Politics calls for robust debate and criticism, but this should never descend to personal and demeaning slurs.
quote by Kim Beazley
Added by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Personal
Anything you want from me
Ill do
But first
Lets get personal
Personal
Personal
Personal
Lets get personal
Personal
Personal
Personal
Personal with you
Were sittin havin dinner at your parents home
Some of the finest food Ive ever known
But I need some sweetness on my tongue
And it aint a type of sugar oh no
So maybe we can go somewhere
Neighbour room girl I dont care
Wheres the bedroom
(its upstairs)
Ill meet you there in a minute
Girl so we can get
Lets get personal (ooh yeah)
Personal (tight baby)
Personal (maybe we can get)
Personal (just a little, just a little bit)
Lets get personal (ooh yay)
Personal (I wanna get personal)
Personal (come on baby, just trust me)
Personal (I wanna get)
Personal with you
Im behind you in your bedroom with your hands against the wall
But keeping one eye on the door
Got your t-shirt and your panties on
Ooh I feel so right, cant be wrong, no
I know you like it when I touch you there
Girl just keep it quiet or theyll hear
Feel the tremblin all down your leg
Id love to head to your bed
So that we can get
Personal
Shhh
Should I take off my clothes (no)
Put the lock on the door
Let go of your deepest inhibitions
Let me fulfil your fantasies girl
Like me touching you there (yeah)
The way that I play with your hair
Emotions running wild until we stop
Yeah
[...] Read more
song performed by Craig David
Added by Lucian Velea
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Bang Your Pans If You Wish
Bang your pans,
If you wish...
With empty cans,
If you wish...
And then demand,
If you wish...
To make your situation,
Like a personal damnation.
Bang your pans,
If you wish...
With empty cans,
If you wish...
And then demand,
If you wish...
To make your situation,
Like a personal damnation.
You're not the only one,
Who has loaded shoulders.
Today the young and older ones...
Have little to eat.
You're not the only one,
Whose shoulders are bent over.
Who needs to lay their head somewhere,
And get some sleep!
Bang your pans,
If you wish...
With empty cans,
If you wish...
And then demand,
If you wish...
To make your situation,
Like a personal damnation.
Bang your pans,
If you wish...
With empty cans,
If you wish...
And then demand,
If you wish...
To make your situation,
Like a personal damnation.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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When Death Calls
He saw the world, dim with the glow of the vertical sun
His skin crept cold knowing that this was the hours of dying
Misguided mortals, youll burn with me
Spirit of man, cannot be freed.
When death calls - this is the hours of dying
When death calls - the spirit of man cannot be freed
When death calls - theres no tomorrow
When death calls - just an evil shadow
Tell me not fear of the flames means that heaven is closer
For I believe satan lives, in the souls of the dying
Misguided mortals, youll burn with me
Spirit of man, cannot be freed.
When death calls - heaven is closer
When death calls - feel the heat of the flames from the souls of the dying
When death calls - here it comes, here it comes, here it comes
When death calls - youre gonna burn
Dont look in those sunken eyes
Dont look and youll stay alive
Dont laugh at the face of death or your toungue will blister
Cant die until satan says you die
And satan takes your soul
In the face of death or your toungue will blister
Dont look in those sunken eyes
Dont look and youll stay alive
Dont laugh at the face of death or your toungue will blister
Cant die until satan says you die
The devil takes your soul
With all his wrath he calls the reaper
When death calls - this is the hours of dying
When death calls - the spirit of man cannot be freed
When death calls - theres no tomorrow
When death calls - just an evil shadow
When death calls - feel the heat of the flames from the souls of the dying
When death calls - youre gonna burn, burn, burn
When death calls - heaven is closer
When death calls - I can feel it, gonna take you down
song performed by Black Sabbath
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 11
SCARCE had the rosy Morning rais’d her head
Above the waves, and left her wat’ry bed;
The pious chief, whom double cares attend
For his unburied soldiers and his friend,
Yet first to Heav’n perform’d a victor’s vows: 5
He bar’d an ancient oak of all her boughs;
Then on a rising ground the trunk he plac’d,
Which with the spoils of his dead foe he grac’d.
