· Quotes of the week
· Of his aspirations, Homer Simpson said, "All my life I've had one dream: to achieve my many goals."
· Of surviving in life, he said, "Three sentences will get you through life. Number one, 'Cover for me.' Number two, 'Oh, good idea, Boss.' Number three, 'It was like that when I got here.'"
· Of his marriage, he talks with Marge:
Marge: Homer, is this the way you pictured married life?
Homer: Pretty much. Except we drove around in a van solving mysteries.
Marge: Homer, is this the way you pictured married life?
Homer: Pretty much. Except we drove around in a van solving mysteries.
· Of responsibility, he said, "You can't keep blaming yourself. Just blame yourself once, and move on."
· Websites of the week
· And finally, the culmination of millennia of scientific endeavor
· Meditation of the week
“Don’t be deceived when they tell you things are better now. Even if there’s no poverty to be seen because the poverty’s been hidden. Even if you ever got more wages and could afford to buy more of these new and useless goods which industries foist on you and even if it seems to you that you never had so much, that is only the slogan of those who still have much more than you. Don’t be taken in when they paternally pat you on the shoulder and say that there’s no inequality worth speaking of and no more reason to fight because if you believe them they will be completely in charge in their marble homes and granite banks from which they rob the people of the world under the pretence of bringing them culture. Watch out, for as soon as it pleases them they’ll send you out to protect their gold in wars whose weapons, rapidly developed by servile scientists, will become more and more deadly until they can with a flick of the finger tear a million of you to pieces.”
Those words were written by Jean-Paul Marat in the latter part of the 18th century, but they are still so true that they could have been written today. Marat (1743-1793) was a physician, political scientist, journalist and one of the more radical leaders of the French Revolution.
Those words were written by Jean-Paul Marat in the latter part of the 18th century, but they are still so true that they could have been written today. Marat (1743-1793) was a physician, political scientist, journalist and one of the more radical leaders of the French Revolution.
· Poem of the Week
End of Days
Almost always with cats, the end
comes creeping over the two of you—
she stops eating, his back legs
no longer support him, she leans
to your hand and purrs but cannot
rise—sometimes a whimper of pain
although they are stoic. They see
death clearly though hooded eyes.
Then there is the long weepy
trip to the vet, the carrier no
longer necessary, the last time
in your lap. The injection is quick.
Simply they stop breathing
in your arms. You bring them
home to bury in the flower garden,
planting a bush over a deep grave.
That is how I would like to cease,
held in a lover's arms and quickly
fading to black like an old-fashioned
movie embrace. I hate the white
silent scream of hospitals, the whine
of pain like air-conditioning's hum.
I want to click the off switch.
And if I can no longer choose
I want someone who loves me
there, not a doctor with forty patients
and his morality to keep me sort
of, kind of alive or sort of undead.
Why are we more rational and kinder
to our pets than to ourselves or our
parents? Death is not the worst
thing; denying it can be.
comes creeping over the two of you—
she stops eating, his back legs
no longer support him, she leans
to your hand and purrs but cannot
rise—sometimes a whimper of pain
although they are stoic. They see
death clearly though hooded eyes.
Then there is the long weepy
trip to the vet, the carrier no
longer necessary, the last time
in your lap. The injection is quick.
Simply they stop breathing
in your arms. You bring them
home to bury in the flower garden,
planting a bush over a deep grave.
That is how I would like to cease,
held in a lover's arms and quickly
fading to black like an old-fashioned
movie embrace. I hate the white
silent scream of hospitals, the whine
of pain like air-conditioning's hum.
I want to click the off switch.
And if I can no longer choose
I want someone who loves me
there, not a doctor with forty patients
and his morality to keep me sort
of, kind of alive or sort of undead.
Why are we more rational and kinder
to our pets than to ourselves or our
parents? Death is not the worst
thing; denying it can be.
· Video of the week
http://thebutterflycircus.com/short-film/ This was well worth 20 minutes.
And this was too good to omit. We really are on a merry-go-round of a planet
The Mountain from Terje Sorgjerd on Vimeo.
· Song of the Week
My Old Man, by Joni Mitchell
