
The one thing I can assure you is that I'm not going to do a Prescott.
quote by David Trimble
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Montezuma's Anguish
Cortés identified with Quetzalcóatl,
We think we know the story, but don’t know it all.
In writing stories of the people whom we vanquish,
how can we understand king Montezuma’s anguish?
It’s only with unconscionable audacity
that we consider science and sagacity
enable us to understand those we defeat
like open books to which we are the exegete.
Inspired by an article in the TLS, July 31,2009, by J. H. Elliott on the Boston gentleman-scholar William Hickling Prescott, the author of History of the Conquest of Mexico (1843) and History of the Conquest of Peru (1847) . Criticizing Prescott’s approach, Elliott, former Regius Professor of History at Oxford University, writes:
As part of this process of re-evaluation, historians try to recover “the vision of the vanquished” and to reconstruct the history of “peoples without history”, victims not only of imperial domination but also the lack of written records....
Montezuma’s assumed identification of Cortés with Quetzalcóatl has been a staple element of the story from Prescott’s day to our own, but it has also come to be contested as a post-conquest fabrication. Equally the omens have been shown to have suspicious affinities with the omens and prodigies recorded by classical authors like Plutarch, Lucan and Josephus. If the Quetzalcóatl myth and the story of the omens are no more than retrospective attempts to make sense of the extraordinary succession of events, Prescott’s doom-laden interpretation of Montezuma’s behaviour loses much of its credibility….Was he killed by stones thrown by his own rebellious subjects, as the account commonly goes, or was he put to death by the Spaniards, as one or two alternative sources suggest? Or did he perhaps die “as much under the anguish of a wounded spirit, as under disease”, as Prescott ws inclined to believe?
8/15/09
poem by Gershon Hepner
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University Of Central Florida Volleyball
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[...] Read more
poem by Caasder Fronds
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Leisure
(andy partridge)
Leisure
They taught me how to work,
But they cant teach me how to shirk correctly.
As you see,
Science once again robs us of our jobs.
Theyve put a micro-chip in my place,
I hide behind screen of aggression nowadays,
Its just a way of saving some face.
So now Im permanently drunk,
Like the rest of the race with,
Leisure.
If you think Im clowning,
I assure you that Im drowning here in,
Leisure
They taught me how to work,
But they cant teach me how to shirk correctly.
I spend all day,
And all my allowance on t.v. games.
Amusement heaven at the flick of a switch.
Instead of a lathe I busy my fingers nowadays,
By scoring goals with the gentlest twitch.
Ive forgotten how to use my legs to invade the pitch.
Leisure
If you think Im clowning,
I assure you that Im drowning here in,
Leisure
They taught me how to work,
But they cant teach me how to shirk correctly.
They had retired me fore I left school,
(just saw no point in the standing in line)
So I spend lots of time lounging at home,
(why not come in cos the carpet is fine)
What a waste of breath it is,
Searching for the jobs that dont exist.
So now Im permanently drunk,
Like the rest of the race with,
Leisure.
If you think Im clowning,
I assure you that Im drowning here in,
Leisure
They taught me how to work,
But they cant teach me how to shirk correctly.
Lazybones, looking through the sun
Howd you ever expect to find your days work ...?
song performed by Xtc
Added by Lucian Velea
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Maladies
Cast: James Franco, Catherine Keener, Fallon Goodson, David Strathairn, Vince Jolivette, Carter, Jon Prescott
trailer for Maladies, directed by Carter, screenplay by Carter (2012)
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Maladies [trailer 2]
Cast: James Franco, Catherine Keener, Fallon Goodson, David Strathairn, Vince Jolivette, Carter, Jon Prescott
trailer for Maladies, directed by Carter, screenplay by Carter (2012)
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These charges that have been made against me, that Prof. Prescott has made, has charged against me, that I denied the atonement in conversation with him, are absolutely false.
quote by John Harvey Kellogg
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M'Fingal - Canto IV
Now Night came down, and rose full soon
That patroness of rogues, the Moon;
Beneath whose kind protecting ray,
Wolves, brute and human, prowl for prey.
