Born into a dying world we adopt its dying ways
And hasten death with every day we grasp toward the sky
We scorn our saviours from our birth, our tormentors we praise
and cling to poison, kiss our pain, our very souls deny
Thus we as rotting creatures do descend into the mud
So fit to all our characters this purposeful despair
Though baptized late with water, we were baptized first in blood
Our first words incoherant screams, our last words always prayers
And on these amber days with their honeysuckle songs
We remember that which owns us but forget that which we owe
And cherish our due right to commit nothing but wrongs
And so long to ascend we always fix our fate below
O Purgation! Molten slag! Eternity of fire!
O burning taste of hell at the feet of heaven's gate!
If earth's pain cannot tame our hearts before our lives expire,
can there ever be a man who finds his death comes far too late?
Sunday, July 29, 2007
A Nation of Law, Not Men
John Adams should have stuck to the family brewery.
I was watching a democrat on TV this a.m. and she quoted Mr. Adams, that "we are a Nation of laws, not of men" (this in reference to the writ of habeus corpus and the Gitmo "prisoners" (she of course sets the standard for "taking no prisoners")).
A flood of thoughts rolled through my being...of the synedrion...of King George.
The law-givers and the law-interpreters - the lap dogs to tax collectors who look more like Jabba the Hud or Ted Kennedy.
I also thought of our own George. Mr. Washington, I understand, was simply trying to make a go of it as a businessman, but due to inferior product from England and repressive taxes (the teeth of the law), he was unable. Caught in the snare of a free will caged by a repressive King.
I'll bet King George was a fat-assed drunk too. Probably sat around drinking aperatif and eating bon-bons all day while he wiled away the hours talking about Camelot. I wonder what Ted Kennedy does all day?
And then there is our own George - a man, subjugated to the law. One might say enslaved.
Gee whiz, how is this any different than our modern Congress? Our law-givers, and law-interpreters - our own King of tax levee.
I don't know about you, but I feel as if I am in a straight-jacket.
And we are a Nation of laws and not men, indeed! (Consider this source, would you?).
Blood courses in my veins, but not because some Democrat on Capitol Hill deemed it so.
Cursed is the law, and cursed those who incessantly quote it.
I am a man! (and not one defined by the laws of this Congress).
There is a song that I've picked up from an internet radio station...I don't know the band, but it has one of those driving beats punctuated by some minstrel-sounding dude reminiscent of a Rolling Stones diddy. The main riff and verse, I can't get out of my head "Tell me all the rules...girrrrrl - I just want to get along" (da don don don, da don don don, da don don don).
Well, I'm going to tell ya, I'm tired of all the rules, and I'm tired of "just getting along", girlfriend!
Trust me, I am no advocate of revolution...it only leads to pain. However, something has got to change as one begins to weigh the pains that are caused in a system through which there seems to be no redress (and hardly fair when you consider we are the closest thing left that resembles capitalism and we are having to support a world of socialists, all on the government cheese), and that god-forsaken alternative, revolt. Which is the more painful?
When the weighing comes down to this, the scale is so easily tipped.
The hippies crossed over to becoming females in the 60's. They are the "girls" who are making the rules. I say it is time to deflower them.
When boys become "men" they often hear phrases like "that'll make a man out of him", or "mit the rope's end" or that inevitable "attitude adjustment".
So what does it take to bring a girl into "womanhood"?
Well, we all know the traditional concept (archaic - I'm no advocate of caveman philosophy...but in truth, in a wife, I'm not seeking an absolute equal - I want one who is equally different in all the right ways).
But what is the cultural equivalent of this "then you will be a man, my son" concept?
Now that they are leaders, what is it that causes them to go through a similar "phase-shift" ?
Well, whatever it is, I believe, they'd better team up with their hippy-assed boyfriends and figure out how to mit the freying ends of the rope before someone else decides to do it for them.
I've dated some women who constantly set rules and expect others to live by them when they constantly break them themselves. Arrrogant twits, they were...and completely self-absorbed. As a point of reference outside my own realm of experience, reference this Lohan chick or Ted Kennedy. You do the math.
There is an extreme sense of desperation afoot, and from an historical perspective there can be but one answer to it.
I sincerely hope that someone in Washington will get a clue, before we all begin to feel like the city's namesake and seek our independence yet again, and once again, as free men at heart and breaking free of those surly, albeit freying, bonds.
Mit them up, Washington.
-Visum, enraged
I was watching a democrat on TV this a.m. and she quoted Mr. Adams, that "we are a Nation of laws, not of men" (this in reference to the writ of habeus corpus and the Gitmo "prisoners" (she of course sets the standard for "taking no prisoners")).
