Madness: a form of love

THUCYDIDES, II c. 460 - c. 400 B.C. Diotorus spoke at the assembly where the Athenaian's were re=considering their decree to kill all the men of Mytilene. He urged them to stay the executions. Cleon spoke first, and urged against it, at the same time attacking the habit of re-considerations which he said merely allowed speaker's to display their vanity. (III 38.2 -3, 27.3 -4). Diototus thus began by defending the propriety of the practice of re=deliberation about the city's affairs, which he called "the greatest things."  He warns that the city is harmed when speakers accuse one another (for instance, of being corrupted by moneY) because then fear deprives them of councelors. Speakers who make such accusations should not be permitted to speak. In a 'moderate city', no unsuccessful speakers should be dishonored or feel so. The Athenians, he says boldly, are so envious that they would reject what is manfestly the best advice for the city if they surspecte...

She is a bit eccentric, and a nice-natured lady, Dreaming of space or time ships, And goblins with seventyeight different toes. But, when all is finally done and snipped, The party line she tows. At predetermined intervals she visits me, like a woman's monthly woes. Making sure that the child inside of me, often bleeds and never grows. "You've had your chance, to burst buds in freedom", so her teacher says. "This is for your own prudent protection, for the rest of all your days." It seems to her a wise precaution, to nip the peaks and tuck the lows. Because its at an expert's inspection, somebody who much better knows - Officious guardians of convention, who society's primitive fear allays. It is for us a most difficult sentence, because ours are not their ways. Each time she arrives, how I try and I scheme to prove myself pristinely sane. Yet all she probably sees is that chequered history, the hideous, unrelenting stain. Her luke...

If life is a joke, and death is the punchline,  Man is the gag of Being; An ape who fancies himself a God,  Bringing hilarity to the latter... Longing for eternity, slave to infirmity... Just when he thinks he's got it all sorted... KABOOM!  (....With a silk handkerchief tied around his gruesome appetites...) * "Man is the poem of Being" - Martin Heidegger  

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Us jews may be loaded, but we're still hobos at heart.

My mind is like a garden. If you go down deep enough there's nothing but dirt and a solid abyss of immovable rock, but that doesn't mean it isn't worth growing some pretty flowers above the earth while I'm there too. Just like breeds of flowers, they are ancient and ineffectual as the hills and still they have their season in which to scatter them with the color, smoothness and vibrancy of petals, each one trembling with early morning dew and the risen beams of the new dawn.

Our sole duty is to feel the inklings of intoxication with power coming on and then eschew it.

 THUCYDIDES c. 460-c. 400 B. C. Thucydides is the author of a single book, The War of the Peloponnesians and the Athenians. He presents his "quest for truth" (I 20:3) as an account of a single political event, the twenty-seven-year war through which the Spartans and their allies brought down the Athenian empire. He claims that his study of it will be useful for those who seek clarity, not only about the war, but more generally about the past, and even about the future, which in his view will again resemble the past that he has brought to light. The book is littered with speeches by those who took part in the war, which speak to our own own moral and political concerns and add to the vivid presencing of it. They call upon us to take sides for and against them. It is by fostering these concerns that Thucydides makes us receptive to his claim of the war's universal significance. Thucydides himself, however, is very reticent about making explicit judgements. Just like in ...

"I hereby swear to do no harm."; This old ruse still works a charm! Drug 'em up and lock 'em behind sealed doors... But only if they're insured ! Suppress the symptom, Make the root problem grow ever more profitable. : ) Side-effects galore, Only mean we earn more! : ) Our private oath and motto: "No choice, big price!"

Lustrous curls, a prophet's beard; From their thatch, he can tell you're weird. 'Anyone on the street could tell you're schizo', And, after all, what am I but the over-paid Stooge of popular prejudice? I have been doing this job so long, I can no longer hear a bird's song. I merely inspect its plumage, And then cover it in bondage. In my old country, where fanaticism rages, They all look a bit like you; I have transcended those unlucky few. Now when I look into a man's soul, All I see is a disgusting, threatening outgrowth of bristles. I am the hair Dokterr, I am the hair-style Lord, Fall into my ward, And I'll make you as servile as my race, Taking my razor to your heart, Until its trim, neat, and fatal, As a sickle-cell from the balmy South.