The honest world all snored in chorus,
While owls and ghosts and thieves and Tories,
Whom erst the mid-day sun had awed,
Crept from their lurking holes abroad.
On cautious hinges, slow and stiller,
Wide oped the great M'Fingal's cellar,
Where safe from prying eyes, in cluster,
The Tory Pandemonium muster.
Their chiefs all sitting round descried are,
On kegs of ale and seats of cider;
When first M'Fingal, dimly seen,
Rose solemn from the turnip-bin.
Nor yet his form had wholly lost
Th' original brightness it could boast,
Nor less appear'd than Justice Quorum,
In feather'd majesty before 'em.
Adown his tar-streak'd visage, clear
Fell glistening fast th' indignant tear,
And thus his voice, in mournful wise,
Pursued the prologue of his sighs.
"Brethren and friends, the glorious band
Of loyalty in rebel land!
It was not thus you've seen me sitting,
Return'd in triumph from town-meeting;
When blust'ring Whigs were put to stand,
And votes obey'd my guiding hand,
And new commissions pleased my eyes;
Blest days, but ah, no more to rise!
Alas, against my better light,
And optics sure of second-sight,
My stubborn soul, in error strong,
Had faith in Hutchinson too long.
See what brave trophies still we bring
From all our battles for the king;
And yet these plagues, now past before us,
Are but our entering wedge of sorrows!
"I see, in glooms tempestuous, stand
The cloud impending o'er the land;
That cloud, which still beyond their hopes
Serves all our orators with tropes;
[...] Read more
poem by John Trumbull
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Grandmother's Story Of Bunker Hill Battle (as she saw it from the Belfry)
'Tis like stirring living embers when, at eighty, one remembers
All the achings and the quakings of 'the times that tried men's souls';
When I talk of Whig and Tory, when I tell the Rebel story,
To you the words are ashes, but to me they're burning coals.
I had heard the muskets' rattle of the April running battle;
Lord Percy's hunted soldiers, I can see their red coats still;
But a deadly chill comes o'er me, as the day looms up before me,
When a thousand men lay bleeding on the slopes of Bunker's Hill.
'Twas a peaceful summer's morning, when the first thing gave us warning
Was the booming of the cannon from the river and the shore:
'Child,' says grandma, 'what's the matter, what is all this noise and clatter?
Have those scalping Indian devils come to murder us once more?'
Poor old soul! my sides were shaking in the midst of all my quaking
To hear her talk of Indians when the guns began to roar:
She had seen the burning village, and the slaughter and the pillage,
When the Mohawks killed her father, with their bullets through his door.
Then I said, 'Now, dear old granny, don't you fret and worry any,
For I'll soon come back and tell you whether this is work or play;
There can't be mischief in it, so I won't be gone a minute'—
For a minute then I started. I was gone the livelong day.
No time for bodice-lacing or for looking-glass grimacing;
Down my hair went as I hurried, tumbling half-way to my heels;
God forbid your ever knowing, when there's blood around her flowing,
How the lonely, helpless daughter of a quiet household feels!
In the street I heard a thumping; and I knew it was the stumping
Of the Corporal, our old neighbor, on that wooden leg he wore,
With a knot of women round him,—it was lucky I had found him,—
So I followed with the others, and the Corporal marched before.
They were making for the steeple,—the old soldier and his people;
The pigeons circled round us as we climbed the creaking stair,
Just across the narrow river—O, so close it made me shiver!—
Stood a fortress on the hilltop that but yesterday was bare.
Not slow our eyes to find it; well we knew who stood behind it,
Though the earthwork hid them from us, and the stubborn walls were dumb:
Here were sister, wife, and mother, looking wild upon each other,
And their lips were white with terror as they said, THE HOUR HAS COME!
The morning slowly wasted, not a morsel had we tasted,
And our heads were almost splitting with the cannons' deafening thrill,
When a figure tall and stately round the rampart strode sedately;
It was PRESCOTT, one since told me; he commanded on the hill.