A flood of thoughts rolled through my being...of the synedrion...of King George.
The law-givers and the law-interpreters - the lap dogs to tax collectors who look more like Jabba the Hud or Ted Kennedy.
I also thought of our own George. Mr. Washington, I understand, was simply trying to make a go of it as a businessman, but due to inferior product from England and repressive taxes (the teeth of the law), he was unable. Caught in the snare of a free will caged by a repressive King.
I'll bet King George was a fat-assed drunk too. Probably sat around drinking aperatif and eating bon-bons all day while he wiled away the hours talking about Camelot. I wonder what Ted Kennedy does all day?
And then there is our own George - a man, subjugated to the law. One might say enslaved.
Gee whiz, how is this any different than our modern Congress? Our law-givers, and law-interpreters - our own King of tax levee.
I don't know about you, but I feel as if I am in a straight-jacket.
And we are a Nation of laws and not men, indeed! (Consider this source, would you?).
Blood courses in my veins, but not because some Democrat on Capitol Hill deemed it so.
Cursed is the law, and cursed those who incessantly quote it.
I am a man! (and not one defined by the laws of this Congress).
There is a song that I've picked up from an internet radio station...I don't know the band, but it has one of those driving beats punctuated by some minstrel-sounding dude reminiscent of a Rolling Stones diddy. The main riff and verse, I can't get out of my head "Tell me all the rules...girrrrrl - I just want to get along" (da don don don, da don don don, da don don don).
Well, I'm going to tell ya, I'm tired of all the rules, and I'm tired of "just getting along", girlfriend!
Trust me, I am no advocate of revolution...it only leads to pain. However, something has got to change as one begins to weigh the pains that are caused in a system through which there seems to be no redress (and hardly fair when you consider we are the closest thing left that resembles capitalism and we are having to support a world of socialists, all on the government cheese), and that god-forsaken alternative, revolt. Which is the more painful?
When the weighing comes down to this, the scale is so easily tipped.
The hippies crossed over to becoming females in the 60's. They are the "girls" who are making the rules. I say it is time to deflower them.
When boys become "men" they often hear phrases like "that'll make a man out of him", or "mit the rope's end" or that inevitable "attitude adjustment".
So what does it take to bring a girl into "womanhood"?
Well, we all know the traditional concept (archaic - I'm no advocate of caveman philosophy...but in truth, in a wife, I'm not seeking an absolute equal - I want one who is equally different in all the right ways).
But what is the cultural equivalent of this "then you will be a man, my son" concept?
Now that they are leaders, what is it that causes them to go through a similar "phase-shift" ?
Well, whatever it is, I believe, they'd better team up with their hippy-assed boyfriends and figure out how to mit the freying ends of the rope before someone else decides to do it for them.
I've dated some women who constantly set rules and expect others to live by them when they constantly break them themselves. Arrrogant twits, they were...and completely self-absorbed. As a point of reference outside my own realm of experience, reference this Lohan chick or Ted Kennedy. You do the math.
There is an extreme sense of desperation afoot, and from an historical perspective there can be but one answer to it.
I sincerely hope that someone in Washington will get a clue, before we all begin to feel like the city's namesake and seek our independence yet again, and once again, as free men at heart and breaking free of those surly, albeit freying, bonds.
Mit them up, Washington.
-Visum, enraged
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Why No Science, is Good Science
It occurred to me today that I should not mourn the death of valid science.
I should get used to the fact that it is gone, and move on with life without.
So, I began to ponder, wouldn't it be interesting (now that science is dead), if I join the fray of the noveau-pseudo's and form my own observations about the universe.
So here goes: (WARNING: the following contains references to the Al
Gore's, bad acting, homo-eroticism and the blogosphere. NOT FOR THE KIDDIES!!!).
1) The world will end as the result of excessively poor thespian performances.
Here's the hypothesis (can we have those in the new science?) - the world will eventually end because we will all, ultimately, become bad actors (given that life emulates art and all).
The date of the implosion will be April 4, 2008 (at the Greater London celebration of the Bard's Birthdate).
What will happen here, essentially, is that a chain reaction will begin at this celebration event in which the audience begins to "bleed" into the performance (the acting was so poor on the stage).
The actual "acting" on the stage will have degenerated at this point to the level that everyone there ad libs at such a level that Hamlet begins to look like an episode of Family Guy (the episodes where there is a great deal of injected silence, to the point where you think about changing channels, but for some, odd, reason - continue watching). The performance will be rife with melodrama, Jerry Springer-esque incestual relations, beer, and fist fights.
