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Never avenge anything -- especially if you have the power to do so.

Winston Churchill

Fathers always expect their sons to have their own virtues
without their faults. Winston Churchill

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This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths...
Walt Whitman

Now it is autumn and the falling fruit
And the long journey towards oblivion.

The apples falling like great drops of dew
To bruise themselves an exit from themselves.

And it is time to go, to bid farewell
To one's self, and find an exit
from the fallen self.

II...

III
And can a man his own quietus make
with a bare bodkin?

D. H. Lawrence.

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People everywhere confuse what they read in newspapers with news. A.J. Liebling

Check with the doorman.

I think that, in general, doormen look better when smartly dressed as Czarist Russian Admirals in heavy woolen overcoats with gold fringed epaulets, huge lapped pockets, and also wearing eight point, gold trimmed, leather-visored officers' hats.

You should want to promptly make arrangements for proper uniforming. Maybe I got such a get-up in the back of the store. I don't know....

Solomon.

Michael Gross: a vigilant servant of the truth.

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what is a capitalist?

One who hopes to gain heaven by knowing the ropes.
E. M. Forster

If a piece of art must be understood through the brain first it has that much further to go to reach the heart.

Phillip Toshio Sudo
Zen Guitar

If you have to appreciate a work of art via your brain ....

Basically we have no home. We move from apartment to apartment, or from city to city. There is no generational plot of land that calls us, that keeps us.

Rather, it is our friends, our life long friends that bind us together. We expect friendship without guilt a commitment which lives in us just because we are who we are, and as time goes on the glue of friedhip stiffens, and holds fast. We complement each other, like a setting on a table. the fork needs the knife, the soup calls for the spoon and napkin.

Our friendship has been refined over the years--perhaps it is true that we would not sacrifice everything we have for each other--but that's only money. I would not be surprised, however if we'd sacrifice our lives for each other. There has been an unreakable harmony amongst our little group--until now. there is no way to curtail the inclination of our feelings--but something has shattered within the group--and attention must be paid. Thisis not an implacable break. I would ask here that we not confront, to pick at the scab, but to leave punishment, resentment and reprisal to life and its changing fortune.

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The Gypsy looked me in the eye knowingly. She ignored my wife who sat at my side. She held my hand lightly in her's and mumbled to herself, "what's this?" She turned directly to me, somehow putting herself between my wife and me. My wife's curiosity level must have sky-rocketed.

The palm reader began, " You have two parallel love lines. Each is very long, each is very deep, each is unbroken. " I gritted my teeth. The wife leaned closer to hear what was becoming a gypsy incantation.

mek

"It makes me feel a certain zest
To bear your body's weight upon my breast
but let me make it plain:

I find this frenzy insufficient reason
For conversation when we meet again."

Edna St. Vincent M.

Larry, The Iceman Cometh

I was forced to admit, at the end of thirty years’ devotion to the Cause, that I was never made for it. I was condemned to be one of those who has to see all sides of a question.
When you’re damned like that, the questions multiply for you until in the end it’s all questions and no answer. As history proves, to be a worldly success at anything, especially revolution, you have to wear blinders like a horse and see only straight in front of you. You have to see, too, that this is all black, and that is all white.

Eugene Gladstone O’Neill.



Life can never be completed. It can only be abandoned.

Michael E. Katz

One day the news came that Lenin would be making a visit to Poland. What could they do for the great man?

A delegation convened and they decided to commission a painting, a large and glorious oil painting on the theme "Lenin in Poland"

They went to the town's master painter. He promised to have it ready in a month. After a month they returned but he put them off. Two weeks later they were back. He needed still more time. But at last, just one day before Lenin's arrival they went to the studio. As they stood there the painter pulled back the cloth from the enormous canvas. They gazed in shocked silence. In the painting they saw Trotsky climbing into bed with Lenin's wife.

At last one of the delegation spoke up. But where is Lenin?

Ah, replied the painter Lenin is in Poland

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A few days later the town's Mathematics teacher, Professor Goldstein, who had been in Poland with Lenin, returned home and discovered his best friend, the town's English teacher, Professor Kittridge, in bed with his wife.