[...] Read more
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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[...] Read more
poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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[...] Read more
poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Soccer Rollback
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[...] Read more
poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Polaroid
Cast: Madelaine Petsch, Kathryn Prescott, Javier Botet, Katie Stevens, Grace Zabriskie, Mitch Pileggi, Keenan Tracey, Tyler Young, Samantha Logan
trailer for Polaroid, directed by Lars Klevberg, screenplay by Blair Butler (2017)
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A Dog's Journey
Cast: Dennis Quaid, Betty Gilpin, Josh Gad, Abby Ryder Fortson, Marg Helgenberger, Kathryn Prescott, Ian Chen, Daniela Barbosa
trailer for A Dog's Journey, directed by Gail Mancuso, screenplay, inspired by W. Bruce Cameron (2019)
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The Battle of Lexington
Now haste thee while the way is clear,
Paul Revere!
Haste, Dawes! but haste thee not, O Sun!
To Lexington.
Then Devens looked and saw the light:
He got him forth into the night,
And watched alone on the river-shore,
And marked the British ferrying o'er.
John Parker! rub thine eyes and yawn:
But one o'clock and yet 'tis Dawn!
Quick, rub thine eyes and draw thy hose:
The Morning comes ere darkness goes,
Have forth and call the yeomen out,
For somewhere, somewhere close about
Full soon a Thing must come to be
Thine honest eyes shall stare to see
Full soon before thy patriot eyes
Freedom from out of a Wound shall rise.
Then haste ye, Prescott and Revere!
Bring all the men of Lincoln here;
Let Chelmsford, Littleton, Carlisle,
Let Acton, Bedford, hither file -
Oh hither file, and plainly see
Out of a wound leap Liberty.
Say, Woodman April! all in green,
Say, Robin April! hast thou seen
In all thy travel round the earth
Ever a morn of calmer birth?
But Morning's eye alone serene
Can gaze across yon village-green
To where the trooping British run
Through Lexington.
Good men in fustian, stand ye still;
The men in red come o'er the hill.
Lay down your arms, damned Rebels! cry
The men in red full haughtily.
But never a grounding gun is heard;
The men in fustian stand unstirred;
Dead calm, save maybe a wise bluebird
Puts in his little heavenly word.
[...] Read more
poem by Sidney Lanier
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Who Desecrated Geronimo’s Grave?
“elected politicians
government by the people
for the people?
which people? ”
free and equal
representation of the people?
go tell that to Native
Americans
see if they believe?
or African Americans
who had their votes
discounted so bonesman
Bush could steal Florida
steal the White House?
'crooking' America
Skull and Bones 322
stealers of the skull of eighth
President Martin Van Buren?
Skull and Bones 322
stealers of the skull of Pancho Villa
Mexican Revolutionary general?
Trivial pursuit
which American President’s
father and grandfather
desecrated Geronimo’s grave?
A clue? A clue?
Geronimo’s bones were supposedly
stolen by Skull and Bones members
'crooking' from Fort Sill Oklahoma.
A clue? A clue?
An anonymous letter with a photograph
and a copy of a log book claiming;
Skull & Bones stole Geronimo’s skull was sent
in 1986 to who? To who? Ned Anderson
former San Carlos Apache Chairman.
[...] Read more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Fourth Reich Rising - A bitter Pill to Chew
If I was rich I'd be eccentric
But I'm poor so I'm just a fool
To set about to change the world
It's not what they teach in school
This world it's not what it seems to be
From the papers and on TV
Freedom screams at the sacrifice
So you can fuel your SUV
As Brown & Root and the Carlyle Group
Make their money in the fog of war
And the banks extend their credit
Well we seen it all before
When I was twelve I heard the tale
Of slave labour in the Reich
Financed by David Rockerfella
Morgan Stanley and the like
My teacher she gave me Tolkein
A backdropp for a quest
Where the edge is clear and men know fear
As they stand at the abyss
When petty peacetime squabblings
Paper trades of paper men
Are forgot in the cold awareness
That Evil walks again.