It is widely rumored that Alec Baldwin and the rotting corpse of Paul Newman (although, his acting stinks so bad that no one is really sure he is dead) both drop trou and moon the booing crowd.
Well, of course, the audience (as the audience always does at such affairs) will be drawn into the "performance", at which point civilization will begin to break down into its "essence" (think Greek philosophy here).
Each "atom" (in the form of individual "thespians" from the crowd) will begin a reaction in which a sort of mass psychotic break takes place, in "piggy-back" style (appropriate for actors).
The truly humorous thing is that the acting in the crowd actually begins to take on Olivier qualities, and could one only observe the situation, one would certainly find it of the highest caliber entertainment.
The unfortunate thing is, anyone who observes it will immediately have a psychotic break and join in the "thes"-tivity.
Well, you can imagine just how fast this will spread. The entire planet will become populated by thespians in a, ahem, New York minute.
The culmination of this thespiaddict armageddon transpires when the last two educated inviduals left are about to be "infected".
One, a used car salesman from Walla Walla, Washington (who we only know as "Harvey") faces off with a young exchange student from Liberia who has just landed in America and was seeking his way from the airport to his host home via Harvey's car lot (a difficult thing to do when all the cabbie's are trapped in an un-ending episode of that highly-esteemed and classy show of the 70's "Taxi" (or was that "Taxi Driver", I get them so confused).
The exchange student, Yamballa (or "Yams", to his chums) had never even seen so much as a movie. The closest he'd come to a performance was watching two ants fight over a blade of grass (hardly qualifying).
The unique thing about this is, Yams was essentially immune to the bug (his immunity recognized by an underground group of Cock-fighters who predominantly got their entertainment from fighting with their cocks and seemed also to have a degree of immunity to the disease, along with some homosexuals who were already living in an alternative "staged" reality and found the new disease rather "ho-hum" - at some point we will have to delve into those underground groups who survived the bardeggedon) - but I digress.
Yams and Harvey it seems, were discussing the price on a 1955 Custom Country Club Nash Rambler when the "final act" was about to transpire.
A roving band of actors (led by none other than Albert Gore the toid) happened upon the scene and began producing a performance of that acclaimed work "Love Story" in which Al Senior and Al da toid portray the principle leads in homo-erotic incestual style.
Well, Harvey thought it a porno script (and who wouldn't, given the caliber of acting - did I mention the mutations? Yup. Nuff said)...at any rate, Harvey turned a flip and was nekkid before he hit the ground.
This scared poor Yams to a point that he took note of a rather thick rope hanging, seemingly, from the clear, blue sky at which point he lept into the air like a gazelle (practically leaping out of his loin cloth), grabbed ahold of the rope and - you guessed it, brought the curtain down on the entire planet.
One of the underlings told a reporter later that he could not get the picture of the two Al Gore's out of his mind as they descended netherward toking on a bong fashioned from a blogosphere (truly, a site to get your head wrapped around).
Next week's pseudo-scientific hypothesis: the world will end as the result of flaccid brains.
I should get used to the fact that it is gone, and move on with life without.
So, I began to ponder, wouldn't it be interesting (now that science is dead), if I join the fray of the noveau-pseudo's and form my own observations about the universe.
So here goes: (WARNING: the following contains references to the Al
Gore's, bad acting, homo-eroticism and the blogosphere. NOT FOR THE KIDDIES!!!).
1) The world will end as the result of excessively poor thespian performances.
Here's the hypothesis (can we have those in the new science?) - the world will eventually end because we will all, ultimately, become bad actors (given that life emulates art and all).
The date of the implosion will be April 4, 2008 (at the Greater London celebration of the Bard's Birthdate).
What will happen here, essentially, is that a chain reaction will begin at this celebration event in which the audience begins to "bleed" into the performance (the acting was so poor on the stage).
The actual "acting" on the stage will have degenerated at this point to the level that everyone there ad libs at such a level that Hamlet begins to look like an episode of Family Guy (the episodes where there is a great deal of injected silence, to the point where you think about changing channels, but for some, odd, reason - continue watching). The performance will be rife with melodrama, Jerry Springer-esque incestual relations, beer, and fist fights.
It is widely rumored that Alec Baldwin and the rotting corpse of Paul Newman (although, his acting stinks so bad that no one is really sure he is dead) both drop trou and moon the booing crowd.
Well, of course, the audience (as the audience always does at such affairs) will be drawn into the "performance", at which point civilization will begin to break down into its "essence" (think Greek philosophy here).
Each "atom" (in the form of individual "thespians" from the crowd) will begin a reaction in which a sort of mass psychotic break takes place, in "piggy-back" style (appropriate for actors).
