BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
A skull is more interesting than a naked woman.
______________________________________
One must live -- until the plague takes him.
.............................................................................Ingmar Bergman.....
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com dialog from Ingmar Bergman,
(the Knight notices the Priest behind the confessional's bars)
(Knight)
I want to confess as best I can.
But my heart is a void.
The void is a mirror.
I see my face...
I feel loathing and horror.
My indifference to men has shut me out.
I live now in a world of ghosts...
A prisoner in my dreams and illusions.
(Priest)
Yet you want to die.
(Knight)
Yes, I do.
(Priest)
What are you waiting for?
(Knight)
Knowledge.
(Priest)
You want a guarantee.
(Knight)
Call it what you will.
Is it so hard to conceive God with one's senses?
Why must He hide in a mist of vague promises and invisible miracles?
How are we to to believe the believers
When we don't believe ourselves?
What will become of us who want to believe but cannot?
And what will become of those who neither will nor can believe?
Why cannot I kill God within me?
Why does He go on living in a painful, humiliating way?
I want to tear Him out of my heart.
Be He remains a mocking reality
Which I cannot get rid of.
Do you hear me?
(Priest)
Perhaps there is no one there.
(Knight)
Then life is a senseless terror.
No man can live with Death
And know that everything is nothing.
Most people think neither of Death nor nothingness
Until the day they stand on the edge of life and see the darkness.
(Priest, with longing)
Ah....the day.
(Knight)
I see.
We must make an idol of our fear
And call it "God."
(Priest)
You are uneasy.
(Knight)
Death visited me this morning.
We are playing chess.
This respite enables me to perform a vital errand.
(Priest)
What errand?
(Knight)
My whole life has been a meaningless search.
I say that without bitterness nor self-reproach.
I know it is the same for all
But I want to use my respite for one significant action.
(Priest)
So you play chess with death?
(Knight)
He is a skillful tactician but I have not yet lost one piece.
(Priest)
How can you outwit Death?
(Knight)
By a combination of Bishop and Knight.
(The Knight looks up at the Priest and realizes that it is Death not the Priest. )
(the Knight notices the Priest behind the confessional's bars)
(Knight)
I want to confess as best I can.
But my heart is a void.
The void is a mirror.
I see my face...
I feel loathing and horror.
My indifference to men has shut me out.
I live now in a world of ghosts...
A prisoner in my dreams and illusions.
(Priest)
Yet you want to die.
(Knight)
Yes, I do.
(Priest)
What are you waiting for?
(Knight)
Knowledge.
(Priest)
You want a guarantee.
(Knight)
Call it what you will.
Is it so hard to conceive God with one's senses?
Why must He hide in a mist of vague promises and invisible miracles?
How are we to to believe the believers
When we don't believe ourselves?
What will become of us who want to believe but cannot?
And what will become of those who neither will nor can believe?
Why cannot I kill God within me?
Why does He go on living in a painful, humiliating way?
I want to tear Him out of my heart.
Be He remains a mocking reality
Which I cannot get rid of.
Do you hear me?
(Priest)
Perhaps there is no one there.
(Knight)
Then life is a senseless terror.
No man can live with Death
And know that everything is nothing.
Most people think neither of Death nor nothingness
Until the day they stand on the edge of life and see the darkness.
(Priest, with longing)
Ah....the day.
(Knight)
I see.
We must make an idol of our fear
And call it "God."
(Priest)
You are uneasy.
(Knight)
Death visited me this morning.
We are playing chess.
This respite enables me to perform a vital errand.
(Priest)
What errand?
(Knight)
My whole life has been a meaningless search.
I say that without bitterness nor self-reproach.
I know it is the same for all
But I want to use my respite for one significant action.
(Priest)
So you play chess with death?
(Knight)
He is a skillful tactician but I have not yet lost one piece.
(Priest)
How can you outwit Death?
(Knight)
By a combination of Bishop and Knight.
(The Knight looks up at the Priest and realizes that it is Death not the Priest. )
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
In his Press Conference yesterday, did President Bush say:
"Detainees have been trained to disassemble. Disassemble is a word than means not to tell the truth."
That's what I heard--but then my ears may may be biased.
In his Press Conference yesterday, did President Bush say:
"Detainees have been trained to disassemble. Disassemble is a word than means not to tell the truth."
That's what I heard--but then my ears may may be biased.