"Kittridge!" shouted the Mathematics Professor, "I am surprised to find you in bed with my wife. "

"No, Goldstein!" answered the English professor, now sitting upright in the marital bed.

"It is your wife and I who have been surprised. -- You are shocked to find me in bed with your wife."


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Credit for the story above goes to Bernie Katz

It was another damn sunny afternoon, the thermometer showed 82 degrees, so I went to see Fog of War which is a filmed interview of Bob McNamara including clips from family photos and newsreels. McNamara comes off very well, I thought, and he quotes poetry. I think you will be interested.

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Narcissus leant over the spring, enthralled by the only man in whose eyes he had ever dared--or been given the chance--to forget himself.

Narcissus leant over the spring, enthralled by his own ugliness, which he prided himself upon having the courage to admit.



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We remember our dead. When they were born, when they passed away--either as men of promise, or as men of acheivement.

Dag Hammarskjold

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Regrets are a waste of time. They are the past wallowing in the present.

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No matter what happens keep up your childish innocence. It is the most important thing.


From the film Under The Tuscan Sun

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Aubade

I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.

Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.

In time the curtain-edges will grow light.

Till then I see what's really always there:

Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,

Making all thought impossible but how

And where and when I shall myself die.

Arid interrogation: yet the dread

Of dying, and being dead,

Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.



The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse

-- The good not done, the love not given, time

Torn off unused -- nor wretchedly because

An only life can take so long to climb

Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never;

But at the total emptiness for ever,

The sure extinction that we travel to

And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,

Not to be anywhere,

And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.



This is a special way of being afraid

No trick dispels. Religion used to try,

That vast moth-eaten musical brocade

Created to pretend we never die,

And specious stuff that says No rational being

Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing

That this is what we fear -- no sight, no sound,

No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,

Nothing to love or link with,

The anaesthetic from which none come round.



And so it stays just on the edge of vision,

A small unfocused blur, a standing chill

That slows each impulse down to indecision.

Most things may never happen: this one will,

And realisation of its rages out

In furnace-fear when we are caught without

People or drink. Courage is no good:

It means not scaring others. Being brave

Lets no one off the grave.

Death is no different whined at than withstood.



Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.

It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,

Have always known, know that we can't escape,

Yet can't accept. One side will have to go.

Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring

In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring

Intricate rented world begins to rouse.

The sky is white as clay, with no sun.

Work has to be done.

Postmen like doctors go from house to house.


Phillip Larkin ---

Dear Stephen ben-Manny.

I know a bit about Bulgar, the grain, as I am delving into the life of Catherine the Great and much is written about her posed devotion to her people, the peasants. "Wherefrom comes Kasha?", I would ask.

Well, as you know K'ai Shu is the common script used in writing the Chinese language (you could look it up in your magnificent magnifier Oxford, of which I am very jealous having given mine to Max.)

But that is not the Kasha that we seek. According to my Shorter Oxford it is "a porridge made of cooked buckwheat or other grains." My old Merriam New Collegiate (1953) doesn't even mention it which surprised me.

Now I personally cook my oatmeal almost every morning, and I use the slow cooking brand, namely John McCann's Steel Cut Oats, that take a half-hour to cook.

Your description of how we lived under the Czar reminds me of what my grandfather said to me when I complained to him about the taxes that I was paying.

"Michael, you should be glad to pay your taxes here," he said, patting me on the head. "In Russia we paid no taxes--but every spring the mud was up to our knees -- and that was INSIDE our house."

In 1880 his mother, my great-grandmother, walked with him and his four sisters from Svier (near Vilna) to Hamburg where they got on the boat for New York. His father remained in Russia and followed them over a few years later. Two of those sister, Dora and Rose married the same man. My great-grandfather was one of seven founders of the Hebrew Free Loan Society, which still exists, though it is now controlled by the major Jewish Real Estate families of New York.