The truly humorous thing is that the acting in the crowd actually begins to take on Olivier qualities, and could one only observe the situation, one would certainly find it of the highest caliber entertainment.
The unfortunate thing is, anyone who observes it will immediately have a psychotic break and join in the "thes"-tivity.
Well, you can imagine just how fast this will spread. The entire planet will become populated by thespians in a, ahem, New York minute.
The culmination of this thespiaddict armageddon transpires when the last two educated inviduals left are about to be "infected".
One, a used car salesman from Walla Walla, Washington (who we only know as "Harvey") faces off with a young exchange student from Liberia who has just landed in America and was seeking his way from the airport to his host home via Harvey's car lot (a difficult thing to do when all the cabbie's are trapped in an un-ending episode of that highly-esteemed and classy show of the 70's "Taxi" (or was that "Taxi Driver", I get them so confused).
The exchange student, Yamballa (or "Yams", to his chums) had never even seen so much as a movie. The closest he'd come to a performance was watching two ants fight over a blade of grass (hardly qualifying).
The unique thing about this is, Yams was essentially immune to the bug (his immunity recognized by an underground group of Cock-fighters who predominantly got their entertainment from fighting with their cocks and seemed also to have a degree of immunity to the disease, along with some homosexuals who were already living in an alternative "staged" reality and found the new disease rather "ho-hum" - at some point we will have to delve into those underground groups who survived the bardeggedon) - but I digress.
Yams and Harvey it seems, were discussing the price on a 1955 Custom Country Club Nash Rambler when the "final act" was about to transpire.
A roving band of actors (led by none other than Albert Gore the toid) happened upon the scene and began producing a performance of that acclaimed work "Love Story" in which Al Senior and Al da toid portray the principle leads in homo-erotic incestual style.
Well, Harvey thought it a porno script (and who wouldn't, given the caliber of acting - did I mention the mutations? Yup. Nuff said)...at any rate, Harvey turned a flip and was nekkid before he hit the ground.
This scared poor Yams to a point that he took note of a rather thick rope hanging, seemingly, from the clear, blue sky at which point he lept into the air like a gazelle (practically leaping out of his loin cloth), grabbed ahold of the rope and - you guessed it, brought the curtain down on the entire planet.
One of the underlings told a reporter later that he could not get the picture of the two Al Gore's out of his mind as they descended netherward toking on a bong fashioned from a blogosphere (truly, a site to get your head wrapped around).
Next week's pseudo-scientific hypothesis: the world will end as the result of flaccid brains.
Friday, July 06, 2007
(Negre) Quoth du Jour
"I find fleas irritating. They are difficult to see, always itching, wriggling and biting and you just can't seem to get rid of them. Like Democrats - the flea would have been a much, much better mascot than the donkey, for even the donkey suffers of the flea."
SEV, ought, ought sieben
SEV, ought, ought sieben
Midnight Marmelade
Oh to you, dear Titus,
wher'er thou must be!
Thy son is deemed now "wreckless",
and your head must now hang low.
Oh to you, dear legions
who follow in his steps.
For tis you the earth is warming
to your herb-induced entreaty.
Oh to you, Madam Marteau
pound for pound so delightful
for the masochist, Freudian Bourdeaux
and they the people will drink 'til none are insightful.
Oh to you, merry legions who follow!
with the fate of the marching lemming
o'er cliffs to a chasm that is redeeming
for the souls that are surely hollow.
And to that marching soldier
lone against the crowd
may you trudge on through eternal
thy soul to their incite never cowed!
SEV, ought-ought sept
wher'er thou must be!
Thy son is deemed now "wreckless",
and your head must now hang low.
Oh to you, dear legions
who follow in his steps.
For tis you the earth is warming
to your herb-induced entreaty.
Oh to you, Madam Marteau
pound for pound so delightful
for the masochist, Freudian Bourdeaux
and they the people will drink 'til none are insightful.
Oh to you, merry legions who follow!
with the fate of the marching lemming
o'er cliffs to a chasm that is redeeming
for the souls that are surely hollow.
And to that marching soldier
lone against the crowd
may you trudge on through eternal
thy soul to their incite never cowed!
SEV, ought-ought sept
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Ode to an Injured Friend
My pal, you've been with me
for many a year now;
many, many more than most -
the kindest friend, confident and host.
I've trusted in your judgement,
and hung life on your very word.
Your friendship has been enriching,
your humor, salve to haggard soul.
Never a man more true have I met,
and never one for whom
I've more enjoyed the bon mot,
the laughs, the charm - the fun, and rot.
And now you face some troubles
few would wish on any one.
My heart, it lies there with you
in your troubles, in your shun.