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
We are in the middle of a thunderstorm on the first day of the hurricane season. Last year's four big ones put everyone on edge and all kinds of preparations are being made that were never made before.
In Florida when it rains people act like people do in New York when there is an eight inch snowstorm. Dinner dates are cancelled, theater tickets are given to the maids and doormen, and every one stays inside.
Florida has rescinded (for a week) the sales tax on anything related to hurricanes, so this is a good time to buy plywood, batteries, and plastic sheeting. I must look at the list to see what else is on the tax free list. The state is advertising tax free sales so much that if I were a retailer I would leave everything at full price, which I am sure most retailers are doing.
Maria and I have half of the North Atlantic tuna catch cached in a closet here along with enough water to supply the most of the elephants at Ringling Brothers, Barnum and Bailey.
We are in the middle of a thunderstorm on the first day of the hurricane season. Last year's four big ones put everyone on edge and all kinds of preparations are being made that were never made before.
In Florida when it rains people act like people do in New York when there is an eight inch snowstorm. Dinner dates are cancelled, theater tickets are given to the maids and doormen, and every one stays inside.
Florida has rescinded (for a week) the sales tax on anything related to hurricanes, so this is a good time to buy plywood, batteries, and plastic sheeting. I must look at the list to see what else is on the tax free list. The state is advertising tax free sales so much that if I were a retailer I would leave everything at full price, which I am sure most retailers are doing.
Maria and I have half of the North Atlantic tuna catch cached in a closet here along with enough water to supply the most of the elephants at Ringling Brothers, Barnum and Bailey.
Sunday, May 29, 2005
Saturday, May 21, 2005
Friday, May 20, 2005
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
.S. Eliot (1888–1965). Prufrock and Other Observations. 1917.
4. Rhapsody on a Windy Night
TWELVE o’clock.
Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
Whispering lunar incantations
Dissolve the floors of memory
5
And all its clear relations
Its divisions and precisions,
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a fatalistic drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
10
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.
Half-past one,
The street-lamp sputtered,
The street-lamp muttered,
15
The street-lamp said, “Regard that woman
Who hesitates toward you in the light of the door
Which opens on her like a grin.
You see the border of her dress
Is torn and stained with sand,
20
And you see the corner of her eye
Twists like a crooked pin.”
The memory throws up high and dry
A crowd of twisted things;
A twisted branch upon the beach
25
Eaten smooth, and polished
As if the world gave up
The secret of its skeleton,
Stiff and white.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
30
Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.
Half-past two,
The street-lamp said,
“Remark the cat which flattens itself in the gutter,
35
Slips out its tongue
And devours a morsel of rancid butter.”
So the hand of the child, automatic,
Slipped out and pocketed a toy that was running along the quay.
I could see nothing behind that child’s eye.
40
I have seen eyes in the street
Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
And a crab one afternoon in a pool,
An old crab with barnacles on his back,
Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.
45
Half-past three,
The lamp sputtered,
The lamp muttered in the dark.
The lamp hummed:
“Regard the moon,
50
La lune ne garde aucune rancune,
She winks a feeble eye,
She smiles into corners.
She smooths the hair of the grass.
The moon has lost her memory.
55
A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and eau de Cologne,
She is alone
With all the old nocturnal smells
60
That cross and cross across her brain.”
The reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of chestnuts in the streets,
65
And female smells in shuttered rooms,
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars.
The lamp said,
“Four o’clock,
70
Here is the number on the door.
Memory!
You have the key,
The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair.
Mount.
75
The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,
Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life.”
The last twist of the knife.
.S. Eliot (1888–1965). Prufrock and Other Observations. 1917.
4. Rhapsody on a Windy Night
TWELVE o’clock.
Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
Whispering lunar incantations
Dissolve the floors of memory
5
And all its clear relations
Its divisions and precisions,
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a fatalistic drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
10
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.
Half-past one,
The street-lamp sputtered,
The street-lamp muttered,
15
The street-lamp said, “Regard that woman
Who hesitates toward you in the light of the door
Which opens on her like a grin.
You see the border of her dress
Is torn and stained with sand,
20
And you see the corner of her eye
Twists like a crooked pin.”
The memory throws up high and dry
A crowd of twisted things;
A twisted branch upon the beach
25
Eaten smooth, and polished
As if the world gave up
The secret of its skeleton,
Stiff and white.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
30
Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.