The coat of arms by proud Mezentius worn,
Now on a naked snag in triumph borne, 10
Was hung on high, and glitter’d from afar,
A trophy sacred to the God of War.
Above his arms, fix’d on the leafless wood,
Appear’d his plumy crest, besmear’d with blood:
His brazen buckler on the left was seen; 15
Truncheons of shiver’d lances hung between;
And on the right was placed his corslet, bor’d;
And to the neck was tied his unavailing sword.
A crowd of chiefs inclose the godlike man,
Who thus, conspicuous in the midst, began: 20
“Our toils, my friends, are crown’d with sure success;
The greater part perform’d, achieve the less.
Now follow cheerful to the trembling town;
Press but an entrance, and presume it won.
Fear is no more, for fierce Mezentius lies, 25
As the first fruits of war, a sacrifice.
Turnus shall fall extended on the plain,
And, in this omen, is already slain.
Prepar’d in arms, pursue your happy chance;
That none unwarn’d may plead his ignorance, 30
And I, at Heav’n’s appointed hour, may find
Your warlike ensigns waving in the wind.
Meantime the rites and fun’ral pomps prepare,
Due to your dead companions of the war:
The last respect the living can bestow, 35
To shield their shadows from contempt below.
That conquer’d earth be theirs, for which they fought,
And which for us with their own blood they bought;
But first the corpse of our unhappy friend
To the sad city of Evander send, 40
Who, not inglorious, in his age’s bloom,
Was hurried hence by too severe a doom.”
Thus, weeping while he spoke, he took his way,
Where, new in death, lamented Pallas lay.
Acoetes watch’d the corpse; whose youth deserv’d 45
The father’s trust; and now the son he serv’d
With equal faith, but less auspicious care.
Th’ attendants of the slain his sorrow share.
A troop of Trojans mix’d with these appear,
And mourning matrons with dishevel’d hair. 50
[...] Read more
poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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A Map Of Culture
Culture
Contents
What is Culture?
The Importance of Culture
Culture Varies
Culture is Critical
The Sociobiology Debate
Values, Norms, and Social Control
Signs and Symbols
Language
Terms and Definitions
Approaches to the Study of Culture
Are We Prisoners of Our Culture?
What is Culture?
I prefer the definition used by Ian Robertson: 'all the shared products of society: material and nonmaterial' (Our text defines it in somewhat more ponderous terms- 'The totality of learned, socially transmitted behavior. It includes ideas, values, and customs (as well as the sailboats, comic books, and birth control devices) of groups of people' (p.32) .
Back to Contents
[...] Read more
poem by Nyein Way
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England And Spain
Too long have Tyranny and Power combined,
To sway, with iron sceptre, o'er mankind;
Long has Oppression worn th' imperial robe,
And Rapine's sword has wasted half the globe!
O'er Europe's cultured realms, and climes afar,
Triumphant Gaul has pour'd the tide of war;
To her fair Austria veil'd the standard bright;
Ausonia's lovely plains have own'd her might;
While Prussia's eagle, never taught to yield,
Forsook her tow'ring height on Jena's field!
Oh! gallant Fred'ric! could thy parted shade,
Have seen thy country vanquish'd and betray'd;
How had thy soul indignant mourn'd her shame,
Her sullied trophies, and her tarnish'd fame!
When Valour wept lamented BRUNSWlCK's doom,
And nursed with tears, the laurels on his tomb;
When Prussia, drooping o'er her hero's grave,
Invoked his spirit to descend and save;
Then set her glories -- then expired her sun,
And fraud achieved -- e'en more than conquest won!
O'er peaceful realms, that smiled with plenty gay,
Has desolation spread her ample sway;
Thy blast, oh Ruin! on tremendous wings,
Has proudly swept o'er empires, nations, kings!