If only I could stand in,
for that sentence coming on.
I'd gladly do so just to know
a freedom for you and son.
But now we go into this day
a squint against blinding sun.
One day again we'll both live free
and once again be ... "all for one".
for many a year now;
many, many more than most -
the kindest friend, confident and host.
I've trusted in your judgement,
and hung life on your very word.
Your friendship has been enriching,
your humor, salve to haggard soul.
Never a man more true have I met,
and never one for whom
I've more enjoyed the bon mot,
the laughs, the charm - the fun, and rot.
And now you face some troubles
few would wish on any one.
My heart, it lies there with you
in your troubles, in your shun.
If only I could stand in,
for that sentence coming on.
I'd gladly do so just to know
a freedom for you and son.
But now we go into this day
a squint against blinding sun.
One day again we'll both live free
and once again be ... "all for one".
(Negre) Quoth du Jour
"There are few things in life one can do extremely well; some things, one can do fairly well but there is one thing for which we are all exemplary - living that well-intended life".
S.E. Visum
S.E. Visum
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Quote of the Day
"Tradition may be the living faith of the dead and the dead faith of the living,, but the modern alternative to tradition is the faith of the living dead."
-Xavier Martel, 2007
-Xavier Martel, 2007
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Forest Hill
On Forest Hill
did I there dwell
(in one life, one time)
and for some time, therein, did live.
Where raindrops fell,
wet-weather creeks ran well
and I, forsaken,
did for once, just breathe.
Life itself was simple there,
and the time there spent
it was spent well.
But alas,
as time must do
this time spent here
it too, will pass.
And onward and upward
I will rise
to new events...
and another sunrise.
On a long, flat road
I will climb and climb.
To the sky, Lord,
to the sky.
To the sky, I will climb.
There will be other hills
(and forested dale).
Other adventures
(in long time, for there to spin tale).
But this precious time,
that I spend here,
is time indeed
time indeed.
Time in deed, spent well.
Tis time spent well,
spent well,
spent well
alas, spent there and spent well
spent well on Forest Hill,
nesteled there in the forested dale.
did I there dwell
(in one life, one time)
and for some time, therein, did live.
Where raindrops fell,
wet-weather creeks ran well
and I, forsaken,
did for once, just breathe.
Life itself was simple there,
and the time there spent
it was spent well.
But alas,
as time must do
this time spent here
it too, will pass.
And onward and upward
I will rise
to new events...
and another sunrise.
On a long, flat road
I will climb and climb.
To the sky, Lord,
to the sky.
To the sky, I will climb.
There will be other hills
(and forested dale).
Other adventures
(in long time, for there to spin tale).
But this precious time,
that I spend here,
is time indeed
time indeed.
Time in deed, spent well.
Tis time spent well,
spent well,
spent well
alas, spent there and spent well
spent well on Forest Hill,
nesteled there in the forested dale.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Meme Response
Four from the prior four
- Explored the possibility of leaving my denomination for another.
- Owned and operated a communications company.
- Considered changing career and decided to stick with communications.
- Learned a thing or two about women.
- Serve once again as Master of my Lodge and improve in my Masonic "life".
- Settle down.
- Explore the why's and why-for's of Methodism (applying the "quadralateral" to my daily living) (and why I can not seem to stop loving Methodism); answering that interminable query "why?".
- Write something that I would deem a masterpiece (something of my own that I would enjoy reading over and over).
Friday, June 15, 2007
Meme response
Are we allowed to tag in group? I'll just use your tags...
Four new things in the last four years:
1) Added two new kids to the family make four total (my wife did most of the work)
2) Changed jobs: was a decently-well-paid peon now just a peon
3) Got 8/9 of the way through the Divine Mercy Novena (accidentally repeated one of the days)
4) Listened to about 450 hours of books on tape in the car
Four things I would like to do
1) Finish my PhD (fat chance!)
2) Go on a vacation someplace where the water temperature is more than 50 degrees in August
3) Get a little boat like a sunfish and finally learn to sail
4) Go back to the Smokies and hike up to Spence Field
Four new things in the last four years:
1) Added two new kids to the family make four total (my wife did most of the work)
2) Changed jobs: was a decently-well-paid peon now just a peon
3) Got 8/9 of the way through the Divine Mercy Novena (accidentally repeated one of the days)
4) Listened to about 450 hours of books on tape in the car
Four things I would like to do
1) Finish my PhD (fat chance!)
2) Go on a vacation someplace where the water temperature is more than 50 degrees in August
3) Get a little boat like a sunfish and finally learn to sail
4) Go back to the Smokies and hike up to Spence Field
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
I'm late (I'm late)
It's 10:48
I'm late (I'm late)
10:48
What will I do?