Half-past two,
The street-lamp said,
“Remark the cat which flattens itself in the gutter,
35
Slips out its tongue
And devours a morsel of rancid butter.”
So the hand of the child, automatic,
Slipped out and pocketed a toy that was running along the quay.
I could see nothing behind that child’s eye.
40
I have seen eyes in the street
Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
And a crab one afternoon in a pool,
An old crab with barnacles on his back,
Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.
45
Half-past three,
The lamp sputtered,
The lamp muttered in the dark.
The lamp hummed:
“Regard the moon,
50
La lune ne garde aucune rancune,
She winks a feeble eye,
She smiles into corners.
She smooths the hair of the grass.
The moon has lost her memory.
55
A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and eau de Cologne,
She is alone
With all the old nocturnal smells
60
That cross and cross across her brain.”
The reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of chestnuts in the streets,
65
And female smells in shuttered rooms,
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars.
The lamp said,
“Four o’clock,
70
Here is the number on the door.
Memory!
You have the key,
The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair.
Mount.
75
The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,
Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life.”
The last twist of the knife.
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
"people are dying because of a belief in an imaginary God.
Sam Harris.org
"
...The end of faith, religion, error--and the beginning of reason."
Stem cells; Blastocyst. 150 cells in a spheroid shape. The brain of a fly has 100,000 cells.
Sam Harris.org
You are trumping the needs of a little girl with diabetes, a total burn victim, a parkinsons victim, an alzheimer's patient when you deny the use of stem cells for reserach.
Sam harris.org
Dogma can be secular too--Stalinism, Naziism, Polpot, --political religions. When mass murder of innocent non-combatants occurs ask yourself what the motive might be. What do the murderers believe. Always it will preposterous.
SamHarris.org
We shouldn't close the door on belief until all the possibilities have been exhausted.
"people are dying because of a belief in an imaginary God.
Sam Harris.org
"
...The end of faith, religion, error--and the beginning of reason."
Stem cells; Blastocyst. 150 cells in a spheroid shape. The brain of a fly has 100,000 cells.
Sam Harris.org
You are trumping the needs of a little girl with diabetes, a total burn victim, a parkinsons victim, an alzheimer's patient when you deny the use of stem cells for reserach.
Sam harris.org
Dogma can be secular too--Stalinism, Naziism, Polpot, --political religions. When mass murder of innocent non-combatants occurs ask yourself what the motive might be. What do the murderers believe. Always it will preposterous.
SamHarris.org
We shouldn't close the door on belief until all the possibilities have been exhausted.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
To the Man on the Thirtieth Floor
Looking down
You think
Because you're so high up there
You don't stink
Like the rest of us.
mek
To the Man on the Thirtieth Floor
Looking down
You think
Because you're so high up there
You don't stink
Like the rest of us.
mek
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
peri·pe·teia
Pronunciation: "per-&-p&-'tE-&, -'tI-Function: nounEtymology: Greek, from peripiptein to fall around, change suddenly, from peri- + piptein to fall —more at FEATHER Date: 1591:
a sudden or unexpected reversal of circumstances or situation especially in a literary work
peri·pe·teia
Pronunciation: "per-&-p&-'tE-&, -'tI-Function: nounEtymology: Greek, from peripiptein to fall around, change suddenly, from peri- + piptein to fall —more at FEATHER Date: 1591:
a sudden or unexpected reversal of circumstances or situation especially in a literary work
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
To choose doubt as a philosophy is akin to choosing immobility as a means of philosophy.
Life of Pi.
To choose doubt as a philosophy is akin to choosing immobility as a means of philosophy.
Life of Pi.
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
If a fool would throw a stone into water ten wise men could not take it out.
Yiddish saying.
If a fool would throw a stone into water ten wise men could not take it out.
Yiddish saying.
Monday, May 16, 2005
Two quotes from Remi:
Remi's tooth fell out and it was in her hand. She asked me: "Grandpa, how much do you think the tooth fairy will leave under my pillow for this tooth? "
I asnwered: "About a dime."
Remi: "Did you say a diam-mond?"
________________________________________________
Later we were sitting on opposite ends of a sofa while pretending to have a conversation by cell phone. The conversation went on for some time and then she said, "Grandpa, hold on, I'm driving through a tunnel."