Thus the wild hurricane's impetuous force,
With dark destruction marks its whelming course;
Despoils the woodland's pomp, the blooming plain,
Death on its pinion, vengeance in its train!
-- Rise, Freedom, rise! and breaking from thy trance,
Wave the dread banner, seize the glittering lance!
With arm of might assert thy sacred cause,
And call thy champions to defend thy laws!
How long shall tyrant power her throne maintain?
How long shall despots and usurpers reign?
Is honour's lofty soul for ever fled?
Is virtue lost? is martial ardour dead?
Is there no heart where worth and valour dwell,
No patriot WALLACE, no undaunted TELL?
Yes, Freedom, yes! thy sons, a noble band,
Around thy banner, firm, exulting stand;
Once more 'tis thine, invincible, to wield
The beamy spear, and adamantine shield!
Again thy cheek with proud resentment glows,
Again thy lion-glance appals thy foes;
Thy kindling eye-beam darts unconquer'd fires,
Thy look sublime the warrior's heart inspires:
And while, to guard thy standard and thy right,
Castilians rush, intrepid, to the fight;
[...] Read more
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Demeaning
Living inside the emptiness
Heart and chain combined
Broken by pure loveliness
Yet that to is denied
Filled with sorrow and strife
Break not free from this feeling
Over taken by this sweet life
Yet this is all just demeaning
Demeaning into sweet caress
Demeaning into loneliness
Demeaning into happiness
No,
Uplifting into happiness
Upon no more consulting
Upon no more caress
Until you find your sweetheart
Until you find your heart
This, upon the dusty ground
Love, hope, peace, caring, trouble,
Happiness and all these feeling can be found
And you can fulfill your eternal meaning
poem by Matt Gotlieb
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The Four Seasons : Autumn
Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf,
While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain,
Comes jovial on; the Doric reed once more,
Well pleased, I tune. Whate'er the wintry frost
Nitrous prepared; the various blossom'd Spring
Put in white promise forth; and Summer-suns
Concocted strong, rush boundless now to view,
Full, perfect all, and swell my glorious theme.
Onslow! the Muse, ambitious of thy name,
To grace, inspire, and dignify her song,
Would from the public voice thy gentle ear
A while engage. Thy noble cares she knows,
The patriot virtues that distend thy thought,
Spread on thy front, and in thy bosom glow;
While listening senates hang upon thy tongue,
Devolving through the maze of eloquence
A roll of periods, sweeter than her song.
But she too pants for public virtue, she,
Though weak of power, yet strong in ardent will,
Whene'er her country rushes on her heart,
Assumes a bolder note, and fondly tries
To mix the patriot's with the poet's flame.
When the bright Virgin gives the beauteous days,
And Libra weighs in equal scales the year;
From Heaven's high cope the fierce effulgence shook
Of parting Summer, a serener blue,
With golden light enliven'd, wide invests
The happy world. Attemper'd suns arise,
Sweet-beam'd, and shedding oft through lucid clouds
A pleasing calm; while broad, and brown, below
Extensive harvests hang the heavy head.
Rich, silent, deep, they stand; for not a gale
Rolls its light billows o'er the bending plain:
A calm of plenty! till the ruffled air
Falls from its poise, and gives the breeze to blow.
Rent is the fleecy mantle of the sky;
The clouds fly different; and the sudden sun
By fits effulgent gilds the illumined field,
And black by fits the shadows sweep along.
A gaily chequer'd heart-expanding view,
Far as the circling eye can shoot around,
Unbounded tossing in a flood of corn.
These are thy blessings, Industry! rough power!
Whom labour still attends, and sweat, and pain;
Yet the kind source of every gentle art,
And all the soft civility of life:
Raiser of human kind! by Nature cast,
Naked, and helpless, out amid the woods
And wilds, to rude inclement elements;
With various seeds of art deep in the mind
[...] Read more
poem by James Thomson
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Vision Of Columbus - Book 7
Hail sacred Peace, who claim'st thy bright abode,
Mid circling saints that grace the throne of God.