Where will I go?
How...will I know?
It's 10:49
I'm sick of the whine...
but sicker still, of that cocky shrill
from the that pusher of cheese, ol' weisenheim
It's 10:51
ho hum.
Ho, hum.
10:51
At ten-fifty-three
I think I will see
what might become
of this dreadful drum.
Oh, it's 10:53
Oh me (oh me!)
10:53
At 10:55 (if I'm still alive)
I think I'll sneeze
or perhaps start a breeze
who knows (if I'm still alive)
Dog gone at the time,
it's 10:59
No more breeze
No more sneeze
for me it's "dream and wheeze"
At 10:59
I'm late (I'm late)
10:48
What will I do?
Where will I go?
How...will I know?
It's 10:49
I'm sick of the whine...
but sicker still, of that cocky shrill
from the that pusher of cheese, ol' weisenheim
It's 10:51
ho hum.
Ho, hum.
10:51
At ten-fifty-three
I think I will see
what might become
of this dreadful drum.
Oh, it's 10:53
Oh me (oh me!)
10:53
At 10:55 (if I'm still alive)
I think I'll sneeze
or perhaps start a breeze
who knows (if I'm still alive)
Dog gone at the time,
it's 10:59
No more breeze
No more sneeze
for me it's "dream and wheeze"
At 10:59
Monday, June 11, 2007
Short C.S. Lewis Parody
I hate to parody a notable Christian Apologist but someplace in That Hideous Strength there must have been a part like this...
His eyes looked into her eyes and she felt as if she were staring across a pale sea across a distant horizon at peaks, marbled, bronzed, frozen, and yet flowing with a radiance of a thousand past sunsets, trapped in time and space and yet transcending space and time altogether as if it were a single ray from the sun somehow halted and yet moving ever backwards towards a never-ending stream of unspeakable conciousness, a presence that has never been and yet always was, explicable not in words but only in senses and yet not touching in any way upon the material but rather the unalterable knowledge that this time there may be a next time but there would come a time where there would neither be a next time nor a previous time but only time itself, coursing, heaving, undulating, like the mountains across that distant sea of imaging that was her impression as he met her eyes without hesitation and with no resistance.
His eyes looked into her eyes and she felt as if she were staring across a pale sea across a distant horizon at peaks, marbled, bronzed, frozen, and yet flowing with a radiance of a thousand past sunsets, trapped in time and space and yet transcending space and time altogether as if it were a single ray from the sun somehow halted and yet moving ever backwards towards a never-ending stream of unspeakable conciousness, a presence that has never been and yet always was, explicable not in words but only in senses and yet not touching in any way upon the material but rather the unalterable knowledge that this time there may be a next time but there would come a time where there would neither be a next time nor a previous time but only time itself, coursing, heaving, undulating, like the mountains across that distant sea of imaging that was her impression as he met her eyes without hesitation and with no resistance.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Abortionists: my take
It goes beyond even that they are "non-human" (?) or "non-person", but more, non "child of God"...
The zygote itself, sans eyespot or even rudimentary brain stem is still one of God's "sparrows"; as the Gloria Patri states "all creatures, here below"...
The abortionist isn't trying to murder man; he is trying to murder God.
By the way, have you caught the latest? I am burning to the core of my existence. Intimidation, indeed!
SEV
The zygote itself, sans eyespot or even rudimentary brain stem is still one of God's "sparrows"; as the Gloria Patri states "all creatures, here below"...
The abortionist isn't trying to murder man; he is trying to murder God.
By the way, have you caught the latest? I am burning to the core of my existence. Intimidation, indeed!
SEV
Friday, June 08, 2007
Abortionists
The abortionist position is not one of recognizing that the dawn is different from full daylight. Rather, it is one of declaring that the sun itself is different in the morning than at noon. The whole position rests upon redefining "human" so that the fetus is a non-person. And this in the name of convenience.
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Levella Joppannian ("Their" Planet)
(continued from "Their" Planet)
The Joppannian lineage were known as those of the "forged" clan, as they typically belonged to that genus of Del Ghattian who left the Ra's at record prematurity.
Should another clan of Del Ghattian ever "best" one of their "preemie" records, the Joppanian would again force another "Ghet" to leave the Ra at an even earlier stage of development.
The Del Ghattian, it was believed (by their scientists, and not their "holy" men), it was believed that they really did not "require" that time in the Ra at all. They could, conceivably, "burst" onto the Ghattian orb, with no gestation. It was believed that once a Father Gha had thought about having a son, that conception and birth could take place in an instant.