BULGAR WHEAT PILAF Courtesy Mrs. Google

bring 3 cups water or vegetable broth to boil add one head celery, choppedone large onion, sliced thinsimmer 5 minutesadd 2 cups bulgar wheatsimmer on low about 25 minutesturn off heat and let stand 5 or more minutesI have also made this a one pot meal, adding more vegetables such as sliced mushrooms, green beans or peas, you get the idea. Toss in some herbs, too, can't hurt. kwvegan vegan Note the misspelling : Should be "Can't hoit."

bulgar cereal courtesy mrs google

As hot cereal, I just put it a saucepan with two parts of water andsome cinnamon and raisins, bring to a boil and simmer it for about10 minutes. This gives the mushiest results, but it's just finefor hot cereal, and not as mushy as finer-cut 9-grain cereal mixes.

kwvegan vegan

Planning to go to the health food store for further information.

Love,

Michael ben-Bernie.

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Dear Stephen ben-Manny.

I know a bit about Bulgar, the grain, as I am delving into the life of Catherine the Great and much is written about her posed devotion to her people, the peasants. "Wherefrom comes Kasha?", I would ask.

Well, as you know K'ai Shu is the common script used in writing the Chinese language (you could look it up in your magnificent magnifier Oxford, of which I am very jealous having given mine to Max.)

But that is not the Kasha that we seek. According to my Shorter Oxford it is "a porridge made of cooked buckwheat or other grains." My old Merriam New Collegiate (1953) doesn't even mention it which surprised me.

Now I personally cook my oatmeal almost every morning, and I use the slow cooking brand, namely John McCann's Steel Cut Oats, that take a half-hour to cook.

Your description of how we lived under the Czar reminds me of what my grandfather said to me when I complained to him about the taxes that I was paying.

"Michael, you should be glad to pay your taxes here," he said, patting me on the head. "In Russia we paid no taxes--but every spring the mud was up to our knees -- and that was INSIDE our house."

In 1880 his mother, my great-grandmother, walked with him and his four sisters from Svier (near Vilna) to Hamburg where they got on the boat for New York. His father remained in Russia and followed them over a ��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������

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In the middle of the darkest, moonless nights, I listen to the radio in the den so as not to wake the little woman when I can't sleep. The other night I heard on this program, which usually reports the movements and sighting of UFO's and aliens, that Ben Laden had been captured, according to one usually reliable source.

Of course, the following morning I heard nothing of this story-rumor-concoction...But, I have heard in the past two things which I would like to add to the story.

When we captured many of the Iraqi enemies pictured on the cardpack, we liked to keep it quiet for a time so that their friends would not know and therefore we could make additional arrests based on what the captured general would tell us, before the targets had a chance to hide or destroy records and materials. �

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It looks like Iraq had moved WMD into Syria where it has been buried for some time. The Israelis say that Kaye had been briefed and told the coordinates of the burial place. ..But why hasn't he said anything, if this is true?

The First Marines and the Third Army are scheduled to return to Iraq in a few months--before the election. The First and the Third were the elements of our forces that won the Iraq war in days.

How long will it take them to invade Syria, and capture the WMD? Not long.
Using the Investigation to trace the materials to Syria explains why no WMD was found, and gives Bush the reason he needs to invade Syria. Ah, Dr. Machiavelli must have an office in the White House.

Australia, Britain and the US each announced investigations in a three day period. Mr. Atom Bomb of Pakistan has been outed in the same time frame.

The purpose of the investigations is to lead us to Syria.

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Someone asked me who Gabby Hayes was. I answered that in the movies he was usually Roy Rogers sidekick, and that I had seen a John Wayne movie made in 1930 in which he also played the hero's sidekick--and that although he must have in his twenties he still looked like an old codger,,,I then checked a list of his films and sent the following sequel to my original answer:

Well, I was close. He did play in mysteries in the 30's and he also played in some Hopalong Cassidy films as well as the Roy Rogers that most of us remember. My sister and I double dated only once. I got her a date with my friend Danny and she got me a date with her friend Judy \. We were in our late teens. We went to PJ Clarks and saw Gabby Hayes at another table. The girls, yes, they were still girls in those olden days, squealed and wanted his autograph. As soon as they went to the ladies room (though in PJ's calling it a Ladies Room was quite a stretch) I scrawled Gabby Hayes's autograph across a menu.-- "To Patti and Judy with all my pistol packin' heart, Gabby Hayes."

When they saw it they got up and hugged him, thanking him for the autograph. He was so drunk he thought he actually did sign it and wanted them to come home with him.