Row Boat

You tried everything
Yes, a thousand times
Experienced enough
Been through enough
But you it was who let everything
Into my heart
and you it was who once again
Awoke my spirit

I parted, you parted

You stir up
Emotions
In a blender
Everything in disarray
But it was you who was always
There for me
It was you who never judged
My true friend

I parted, you parted

You sail on rivers
With an old oar
Leaking badly
You swim to shore
Pushed the waves away
But to no avail
You float on the sea
Sleep on the surface
Light through the fog

Fight the Right Anti-Party

Beasties do*it best!

Welsh Politics

THE TADLEY MINING DISASTER

'Twas on the third day of July
And twelve strong men were about to die
At the Tadley Treacle Mines

They were working fast without a care
When a tunnel collapsed and trapped them there
At the Tadley treacle mines

No noise was heard above the ground
When evening came they couldn't be found
At the Tadley Treacle Mines

They searched it here, they searched it there
But could not find them anywhere
At the Tadley Treacle Mines

Then one man came from underground
And told them everything he found
At the Tadley Treacle Mines

I saw a tunnel blocked with clay
But it was open yesterday
At the Tadley Treacle Mines

Then all the men went down the pit
And tried to clear the earth a bit
At the Tadley Treacle Mines

They dug all night, they dug all day
And finally cleared the earth away
At the Tadley Treacle Mines

They found twelve men a-lying there
Upon the ground so cold and bare
At the Tadley Treacle Mines

They carried them to the light
So all could see the ghastly sight
At the Tadley Treacle Mines

They buried them there that very day
And to this day their bodies lay
At the Tadley Treacle Mines

So gentlemen take heed I pray
And do not go to work today
At the Tadley Treacle Mines

The Prophecy of King Tammany

The Indian Chief who, fam'd of yore
Saw Europe's sons advent'ring here
Look'd sorrowing to the crowded shore,
And sighing dropt a tear:
He saw them half his world explore,
He saw them draw the shining blade,
He saw their hostile ranks display'd,
And cannons blazing thro' that shade,
Where only peace was known before.

"Ah what unequal arms! he cry'd,
How are thou fall'n my country s pride,
The rural sylvan reign!
Far from our pleasing shores to go
To Western Rivers, winding slow,
Is this the boon the Gods bestow?
What have we done, great patrons, say,
That strangers seize our woods away,
And drive us naked from our native plain?

Rage and revenge inspire my soul,
And passion burns without control
Hence strangers, to your native shore,
Far from our Indian shades retire.
Remove these Gods that vomit fire,
And stain with blood these ravag'd glades no more.

In vain I weep, in vain I sigh,
These strangers all our arms defy,
As they advance our chieftains die!—
What can their hosts oppose?
The bow has lost its wonted spring,
The arrow faulters on the wing,
Nor carries ruin from the string
To end their being and our woes.
"Yes yes—I see our nation bends;
The Gods no longer are our friends,
But why these weak complaints and sighs?
Are there not gardens in the West,
Where all our far fam'd Sachems rest?
I ll go an unexpected guest;
And the dark horrors of the way despise.

"Ev'n now the thundering peals draw nigh,
‘Tie theirs to triumph, ours to die!
But mark me, Christians, ere I go—
Thou too shalt have thy share of woe,
The time rolls on, not moving slow,
When hostile squadrons for your blood shall come,
And ravage all your shore!
Your warriors and your children slay,
And some in dismal dungeons lay,
Or lead them captive far away,
To climes unknown, thro' seas untry'd before.

"When struggling long, at last with pain,
You brake a cruel tyrant's chain,
That never shall be joined again,
When half your foes are homeward fled,
And hosts on hosts in triumph fled,
And hundreds maim'd and thousands dead,
A timid race shall then succeed,
Shall slight the virtues of the firmer race,
That brought your tyrants to disgrace,
Shall give your honours to an odious train,
Who shunn'd all conflicts on the main,
And dar'd no battles on the plain,
Whose little souls sunk in the gloomy day,
When Virtues only could support the fray,
And sunshine friends keep off or ran away.

"So spoke the chief; and rais'd his funeral pyre—
Around him soon the crackling flames ascend;
He smil'd amid the fervours of the fire,
To think his troubles were so near their end,.
Till the freed soul, her debt to nature paid,
Rose from the ashes that her prison made,
And sought the world unknown, and dark oblivion's shade. "

Alone

- h/t Nietzsche's Girl "Faith is always good"
was the last thing she wrote.
And as P.S. the sentence below,
I will never forget.

You are lonely for so long,
did you learn to be alone.

And you're lonely for so long,
until you learn to be alone.

I was walking around.
It was dark.
In my hand
a light was burning.

I was confused,
but also relieved.
Starting today, I need
just me.

Because you're lonely for so long,
until you learn to be alone.
And you will remain alone
until one learns.

Have You Hugged Your Chains Today?

Welcome to the Left's New Society of Control

Staring into the Mirror, Attempts to Negate the Abyss, & the Levitating Ego

In Senso the fragmented nature of identity is established early, perhaps most emphatically in the scene where Franz and Livia walk the streets after the performance. Franz picks up a fragment of a mirror from the ground, and stares at his reflection, commenting: “I always look when i pass a mirror. It’s to affirm that i exist.”Lacan’s Mirror Stage

His desire to locate himself as an entity relates to Lacan’s psychoanalytic theory of the Mirror stage: the stage an infant passes through when becoming a subject. According to Lacan, the moment when an infant sees his reflection for the first time is an essential stage in identity formation – this is the moment at which the infant sees for the first time himself not as simply an attachment to his/her mother, a breast, etc, but as a complete, single entity.

This phase produces the ‘ideal-i’ or the self image which the subject always attempts to re-create in himself. Franz’s constant desire to “keep looking” expresses the loss of identity popularized by postmodern theorists – a breakdown in the mirror stage. Franz is ultimately unknowable and confusing to Livia, because his identity is in broken into fragments like the mirror he picks up and later discards. He cannot locate himself, and perhaps this is why he creates the false identity of the lover, the seducer, the hero, the soldier. Franz explains that his generation adopts the signifiers of identity: “Our generation are children,” and he continue, “we like wearing uniforms.”

Best Not Stand Too Close...

A Pause for Refreshment