perhaps it’s this sly, yet playful depiction of deceit applied to man’s best, most loyal friend that makes the painting so amusing. Although the original has never been up for sale, it’s thought to be worth millions of dollars. The Story Behind the “Dogs Playing Poker” Painting

“I wonder what the founders of this country would have thought if they could have looked 200 plus years into the future and watch the nomination of a Supreme Court Justice descend into arguing about whether the nominee, in his youth, made a fart joke?” The Morning Rant

Watch Scientists Accidentally Blow Up Their Lab With The Strongest Indoor Magnetic Field Ever

Forgetting Venezuela’s Animals | Joel D. Hirst’s Blog Its bad enough to starve your people – but endangered animals wasting away, eyes clouding over as a great lion or a once-powerful tiger struggle to their feet to limp over to the muddy green pond to take a drink, lapping up the muck, their only sustenance, till they no longer have the strength even for that. Imprisoned unto death while the revolutionary government abdicates its role in their care and the corpulent dictator imbibes fine wines a world away, where the zoo still has visitors and the animals, flesh. A prize stallion, whinnying in terror as the mob steals in at night to slaughter him – noble flesh bred for strength and endurance now adorning the business end of a kebab over a fire set in a rusted garbage can. [click to continue…]

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Their Brains Were Small and They Died

THEIR BRAINS WERE SMALL AND THEY DIED
By Mark Graham

When I sit in contemplation
Of our human situation
I often get a certain sense of pride
Our achievements are many and mighty
The evidence cannot be denied

But my reverie is shaken and my thoughts are always taken
By that tragedy that happened long ago
When they moved through the land
Beings awesome and grand, the fabulous dinosaur

They were creatures in a manner quite reptilian
In their unique and stylish way
And their numbers could be reckoned in the millions
But there are zero of these heroes in the world today

They had music, art and fashion, there was dinosauric passion
And I think they’d be enraged and mortified
When they’re mentioned today it is only to say
Their brains were small and they died

Perhaps some asteroid that Mother Earth could not avoid
Became the agent of their premature demise
I’ve heard these things can happen but who are we to criticize
When we spend most any price to make the ultimate device
That insures a perfect global suicide
I would venture instead that the humanoid head
Is where the tinier brain resides

And when we’re gone our works will start to crumble
Till nothing can be found
In ten million years some other guy
Will stumble on our fossils
And some expert will begin to expound
In some scientific study to his cockroach science buddy
How the evidence can never be denied
They were big, dumb and slow
They couldn’t go with the flow
Their brains were small and they died

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OregonMuse at Ace’s The Morning Rant speaks for me:

“I think Christine Blasey Ford is a fake and a phony, and here’s why: she should’ve been even more outraged than Kavanaugh at what the Democrats did to her. Ford supposedly sent a letter to the Democrat congresswoman detailing her allegations about Kavanaugh with the understanding that her name would be kept confidential.

“Now we can discuss whether that’s a reasonable expectation given the nature of her accusations (hint: it isn’t), but she was either promised confidentiality or was led to expect it. But whatever the case, her name was immediately leaked to the media and the reporters came knocking on her door. So, in other words, she was lied to. Deliberately lied to, and she complained about getting death threats because of the leak. But where’s her outrage?

“It’s clearly some Democrat who leaked her name, but Ford’s reaction was strangely muted. She was like, yeah, I got death threats, but now let’s talk about the horrible things Brett Kavanaugh did to me. If that had happened to me, if I was some innocent, random apolitical citizen of the sort the Democrats are presenting Ford as, who entrusted my confidentiality to a politician who then turned around and broadcast my personal information to score political points, and turned my life into a circus, I’d be screaming bloody murder. I’d be tearing arms and legs off. Whoever did this to me, I’d be strangling with their own entrails, and no jury would ever convict me.

“That’s how a normal person would react to such a calculated betrayal. And that’s how we know that Ford is not some random citizen, but rather a well-coached, well-financed political operative.

“How she got hooked up with the scum Democrats is irrelevant at this point. ‘Oh, but her story is so credible and believable’ say all the commentators. Yeah, well, look, I got this counterfeit $100 bill here and guess what, it looks very credible and believable, too. That’s the way it was designed to look. To fool people into thinking it’s the real thing.

“Of course, we’re never going to get the real story here, because our media is packed full of partisan hack journalists who refuse to ask any questions which answers might disrupt the narrative they prefer to believe in. It’s like the Democrats have told them ‘Here is an innocent waif who was brutally manhandled by Brett Kavanaugh 36 years ago. Don’t ask any background questions about who she is, where she came from, or why her internet presence has recently been scrubbed.’ And the media replies ‘Yes boss, anything you say, boss. Shaking the tree for you here, boss.’

“It’s enough to make me want to puke.”

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There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

– – The Waste Land

The river gouges its way down into the rock as the stoneland around it surges upwards. The cracked stacks of strata rise towards the vault of sky at a pace that makes the growth of glaciers seem a sprint. When the river’s downward adze works through the strata’s uplift the walls of the chasm soar thousands of feet up until all they frame is a slim ribbon of blue slashed with contrails.