Before his arm, around the shapeless earth,
Stretch'd the wide heavens and gave to nature birth;
Ere morning stars his glowing chambers hung,
Or songs of gladness woke an angel's tongue,
Veil'd in the brightness of the Almighty's mind,
In blest repose thy placid form reclined;
Borne through the heavens with his creating voice,
Thy presence bade the unfolding worlds rejoice,
Gave to seraphic harps their sounding lays,
Their joys to angels, and to men their praise.
From scenes of blood, these beauteous shores that stain,
From gasping friends that press the sanguine plain,
From fields, long taught in vain thy flight to mourn,
I rise, delightful Power, and greet thy glad return.
Too long the groans of death, and battle's bray
Have rung discordant through the unpleasing lay:
Let pity's tear its balmy fragrance shed,
O'er heroes' wounds and patriot warriors dead;
Accept, departed Shades, these grateful sighs,
Your fond attendants to the approving skies.
And thou, my earliest friend, my Brother dear,
Thy fall untimely wakes the tender tear.
In youthful sports, in toils, in blood allied,
My kind companion and my hopeful guide,
When Heaven's sad summons, from our infant eyes
Had call'd our last, loved parent to the skies.
Tho' young in arms, and still obscure thy name,
Thy bosom panted for the deeds of fame,
Beneath Montgomery's eye, when, by thy steel,
In northern wilds, the lurking savage fell.
'Yet, hapless youth! when thy great leader bled,
Thro' the same wound thy parting spirit fled.
But now the untuneful trump shall grate no more,
Ye silver streams, no longer swell with gore;
Bear from your beauteous banks the crimson stain,
With yon retiring navies to the main.
While other views, unfolding on my eyes,
And happier themes bid bolder numbers rise.
Bring, bounteous Peace, in thy celestial throng
Life to my soul, and rapture to my song;
Give me to trace, with pure unclouded ray,
The arts and virtues that attend thy sway;
To see thy blissful charms, that here descend,
Through distant realms and endless years extend.
To cast new glories o'er the changing clime,
The Seraph now reversed the flight of time;
Roll'd back the years, that led their course before,
And stretch'd immense the wild uncultured shore;
[...] Read more
poem by Joel Barlow
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The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 12
WHEN Turnus saw the Latins leave the field,
Their armies broken, and their courage quell’d,
Himself become the mark of public spite,
His honor question’d for the promis’d fight;
The more he was with vulgar hate oppress’d, 5
The more his fury boil’d within his breast:
He rous’d his vigor for the last debate,
And rais’d his haughty soul to meet his fate.
As, when the swains the Libyan lion chase,
He makes a sour retreat, nor mends his pace; 10
But, if the pointed jav’lin pierce his side,
The lordly beast returns with double pride:
He wrenches out the steel, he roars for pain;
His sides he lashes, and erects his mane:
So Turnus fares; his eyeballs flash with fire, 15
Thro’ his wide nostrils clouds of smoke expire.
Trembling with rage, around the court he ran,
At length approach’d the king, and thus began:
“No more excuses or delays: I stand
In arms prepar’d to combat, hand to hand, 20
This base deserter of his native land.
The Trojan, by his word, is bound to take
The same conditions which himself did make.
Renew the truce; the solemn rites prepare,
And to my single virtue trust the war. 25
The Latians unconcern’d shall see the fight;
This arm unaided shall assert your right:
Then, if my prostrate body press the plain,
To him the crown and beauteous bride remain.”
To whom the king sedately thus replied: 30
“Brave youth, the more your valor has been tried,
The more becomes it us, with due respect,
To weigh the chance of war, which you neglect.
You want not wealth, or a successive throne,
Or cities which your arms have made your own: 35
My towns and treasures are at your command,
And stor’d with blooming beauties is my land;
Laurentum more than one Lavinia sees,
Unmarried, fair, of noble families.
Now let me speak, and you with patience hear, 40
Things which perhaps may grate a lover’s ear,
But sound advice, proceeding from a heart
Sincerely yours, and free from fraudful art.