And I read about the death camps
And the slaughter of the Jews
Tried to comprehend the loss
Twelve Million empty shoes
The tryranny, pure evil
For which the Wall Street bankers paid
My Grandfathers generation died
So that profits could be made
As the horror of the Holocaust
Was played upon our screens
Nazi gold from the Dulles boys
Was moving behind the scenes
And the Reich of 45
Took shape and began to feed
In a Homeland rich and fertile
Ploughed ready for their seed
[...] Read more
poem by Uncle Nick
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I Will Be True
(words & music by ivory joe hunter)
I will be true
No matter what they may say
I will be true
Although youre far far away
Each night I pray
All day Ill say a silent prayer
That when I open my door
Ill find you there
Somehow I feel
That someday well meet again
Dont ask me how
Its something I cant explain
Until the day
I give up all hope of you
Assure yourself this Ill do
I will be true
Oh oh mmmmmmm
That someday well meet again
Dont ask me how
Its something I cant explain
Until the day
I give up all hope of you
Assure yourself this Ill do
I will be true
song performed by Elvis Presley
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Wrapped In Clothes In Blue
Me close and understand
Its now that I need you
Theres so much doubt when Im alone
Im wrapped in clothes of blue
And I need you to assure me
Always be near me
Im thinking about the times to come
And already what weve done
Its only when I see you smile
You open up my world
Oh I want you to laugh again
Join our hands and laugh again
Lead ourselves through time
And I need you to assure me
Always be near me
Show me youre right
song performed by Texas
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Wrapped In Clothes Of Blue
Hold me close and understand
Its now that I need you
Theres so much doubt when Im alone
Im wrapped in clothes of blue
And I need you to assure me
Always be near me
Im thinking about the times to come
And already what weve done
Its only when I see you smile
You open up my world
Oh, I want you to laugh again
Join our hands and laugh again
Lead ourselves through time
And I need you to assure me
Always be near me
Show me youre right
song performed by Texas
Added by Lucian Velea
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II. Half-Rome
What, you, Sir, come too? (Just the man I'd meet.)
Be ruled by me and have a care o' the crowd:
This way, while fresh folk go and get their gaze:
I'll tell you like a book and save your shins.
Fie, what a roaring day we've had! Whose fault?
Lorenzo in Lucina,—here's a church
To hold a crowd at need, accommodate
All comers from the Corso! If this crush
Make not its priests ashamed of what they show
For temple-room, don't prick them to draw purse
And down with bricks and mortar, eke us out
The beggarly transept with its bit of apse
Into a decent space for Christian ease,
Why, to-day's lucky pearl is cast to swine.
Listen and estimate the luck they've had!
(The right man, and I hold him.)
Sir, do you see,
They laid both bodies in the church, this morn
The first thing, on the chancel two steps up,
Behind the little marble balustrade;
Disposed them, Pietro the old murdered fool
To the right of the altar, and his wretched wife
On the other side. In trying to count stabs,
People supposed Violante showed the most,
Till somebody explained us that mistake;
His wounds had been dealt out indifferent where,
But she took all her stabbings in the face,
Since punished thus solely for honour's sake,
Honoris causâ, that's the proper term.
A delicacy there is, our gallants hold,
When you avenge your honour and only then,
That you disfigure the subject, fray the face,
Not just take life and end, in clownish guise.
It was Violante gave the first offence,
Got therefore the conspicuous punishment:
While Pietro, who helped merely, his mere death
Answered the purpose, so his face went free.
We fancied even, free as you please, that face
Showed itself still intolerably wronged;
Was wrinkled over with resentment yet,
Nor calm at all, as murdered faces use,
Once the worst ended: an indignant air
O' the head there was—'t is said the body turned
Round and away, rolled from Violante's side
Where they had laid it loving-husband-like.
If so, if corpses can be sensitive,
Why did not he roll right down altar-step,
Roll on through nave, roll fairly out of church,
Deprive Lorenzo of the spectacle,
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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