Saturday, May 10, 2014

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
" Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen, and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off—then, I account it high time to get to the sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me."


The dead are my dark matter filling up palpably spaces in my heart and in my world. All my dead are alive in me, alive for me, for whom the past has becvome a luminous and everlasting present; alive to me--yet lost except in my frail after-world. 

For me, my dead live like the music I can play from old recordings. Bud Powell and Charlie alive in my ears, alive, certainly in my heart and brain are the memories of Grandpa, Dad and Mother. Spencer, Greenberg, Hal, Mr. Moody, even Mr. Sherwood and his musical cane of the PS3 playground of evening. As long as I live, they do.

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Even if young, youth is behind them and with it, their zest for exploration and combat. 

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Meum and Tuum--Mine and Yours.

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Ideals coming from the pulpit or the lecture stand, not the mind. 

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Fanatical Vigilance.
Moral Obsessions
Harsh Partisan Restraint
Unbreakable belief in bleak and narrow views 
It's not the know how-- it's the know who.

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"There's a simple rule about temper--
if you can't lose it with one person,
you'll lose it with another. "

Howard Jacobson--"Kalooki Nights








Call me Ismael...

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

 "Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen, and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off—then, I account it high time to get to the sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me."