The gods, by signs, have manifestly shown,
No prince Italian born should heir my throne: 45
Oft have our augurs, in prediction skill’d,
And oft our priests, a foreign son reveal’d.
Yet, won by worth that cannot be withstood,
Brib’d by my kindness to my kindred blood,
Urg’d by my wife, who would not be denied, 50
[...] Read more
poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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The Ghost - Book IV
Coxcombs, who vainly make pretence
To something of exalted sense
'Bove other men, and, gravely wise,
Affect those pleasures to despise,
Which, merely to the eye confined,
Bring no improvement to the mind,
Rail at all pomp; they would not go
For millions to a puppet-show,
Nor can forgive the mighty crime
Of countenancing pantomime;
No, not at Covent Garden, where,
Without a head for play or player,
Or, could a head be found most fit,
Without one player to second it,
They must, obeying Folly's call,
Thrive by mere show, or not at all
With these grave fops, who, (bless their brains!)
Most cruel to themselves, take pains
For wretchedness, and would be thought
Much wiser than a wise man ought,
For his own happiness, to be;
Who what they hear, and what they see,
And what they smell, and taste, and feel,
Distrust, till Reason sets her seal,
And, by long trains of consequences
Insured, gives sanction to the senses;
Who would not (Heaven forbid it!) waste
One hour in what the world calls Taste,
Nor fondly deign to laugh or cry,
Unless they know some reason why;
With these grave fops, whose system seems
To give up certainty for dreams,
The eye of man is understood
As for no other purpose good
Than as a door, through which, of course,
Their passage crowding, objects force,
A downright usher, to admit
New-comers to the court of Wit:
(Good Gravity! forbear thy spleen;
When I say Wit, I Wisdom mean)
Where (such the practice of the court,
Which legal precedents support)
Not one idea is allow'd
To pass unquestion'd in the crowd,
But ere it can obtain the grace
Of holding in the brain a place,
Before the chief in congregation
Must stand a strict examination.
Not such as those, who physic twirl,
Full fraught with death, from every curl;
[...] Read more
poem by Charles Churchill
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Too Personal
Youre to to to too personal
Youre to to to too personal
Well you keep talking about love -
Well what do you want
We have fun alright - so what do you want
The idea of fate its all in the mind
We are the ones who control our own time
Look dont get me wrong
But if you keep on Im gonna go
Youre to to to too personal
Youre to to to too personal
You say everyones lonely and insecure
All because of living in hate and fear
Well if love is possession baby you better change
No ones gonna keep me in those chains
Look dont get me wrong
But if you keep on Im gonna go
Forget your personal problems
Think about somebody else
Im gonna think about them - right now
Youre to to to too personal
Youre to to to too personal
Youre to to to too personal
Youre to to to too personal
song performed by Billy Idol
Added by Lucian Velea
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If government, or those in positions of power and authority, can silence criticism by the argument that such criticism might be misunderstood somewhere, there is an end to all criticism, and perhaps an end to our kind of political system. For men in authority will always think that criticism of their policies is dangerous. They will always equate their policies with patriotism, and find criticism subversive.
quote by Henry Steele Commager
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Stretch Out And Wait
On the high-rise estate
What's at the back of your mind ?
Oh, a three-day debate
On a high-rise estate
What's at the back of your mind ?
Two icy-cold hands conducting the way
It's the eskimo blood in my veins
Amid concrete and clay
And general decay
Nature must still find a way
So ignore all the codes of the day
Let your juvenile influences sway
This way and that way (this way)
This way and that way (this way)
God, how sex implores you
To let yourself lose yourself
Stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
Oh ... let your puny body, lie down, lie down
As we lie, you say
As we lie, you say
Stretch out and ...
Stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
Oh ... let your puny body lie down, lie down
As we lie, you say :
Will the world end in the night time ?
(i really don't know)
Or will the world end in the day time ?
(i really don't know)
And is there any point ever having children ?