Experiments were taking place, and moving forward in this regard.
That golden orb (or orbs) that the Mother Del Ghattians carried over their shoulder as a hobo would carry his knap sack was the source of much of the Del Ghattian belief system.
The Ra's (and especially the Hoo Law Law's) were considered a sacred place of sanctuary, at the very onset of life on this side of the great concentric spheres. In fact, many of their holiest places were based on the configuration of the birth-orbs and took the appearance of a sort of three-dimensional Manelbrot configuration rising to the great sky-orbs.
The Del Ghattian edifice (even many of the homes) all-too-often took the shape of great orbs rising to the sky, one atop the other. They were of geometrically decreasing volume, until that very last orb that could hold only the single Gha.
Here, the head of the family (most typically PaGha, although in some homes MaGha) would find solice in this "meditative" level of being...those times he or she spends regularly irregular in a state of altered consciousness and pure synthesized worship of the creator (complete relaxation externally, but elated within - no smile to be seen, except by the others at the pinnacle, and then, only in the mind's eye).
The family, in rank, would find their times in the orbs lower to the family head...none of whom would leave their orb until the head Gha was finished in his or her worship.
The living quarters would decend from there (some of the largest families eventually had to build orbs beneath the skin of Ghattia...taking advantage of the large, naturally-occuring orbcavs there underneath the great Ghattian orb-skin).
They had no problems with structures here, as issues with gravity did not exist. The legend had it that rather than a natural attraction of bodies (as with most other planets), the Gha were affixed to the surface by unhappiness.
As joy (elation, really) would build in their hearts, they would rise from the surface.
This eliminated the need for elevators or stairs within the orb dwellings. All they had to do was "get happy" and they would float to higher orbs.
(Of course, this led to an under-culture that refused to seek this enightenment through the traditional means of worship - they sought "artificial" forms of happiness through "alternate" nourshiment and were known, quite universally, as the Wron-Gha).
Levella Joppanian had left her Hoo Law Laws at an extreme early age. Her record had not been bested for some time (it was said, several globerevs, perhaps as many as four was her nearest competitor - but finally in the sphere-year globular_seven, she had been surpassed and now the bar had been set at globerev_three for gestation).
The unfortunate side of being in Ghattia was that should a Gha leave the Ra with no orb-mate - that Gha was sent to the land of the Angle (Angellia - where there were no orbs, on the dark side of the planet).
Here there was only twisted angle-iron rising from the ground. They lived there as singles and perpetually changed their partners. They were like living lost souls, constantly lost and in search of an orb-path that simply did not exist for them.
Their dwelling made use of the twisted steel, and their buildings were crooked lines rising to crooked clouds in a red and crooked sky.
Pity was taken upon most of them (for how can you blame for those seeking the best mate), although many joined the ranks of the alternates (those seeking artificial nourishment), many still tried to remain true to the faith. Much of the alternate nourishment forms came from the land of Angellia (where it was said, their King made no distinction for the risings...paths to happiness were strictly tied to the volition of the Gha, and it was acceptable to use both natural and artificial means).
Many of them would continue to worship the correct paths, but were still pariah as they had no orb mate.
It is said that those who stay the longest have the most difficult time finding their orb mate, and the highest gestation period had been set by some fellow long ago at thirteen-globerevs...legend has it that he became the King of Angellia, but most believed it a silly children's story designed to stress the importance of staying within the glob-system.
Levella was a queen in her own right (although in Upper-Ghattia they had no royalty), and most believed it would have been her destiny even without the record Rha.
She of course had mated with the best of the Gha. He was handsome, and he was smart.
His family lived in one of the tallest of the orb-estates. They were known for their piety, their goodness, and their love of everything orb.
In this year of the glob-rev, Levella was with child. Her Ra was swollen to the burst stage and many in her family feared it would split into hoos (a common occurence with increasingly late gestations, and it appeared, this would be a long one).
All were fearful for her, and everyone talked of how unusual it was. To come from such a lineage of record-holder, and to carry so long. How could it be (there were whispers of an Angeliere in her heritage).
Soon, very soon, the world of the Gha would forever change.
Levella was about to introduce to Ghattia the predicted one...her son would come to be called "Angst", and Angst would unleash the great war with the under-beings...the Wron-Gha were about to have their day in bathing crimson heat of lower Del Gha's Giant red sun.
The Joppannian lineage were known as those of the "forged" clan, as they typically belonged to that genus of Del Ghattian who left the Ra's at record prematurity.
Should another clan of Del Ghattian ever "best" one of their "preemie" records, the Joppanian would again force another "Ghet" to leave the Ra at an even earlier stage of development.