The road — smooth two lane blacktop on top of an amalgam of granite, grit, arrowheads and dinosaur bones — runs beside the roiling green muck of the Colorado whose banks are fringed with the sharp slate branches of tamarisk ringing patches of lime green cottonwood groves. Along this road mostly carved out of the cliff and still studded at times with sandstone boulders the size of a large house cars and semis scuttle like bronzed beetles catching glints of sun on their carapaces as they slide in and out of the chasm’s shadow.

Across the river or beside the road the vast slabs of rust tinted sandstone first tower and then, towards dark, close in above you like hands beneath the sky closing in prayer. The red rock marches for miles along the river, unpurposed cathedrals of stone for titans long gone down into earth. [click to continue…]

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Onward Into the October Country

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Night Light


The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed.
  — Hopkins

Stepping outside after the fall of first dark. Rose and gold leaves shrugged off the Copper Beech and the Japanese Maple glimmer on the damp pebbled walk in the soft light from the porch. I turn west along the sidewalk towards the corner and glide into the brief shadows of the cedars. There, beyond their edges as I glance up. There, behind the nimbus of mist haloed around the streetlight. There the new moon rises tilted like some open, supplicating palm against the darkening last faint line of day far away.

Cupped in the upturned arc of the new moon I see, faintly, the disk of Earth’s shadow — dark against darker dark.

I’m out on a very small errand for a quart of milk at the corner store. Only a few seconds in the night. Only a few steps in the night when going either to or from. Ordinary. Unremarkable. Mundane.

And yet here I am. Here we all are. Here we prepare with milk and bread for one more day of the Earth turning before the sun; for one more cycle of the moon turning around the Earth. Waning and waxing, in and out of shadow, obscuring and then revealing, and then again obscuring its face. And this cycle (Ordinary. Unremarkable. Mundane.) is one of twelve cycles that adds up to one more cycle of the Earth around its single star. A star that is utterly unremarkable. ( Ordinary. Unremarkable. Mundane.) And that star moving inside its own revolving galaxy, moving at 514,000 miles per hour towards Vega in the constellation Lyra. And from that home star, at only an 8 million mile remove, I — or you — or someone else entirely — steps out into the night and goes to the corner store for a quart of milk. (Ordinary. Unremarkable. Mundane.)

You say you don’t believe in a Creator?

You say you don’t believe in grace?

You say you don’t believe in miracles?

Walk with me to the store for a quart of milk. Walk in star shine from the night lights forged in the impossible fury of the First Moment.

Open your eyes.

Open all your eyes.

Look outside — look beyond — yourself.

Behold.

Vega in Lyra

 

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“Whatever happened to wishes wished upon a star?”

As performed by Balin in the 75th year of his age. So long, Marty, see you a little further down the road.

As recorded by Balin with the Jefferson Airplane in 1966.

Jefferson Airplane vocalist-guitarist Marty Balin, who co-founded the San Francisco psychedelic rock band in 1965 and played a crucial role in the creation of all their 1960s albums, including Surrealistic Pillow and Volunteers, died Thursday at the age of 76. Balin’s rep confirmed the musician’s death to Rolling Stone, though the cause of death is currently unknown.

“At my age my world is starting to be surrounded by passing. I will miss my friends who rest on the banks of the River Of Time and I am reminded to make the most of every moment as I am swept downstream! Marty’s passing reaffirms the power of love, the power of family, the power of possibilities.

“So many of our brothers and sister from that time are gone. Skip Spence, Spencer Dryden, Joey Covington, Paul Kantner, Signe Anderson and now Marty have all joined the Heavenly Band as Rev. Davis would say.

“We were young together. I would like to think we made a difference. As for Grace Slick, Jack Casady and myself…

“Now we are three…”  — Jorma Kaukonen Cracks In The Finish [click to continue…]

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The Grand Inquisitor

El Greco– Portrait of Fernando Nino de Guevara, 1600

Your answers to the Grand Inquisitor
In his wine-stained satin lace,
Are irrelevant as answers
Deduced from deepest space.
Your presence in his universe
Confirms him of your crime.
He seeks to seal all passage,
All escape from space and time.

Behind the science of his spectacles
Lives a mind reduced by power.
A gesture from his languid wrists —
All’s over in an hour.

“We seek to keep our faithful
Baptized, confirmed and saved
From those dark, unknown questions
That live beyond the grave.

“Hunched within my velvet throne,
My pen controls the Door
That opens to the vaults of night
Above the killing floor.” [click to continue…]

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Government by Flake


As stated by Scott Adams just now on his Periscope, “Did we have a government last week? Nope. We had a Jeff Flake. He’s a lame duck. He doesn’t have to run anymore. The voters. The committee. The Senate. All had their say. And in the end, his was the only voice that mattered.”

Jeff Flake Says He Was Moved By ‘Emboldened’ Women, Drive To Make Process ‘Fair’ | HuffPost Flake reached out Friday to Sen. Chris Coons (D-Del.), who’s a fellow member of the Senate Judiciary Committee, and discussions began. After joining  Republicans on a party-line vote to advance Kavanaugh’s nomination out of the committee, Flake then called for an FBI investigation into the accusations against Kavanaugh before a final Senate vote. He made clear that he wanted a probe of “not more” than a week.