Oh, i don't know
What i do know is we're here and it's now
So ... stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
There is no debate, no debate, no debate
How can you conciously contemplate
When there's no debate, no debate ?
Stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
Wait
Wait
Wait
Wait
song performed by Smiths
Added by Lucian Velea
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Stretch Out & Wait
On the high-rise estate
Whats at the back of your mind ?
Oh, a three-day debate
On a high-rise estate
Whats at the back of your mind ?
Two icy-cold hands conducting the way
Its the eskimo blood in my veins
Amid concrete and clay
And general decay
Nature must still find a way
So ignore all the codes of the day
Let your juvenile influences sway
This way and that way (this way)
This way and that way (this way)
God, how sex implores you
To let yourself lose yourself
Stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
Oh ... let your puny body, lie down, lie down
As we lie, you say
As we lie, you say
Stretch out and ...
Stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
Oh ... let your puny body lie down, lie down
As we lie, you say :
Will the world end in the night time ?
(I really dont know)
Or will the world end in the day time ?
(I really dont know)
And is there any point ever having children ?
Oh, I dont know
What I do know is were here and its now
So ... stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
There is no debate, no debate, no debate
How can you conciously contemplate
When theres no debate, no debate ?
Stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
Wait
Wait
Wait
Wait
song performed by Smiths
Added by Lucian Velea
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Eighth Book
ONE eve it happened when I sate alone,
Alone upon the terrace of my tower,
A book upon my knees, to counterfeit
The reading that I never read at all,
While Marian, in the garden down below,
Knelt by the fountain (I could just hear thrill
The drowsy silence of the exhausted day)
And peeled a new fig from that purple heap
In the grass beside her,–turning out the red
To feed her eager child, who sucked at it
With vehement lips across a gap of air
As he stood opposite, face and curls a-flame
With that last sun-ray, crying, 'give me, give,'
And stamping with imperious baby-feet,
(We're all born princes)–something startled me,–
The laugh of sad and innocent souls, that breaks
Abruptly, as if frightened at itself;
'Twas Marian laughed. I saw her glance above
In sudden shame that I should hear her laugh,
And straightway dropped my eyes upon my book,
And knew, the first time, 'twas Boccaccio's tales,
The Falcon's,–of the lover who for love
Destroyed the best that loved him. Some of us
Do it still, and then we sit and laugh no more.
Laugh you, sweet Marian! you've the right to laugh,
Since God himself is for you, and a child!
For me there's somewhat less,–and so, I sigh.
The heavens were making room to hold the night,
The sevenfold heavens unfolding all their gates
To let the stars out slowly (prophesied
In close-approaching advent, not discerned),
While still the cue-owls from the cypresses
Of the Poggio called and counted every pulse
Of the skyey palpitation. Gradually
The purple and transparent shadows slow
Had filled up the whole valley to the brim,
And flooded all the city, which you saw
As some drowned city in some enchanted sea,
Cut off from nature,–drawing you who gaze,
With passionate desire, to leap and plunge,
And find a sea-king with a voice of waves,
And treacherous soft eyes, and slippery locks
You cannot kiss but you shall bring away
Their salt upon your lips. The duomo-bell
Strikes ten, as if it struck ten fathoms down,
So deep; and fifty churches answer it
The same, with fifty various instances.
Some gaslights tremble along squares and streets
The Pitti's palace-front is drawn in fire:
[...] Read more
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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XI. Guido
You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock
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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Descent
Falling victim from neglect
Designed thoughts and intellect
Forgotten and displaced
The crux of my dismay
I feel nothing
I am nothing
I feel nothing
Nothing
How deep I descend?
Until I reach my end?
How deep I descend?
Deeper into this abyss
Weighted down and sinking fast
Life did not offer me
More than false destiny
I feel nothing
I am nothing
I feel nothing
Nothing
How deep I descend?
Until I reach my end?
How deep I descend?
I am nothing
I feel nothing
I am nothing
I feel nothing
Nothing
Nothing...
How deep I descend?