The Del Ghattian, it was believed (by their scientists, and not their "holy" men), it was believed that they really did not "require" that time in the Ra at all. They could, conceivably, "burst" onto the Ghattian orb, with no gestation. It was believed that once a Father Gha had thought about having a son, that conception and birth could take place in an instant.
Experiments were taking place, and moving forward in this regard.
That golden orb (or orbs) that the Mother Del Ghattians carried over their shoulder as a hobo would carry his knap sack was the source of much of the Del Ghattian belief system.
The Ra's (and especially the Hoo Law Law's) were considered a sacred place of sanctuary, at the very onset of life on this side of the great concentric spheres. In fact, many of their holiest places were based on the configuration of the birth-orbs and took the appearance of a sort of three-dimensional Manelbrot configuration rising to the great sky-orbs.
The Del Ghattian edifice (even many of the homes) all-too-often took the shape of great orbs rising to the sky, one atop the other. They were of geometrically decreasing volume, until that very last orb that could hold only the single Gha.
Here, the head of the family (most typically PaGha, although in some homes MaGha) would find solice in this "meditative" level of being...those times he or she spends regularly irregular in a state of altered consciousness and pure synthesized worship of the creator (complete relaxation externally, but elated within - no smile to be seen, except by the others at the pinnacle, and then, only in the mind's eye).
The family, in rank, would find their times in the orbs lower to the family head...none of whom would leave their orb until the head Gha was finished in his or her worship.
The living quarters would decend from there (some of the largest families eventually had to build orbs beneath the skin of Ghattia...taking advantage of the large, naturally-occuring orbcavs there underneath the great Ghattian orb-skin).
They had no problems with structures here, as issues with gravity did not exist. The legend had it that rather than a natural attraction of bodies (as with most other planets), the Gha were affixed to the surface by unhappiness.
As joy (elation, really) would build in their hearts, they would rise from the surface.
This eliminated the need for elevators or stairs within the orb dwellings. All they had to do was "get happy" and they would float to higher orbs.
(Of course, this led to an under-culture that refused to seek this enightenment through the traditional means of worship - they sought "artificial" forms of happiness through "alternate" nourshiment and were known, quite universally, as the Wron-Gha).
Levella Joppanian had left her Hoo Law Laws at an extreme early age. Her record had not been bested for some time (it was said, several globerevs, perhaps as many as four was her nearest competitor - but finally in the sphere-year globular_seven, she had been surpassed and now the bar had been set at globerev_three for gestation).
The unfortunate side of being in Ghattia was that should a Gha leave the Ra with no orb-mate - that Gha was sent to the land of the Angle (Angellia - where there were no orbs, on the dark side of the planet).
Here there was only twisted angle-iron rising from the ground. They lived there as singles and perpetually changed their partners. They were like living lost souls, constantly lost and in search of an orb-path that simply did not exist for them.
Their dwelling made use of the twisted steel, and their buildings were crooked lines rising to crooked clouds in a red and crooked sky.
Pity was taken upon most of them (for how can you blame for those seeking the best mate), although many joined the ranks of the alternates (those seeking artificial nourishment), many still tried to remain true to the faith. Much of the alternate nourishment forms came from the land of Angellia (where it was said, their King made no distinction for the risings...paths to happiness were strictly tied to the volition of the Gha, and it was acceptable to use both natural and artificial means).
Many of them would continue to worship the correct paths, but were still pariah as they had no orb mate.
It is said that those who stay the longest have the most difficult time finding their orb mate, and the highest gestation period had been set by some fellow long ago at thirteen-globerevs...legend has it that he became the King of Angellia, but most believed it a silly children's story designed to stress the importance of staying within the glob-system.
Levella was a queen in her own right (although in Upper-Ghattia they had no royalty), and most believed it would have been her destiny even without the record Rha.
She of course had mated with the best of the Gha. He was handsome, and he was smart.
His family lived in one of the tallest of the orb-estates. They were known for their piety, their goodness, and their love of everything orb.
In this year of the glob-rev, Levella was with child. Her Ra was swollen to the burst stage and many in her family feared it would split into hoos (a common occurence with increasingly late gestations, and it appeared, this would be a long one).
All were fearful for her, and everyone talked of how unusual it was. To come from such a lineage of record-holder, and to carry so long. How could it be (there were whispers of an Angeliere in her heritage).
Soon, very soon, the world of the Gha would forever change.
Levella was about to introduce to Ghattia the predicted one...her son would come to be called "Angst", and Angst would unleash the great war with the under-beings...the Wron-Gha were about to have their day in bathing crimson heat of lower Del Gha's Giant red sun.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
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