“œThis country is being ripped apart here, and we’ve got to make sure we do due diligence,” he told the committee.

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A Deeper Look at the Insect Who Is Not President

Every day in every way be thankful to Trump and to God that this insect in STILL NOT PRESIDENT! They say this is a “bad lip reading,” but it is really just reality. “It was just the best jungle party. Bill was drooling all over the table.”

And in case you have mercifully forgotten how this insect, Hillary Rodham Gump, rolls here’s a review: [click to continue…]

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“I am the mob” by Don Surber

I am the mob.
I am filled with anger and self-righteousness.
I am sure that my numbers prove me correct.

I ruin men’s lives.
I hang the innocent as well as the guilty.
I exterminate entire races.

I am brainless.
I am educated.
I am drunk on power.

I burn crosses.
I wear masks and hoods.
I storm the house at midnight.

I care not about justice.
I care not about the facts.
I care only about feeling good.

I worked the guillotine till it dulled.
I lynched 4,743 Americans.
I killed 6 million Jews.

I crucified Jesus.

To those who empower me, I must warn:
Once started I will not stop until I consume you.

— Don Surber: I am the mob

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The Code of the West vs the Code of the Left

“A man’s got to have a code, a creed to live by, no matter his job.” — John Wayne

Once upon a time, there was “The Code of the West.” That was long ago, far away and in another country. In the US today “The Code of the Left” seems to prevail in a large swath of the population. I’ve compared the two here.

WEST * Never shoot an unarmed or unwarned enemy. This was also known as “the rattlesnake code”: always warn before you strike. However, if a man was being stalked, this could be ignored.

LEFT * Always smear a blameless or dangerous political enemy. Lying and innuendo are approved and rewarded. Be the rattlesnake. Unless the man is stalking the same office you are. In that case smear early and smear often. Lie big and lie long.

* Don’t inquire into a person’s past. Take the measure of a man for what he is today.

* There are no “people,” only “social policies.” Don’t inquire into a social policy’s past or that policy’s likely consequences for the future. Take the measure of a policy by how closely it maps to the Socialist Utopia that has already killed and crippled hundreds of millions of people. Dream big nightmares.

* Never steal another man’s horse. A horse thief pays with his life.

* Always look to steal another man’s money with a “tax.” Always ask your fellow citizen to reach for his wallet. All tax thieves are rewarded with a fat government pension and fatter health plan. [click to continue…]

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God Stalks the Kavanaugh Hearings | Roger L. Simon Nothing was as expected. A real rape had taken place but it wasn’t the one everyone was talking about. It was simultaneously a rape of Judge Kavanaugh, his family, and the American people themselves. The collateral damage was Dr. Ford, her friends, and her family. And the perpetrator was the Democratic Party, principally their Judiciary Committee members, their ranking member, and the minority leader.

Raconteur Report: Squadron Property And Cultural Rubicons   We’re witnessing the destruction of the entire rule of law to salve the tortured psychoses of sluts with daddy issues, and to pander to their impotent ravings. The only way this stops is to stop catering to it, and failing that due to a surplus of invertebrate RINOs, this is going to be rectified in the traditional manner, When a man’s reputation is sullied so casually, it ends with someone’s teeth on the pavement or a bullet hole in their liver on the dueling field. When you try to do the same thing to half of society, expecting it’ll stop anywhere short of heads on pikes is a pipe dream. And I’m not speaking metaphorically in the slightest.

“Brave New World” – A Book Review | Joel D. Hirst’s Blog There are many planners today, who believe we are only one technocratic “fix” away from a new utopia. They are part of the 9.9% – James Burnham’s ‘managerial elites’. They are dangerous, because while they believe they are creating Huxley’s “World State” where people are free from work and hunger to have limitless sex and take drugs with no hangovers; we now know from our experiences in the 20th century that their efforts will end in Gulags, death marches, famines and mass exodus. [click to continue…]

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“You have nothing to apologize for. When you see Sotomayor and Kagan that Lindsey said hello. I voted for them. I would never do to this what you have done to this guy. In is the most unethical sham since I’ve been in politics.”

I’ve avoided watching the hearing itself because my rage is so complete and so cold it is all I can do to keep from visiting the professors teaching various “Studies” classes at the local college for a full, frank, and high-impact exchange of views as my “thanks” for their work in shaping this travesty.

This excerpt is a more peaceful summing up of what has happened to this great, good man. Note the brief shots of Feinstein and the other insects sitting tohis left. Observe their death masks and their barely concealed shame. Not enough. Those heads need pikes and not necks.

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Not a single knee was down, and I wiped a way a tear.

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A video from the distinguished essayist Richard Fernandez of The Belmont Club. I’ve met him a couple of times in New York City. Never seen him on video before. It’s a first. I think that’s Sydney and the Sydney Harbor Bridge in the background which adds to the authenticity.

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