Until I reach my end?
How deep I descend?
song performed by Fear Factory from Obsolete
Added by Lucian Velea
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Seeking the Universal beyond Ideology
Seeking the Universal beyond Ideology
When I teach the Great Tribulation period is coming I must teach it as I see the Bible teaches it. If I see the killing of innocent children in their mothers womb is injustice I am going to say it; if I see USA corporations exploiting third world peoples for sweat shop labor and low environmental standards and that this injustice is wrong I am going to say it. The ideologues and political people who see the world through their systems of indoctrination don't want me too. They want their cake and eat it too. Their party partisan world views do not want to be disrupted but they clap so loudly when their so called enemies from the other side are rebuked or stumble. The church is to back the universal not parties and ideologies. We all are tainted and see through our own backgrounds with our own a priori. I understand this but we must make a real effort to leave all parties in our hearts and put the eternal kingdom of God first.
The Bible openly condemns the practice of homosexuality yet there are people who will talk health care and social justice until they are blue in the face and back gay marriage and call themselves Christians. Their Christianity rationalizes the Scriptures and claims science and scholarship equal with Scripture and they pick and choose what Scripture they call real. I don't care if someone backs up civil liberties thus gays but the true church cannot try to justify sin and go against Scripture. Their rabbits foot Christ is an existential projection with a transit modern basis ever changing because they have given up Sola Scriptura. Their liberation theology is full of Marxist and secular ideologies. Jesus is a placard for their cause against imperialism, colonialism, racism, feminism etc. They replace revelation with reasoning yet can't figure out death so hold onto portions of the Bible. Their message is a bit mystical but mostly social gospel and political. Many many left wingers are into this who want some religion to go with their politics. I totally reject this position and will never be card carrying anything. I am a universalist and as a Christian can see their good statements without belonging to their groups in away that taints my thinking. I will never accept gay marriage or gays adapting children etc. Much of what they say about greed and capitalism is true but that truth to me is universal and transcends secular schools. They also reject Bible prophecy and eschatology. The won't accept Israel as a nation as apart of prophecy and the coming of the anti-christ, false church and wars of the Great Tribulation culminating in the battle of Armageddon. They equate modern theology equal with Scripture in many ways. Their Jesus is a socialist and their message is basically man and movements can bring in the eternal kingdom by our own hands and efforts. The world continues to get progressively worse while they hide in their bubble and utopian womb. Without eschatology and God eventually changing things they have the weight of the world on their shoulders so they struggle to change a world that is actually decaying worse than ever. Their position during the 30's through the 70's turned some ears but today they have little relevance and are a laughing stock to most realists. Those that try to believe stumble with higher criticism and post modernism and their loss of real faith in the Jesus of the Scriptures is exchanged for a heavy weighty philosophy, theology, dialectical materialism, sociology and so called science and rational reasoning faith causes them to always be evolving and never arriving at a solid position. They are marginalized into their own little frustrated circles and many are depressed and neurotic with a position so heavy even they can't bare it let alone teach it. They have to stay small because they have no structure so they blog and try to feel important but they are lost in a wilderness going in circles. There is no peace in this kind of position and they lack joy outside of nature and the everyday things God has given to all men. They don't believe in the fall of the devil with a third of the angels so they beat the air and shadow box in their fight while they idealize Scandinavia. Their intellectualism from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil leads them into covering themselves with works of the law and in many ways they are the new legalism. Many have never ever voted for another party so they are truly entrenched. I feel sorry for these angst ridden neurotics and many are alcoholics with addictive personalities. Ever learning but never able to come to the knowledge of the truth. When you loose the simplicity of Christ according to the Scriptures you head for a horrible wilderness. They will dropp names all day long and use great swelling words then go home and take their anti-depressants. Heresy has no peace!
