But because he belonged to the nineteenth century and to a non-military nation and class, he could not grasp the tremendous strength of the old world which was symbolised in his mind by fox-hunting Tories. He was, and still is, quite incapable of understanding that nationalism, religious bigotry and feudal loyalty are far more powerful forces than what he himself would describe as sanity.
The people who have shown the best understanding of Fascism are either those who have suffered under it or those who have a Fascist streak in themselves.
Wells is too sane to understand the modern world. Since 1920 he has squandered his talents in slaying paper dragons. But how much it is, after all, to have any talents to squander.
[Heavily edited from George Orwell: ‘Wells, Hitler and the World State’, August 1941]
Orwell On H.G.Wells
For Want Of A Nail
For want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For want of a horse the rider was lost.
For want of a rider the battle was lost.
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.
Steve Earle On Free Speech
"F the CC", Revolution
Been called a traitor and a patriot
Call me anything you want to but
Just don’t forget your history
Dirty Lenny died so we could all be free
-Audio Sample: Amazon
Al Purdy On Flowers
At The Quinte Hotel
I am drinking
I am drinking beer with yellow flowers
in underground sunlight
and you can see that I am a sensitive man
David Belle On Parkour (Wikipedia)
You have to make the difference between what is useful and what is not in emergency situations. Then you'll know what is parkour and what is not.
Fiounnala's Music Pick: Jonathan Coulton
Code Monkey like Fritos
Code Monkey like Tab and Mountain Dew
Code Monkey very simple man
With big warm fuzzy secret heart:
Code Monkey like you
Scott Thill Defines Fascism
His ratings are lower than ever, yet his power is greater than ever. If that doesn't say dictator, I sincerely don't know what does.
Kendrew Lascelles On War
Once upon a time
in the land of hush-a-bye,
around the wonderous days of yore,
They came across a sort of box
Bound up with chains
and locked with locks
And labeled,
`Kindly do not touch, it's war.'
A decree was issue round about --
All with a flourish and a shout
And a gaily coloured mascot
Tripping lightly on before --
`Don't fiddle with that deadly box
or break the chains or pick the locks
And please don't ever mess
about with war.'
Well the children understood,
Children happen to be good
And were just as good
around the time of yore.
They didn't try to pick the locks
Or break into that deadly box
And never tried to play about with war.
Mommies didn't either
Sisters, Aunts nor Grannies neither
`Cos they were quiet
and sweet and pretty
In those wonderous days of yore,
Well very much the same as now
And not the ones to blame somehow
For opening up that deadly box of war,
But someone did,
Someone battered in the lid
And spilled the insides out
across the floor,
A sort of bouncy bumpy ball
made up of flags and guns and all
The tears and horror and the death
That goes with war.
It bounced right out
And went bashing all about
And bumping into everything in store
And what is sad and most unfair
was that it didn't really seem to care
Much who it bumped, or why,
Or what, or for.
It bumped the children mainly
And I'll tell you this quite plainly,
It bumps them everyday and more and more
And leaves them dead and burned and dying
housands of them sick and crying,
`Cos when it bumps its very very sore.
There is a way to stop the ball,
It isn't very hard at all,
All it takes is wisdom
And I'm absolutely sure
We could get it back into the box
And bind the chains and lock the locks
But no one seems to want to save the children anymore.
Well that's the way it all appears
`Cos it's been bouncing
around for years and years
In spite of all the wisdom wizzed
Since those wonderous days of yore,
And the time they cam across that box
Bound up with chains
and locked with locks
And labeled,
`Kindly do not touch, it's war.'
[Note: The Smothers Brothers presentation of this poem is said to have caused the cancellation of their show]
Andrew Marvel On Romance
Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness Lady were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love's day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
Times winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found;
Nor, in thy marble vault shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity,
And your quaint honor turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
Now therefore while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapped power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae On War
In Flanders Fields
In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch, be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields
Superman On Greatness (The Dark Knight Returns)
Diana went back to her people.
Hal went to the stars.
And I have walked the razor's edge for so long... But you, Bruce -- you with your wild obsession --
They'll kill us if they can, Bruce.
Every year they grow smaller. Every year they hate us more.
We must not remind them that giants walk the Earth.
Sean Connery On Success ("The Rock")
Your best? Losers always whine about 'their best'. Winners go home and fuck the Prom Queen.
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Dark Wraith On War
The sonic dimension is a vast drum waiting to be pounded rhythmically, each pulse stunning the ears, confusing the mind. The thermal dimension is an oven waiting to be turned on, crackling the skin, confusing the mind. The shockwave dimension is an ocean of air ready to articulate concussive force through a body as if it were a thin curtain. The emotional dimension is a chessboard waiting for a master to play the fool into a corner of rage, confusing the mind.
The inventory of weapons is a list of fingers, each tuned to stroke one or more dimensions of that zone, each geared to construct a field ripe with enemy combatants ready to be killed.
The battle begins as a symphony of harmonics, with each dimension suddenly, violently revealing itself to the enemy. The dimensions curl down over his world, compressing it into an ever tightening sensorial experience for which he has no response save panic.
