
Right now on Amazon these three titles pretty much sum up the major political predilections of America. I’m reading Number 2 and I could have written number 3. As for Number 1, I’m hoping to meet Michael Wolff so I can turn him into compost.
Right now on Amazon these three titles pretty much sum up the major political predilections of America. I’m reading Number 2 and I could have written number 3. As for Number 1, I’m hoping to meet Michael Wolff so I can turn him into compost.
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from EAST COKER — Eliot
Home is where one starts from. As we grow older
The world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated
Of dead and living. Not the intense moment
Isolated, with no before and after,
But a lifetime burning in every moment
And not the lifetime of one man only
But of old stones that cannot be deciphered.
There is a time for the evening under starlight,
A time for the evening under lamplight
(The evening with the photograph album).
Love is most nearly itself
When here and now cease to matter.
Old men ought to be explorers
Here or there does not matter
We must be still and still moving
Into another intensity
For a further union, a deeper communion
Through the dark cold and the empty desolation,
The wave cry, the wind cry, the vast waters
Of the petrel and the porpoise. In my end is my beginning.
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Beneath the Aegean
When all Earth’s seas shall Levitate,
Dark shawled within the skies,
Upon our eyes will Starfish dance
Their waltz of Blind surprise.
The sun will Rise within wine Dark
As Argonauts imbibed,
Whose drunken arms embrace that sleep
Where Phaeton’s horses Stride.
Upon all of Earth’s wind-sanded shores,
As dolphins Learn to soar,
All we once were on the land
Shall be sealed behind the door
Of Ivory and Chastened Gold,
That the Mystery solved complete
Shall never til the seas’ Long fall
Wake mariners from their sleep.
— Van der Leun
Your Say
Song of Myself
I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this
air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their
parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.
— Walt Whitman
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
— The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot
SPRING
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#2 Jordan Peterson is a giant plus to the human race. It is difficult for me to fathom that he is a Canadian.
#3 I have not read the book but will do so. The title is a description of what I am.
I just got Peterson’s book as a Valentine’s Day gift – and anybody our age who’s been through “feminism,” multiple divorces, the loss of children, breakdowns and The Age of Obama learned about not giving a fuck loooong ago.
Still here.
#1, Utter delusion, the national pastime.
#2, Traditional reason, the national squandering.
#3, Apathy, the national undercurrent.
#4 is probably an advisory on not playing in freeways in order to remain living.
Give a nation everything and then watch it throw it all away.
I now have Jordan Peterson’s book; I’ve only just begun it, but it’s already blowing my mind. Powerful, well-written, and to the point.
The first book I don’t need to buy, it’s been read almost cover to cover, on-air, by CNN & MSNBC, where it has replaced the Bible. The third book I’ve already pretty well mastered.
Highly recommended: this conversation between Peterson and Camille Paglia. It made me feel like I’ve sipped through a very small straw at a Niagra of knowledge, and is far too short. If anyone could forbid Paglia from saying the word “okay,” though- she would be unable to speak! See if I’m wrong:
https://youtu.be/v-hIVnmUdXM
An admirable ambition, he would make good compost.