The next group are Pan American right wingers who believe in America as an idol and mix nationalism in their religion to the point of craziness, Roe V Wade caused a lot of evangelicals to consolidate behind the republican party and the Bible Belt Christianity of today is full of militarism, Civil religion, backing of the rich, corporations are wonderful, capitalism is God ordained and America is the greatest country in the world and should protect its interests with its military around the world. This culture of right wing ideology forebodes many evangelical churches. You will constantly hear about the evil over there, the evil in Islam and 9'11 sermons while not hearing a word about American Corporate power oppressing the world and backing national guards in third world countries to get cheap labor and goods and maximum corporate profits. The rebellions to these situations are looked at like Castro's and Che Guevara's. Movies like 'The Patriot' make them cry. They will interrupt a Bible study when it goes against their party political burnt out minds. They actually stand up against health care while pouring trillions of wasted dollars on military spending. PROTECT OUR COUNTRY is their mantra while letting an insurance company dropping a pre-existing illness in a child. They had both houses under Clinton's last term and George Bush and never passed anything against the insurance companies. My twin brother died of cancer in 2006 and the insurance company dropped him though he worked his entire life and was never unemployed and my father was wounded twice in world war two with two purple hearts. These right wing Christians are so hypnotized and full of a priori they stand for the ultra rich and they call the poor lazy while the jobs were shipped to sweat shop labor with horrible environmental standards. Some are so shot they have never voted another party and now as Christians they bring their political religion into everything. They will preach against homosexuality but stand up for ruining the environment by lowering standards every where. The extreme tea party house won't even allow GMO's to be labelled. They back up corporate power, prisons for profit, a failed war on drugs, the corrupt pharmaceutical industries. Everything is the communists are coming! ! ! ! Let the rich kids go to school we don't want anything socialized yet the police and the fire stations are a kind of socialized effort. I meet these evangelicals all the time. Why are you taking the humanity courses and sociology and not a business course to make money they will tell their kids? I have been told so many times...Why don't you leave this country if you don't like it? I laugh at these shills and bubba Christians of the me, I and mine mentality tied into the dumbing of America so they can be apart of the union busting right to work culture of the cattle right. I am going to teach the tribulation and not America. Sin is here not just over in Islam. Greed and unfair laws are here. Monsanto and other corporations are getting away with murder. The entire food industry is being taken over by corporate powers that are using carcinogens and genetically modifying our food. Chickens and cattle were meant to graze. The cruelty to animals of our times is a total sin by these industries and the evil is not just over in Iran. These right wingers are something out of George Orwell's 1984 and Animal Farm. The war and evil over there is like a scape goat so they don't have to look at the evil right in their own back yard and homes. They are bloated with right wing politics to keep them blind.they are puffed up with nationalism and right wing propaganda. They block the universal of God's justice and mercy with their ideology and politics. They think a Great Tribulation is coming because we head toward socialism not seeing that corporate socialism is already in play like the Tower of Babel and is reinforced by their minds. They mix religion and politics and see through rose colored glasses. Jesus said my Kingdom is not of this world - the people of God are his Holy Nation not the USA. Someone from Ukraine or France should be proud of their country just like someone here but as Christians we are suppose to put his kingdom first and like Abraham of old leave our background and become sojourners and strangers looking for a city not built by the hands of man. I am so tired of this phony idolatrous nationalism that is so jingoistic and arrogant; so condescending and patronizing.
I will never be apart of this. When I teach I will teach what I truly feel the Bible says and there are enough rainbow churches and right wing churches for people to go too who don't want to work with me. All of these organizations and ideologies are not going in the rapture of the church. Come out from among them and be a separate people and let the world die to the eternal Kingdom. Move with the cloud over the tabernacle in the wilderness and leave worldly politics in the sense that we stand for the universal and truth. Admit when evil is on the left or right or in any organization. Quit backing and rationalizing for parties and ideologies. This time period is the last days of the church age and we are soon to see this world go into the great tribulation period and no party, movement, ideology is going to prevent it. Take off the blinders!
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
Added by Poetry Lover
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The House Of Dust: Complete
I.
The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.
And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.
'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.
We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .
Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.
Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.
Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.
II.
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poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Added by Poetry Lover
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