Remi's tooth fell out and it was in her hand. She asked me: "Grandpa, how much do you think the tooth fairy will leave under my pillow for this tooth? "
I asnwered: "About a dime."
Remi: "Did you say a diam-mond?"
________________________________________________
Later we were sitting on opposite ends of a sofa while pretending to have a conversation by cell phone. The conversation went on for some time and then she said, "Grandpa, hold on, I'm driving through a tunnel."
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
My used Solara convertible gets 19 miles per gallon. It uses regular gas --
Today I paid $2.25 per gallon -- the cheapest in this area.
At that rate I am getting 8.5 miles per dollar.
Walking becomes a more attractive alternative....
My used Solara convertible gets 19 miles per gallon. It uses regular gas --
Today I paid $2.25 per gallon -- the cheapest in this area.
At that rate I am getting 8.5 miles per dollar.
Walking becomes a more attractive alternative....
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
Q. from Buster to all and sundry:
Has every grandisonic, lexiphnanic phrasemonger found his way to Deadwood on Sunday nights? Have I been hornswoggled by its magniloquent, bedizened language? Am I getting cock sucking over-excited, overly enthusiastic, about this fucking program, or is it really approaching fucking Shakespearean heights?
Buster Stronghart
A: MG
Buster:
Can we not deduce that the Cocksucker who employs Shakespearean ways of speaking likely intends Shakespearean fucking themes? MG
A: SS
Dearest Buster:
It is laughable that you would think that you are too excited overly enthusiastic about Deadwood. I too find it the greatest.
The characters and their interplay cast i na forming American town is high art. The language and actionunconstrained by our present day experience is transporting .
K. and M. are repelled by it. I wont miss it if I can help it. I gladly pay the HBO bill -cheap at double the price. Each and everycharacter is complex and nuanced. I love it. I love it.
I even watchthe Tues nite repeat to fill in for bathroom abscence or frig visits. There is nothing on TV that even comes close. Epic.
ss
A: HR
I MUST AGREE WITH STEVE, DEADWOOD IS TRULY ONE OF THE MOST ORIGINAL TVDRAMAS TO EVER HIT THE AIRWAVES.I LOVE THE DIRTY FILTHY LOOK OF THE SHOW, AND OF COURSE THE WAY THEAVAILABLE EASY SEX WITH WHORES IS DEPICTED. NO DINNERS, NO FLOWERS;THE WAY GOD INTENDED IT TO BE. JUST LIFT UP YOUR SKIRTS. FORGET SHAKESPEARE....hr
Q. from Buster to all and sundry:
Has every grandisonic, lexiphnanic phrasemonger found his way to Deadwood on Sunday nights? Have I been hornswoggled by its magniloquent, bedizened language? Am I getting cock sucking over-excited, overly enthusiastic, about this fucking program, or is it really approaching fucking Shakespearean heights?
Buster Stronghart
A: MG
Buster:
Can we not deduce that the Cocksucker who employs Shakespearean ways of speaking likely intends Shakespearean fucking themes? MG
A: SS
Dearest Buster:
It is laughable that you would think that you are too excited overly enthusiastic about Deadwood. I too find it the greatest.
The characters and their interplay cast i na forming American town is high art. The language and actionunconstrained by our present day experience is transporting .
K. and M. are repelled by it. I wont miss it if I can help it. I gladly pay the HBO bill -cheap at double the price. Each and everycharacter is complex and nuanced. I love it. I love it.
I even watchthe Tues nite repeat to fill in for bathroom abscence or frig visits. There is nothing on TV that even comes close. Epic.
ss
A: HR
I MUST AGREE WITH STEVE, DEADWOOD IS TRULY ONE OF THE MOST ORIGINAL TVDRAMAS TO EVER HIT THE AIRWAVES.I LOVE THE DIRTY FILTHY LOOK OF THE SHOW, AND OF COURSE THE WAY THEAVAILABLE EASY SEX WITH WHORES IS DEPICTED. NO DINNERS, NO FLOWERS;THE WAY GOD INTENDED IT TO BE. JUST LIFT UP YOUR SKIRTS. FORGET SHAKESPEARE....hr
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
Q. from Buster to all and sundry:
Has every grandisonic, lexiphnanic phrasemonger found his way to Deadwood on Sunday nights? Have I been hornswoggled by its magniloquent, bedizened language? Am I getting cock sucking over-excited, overly enthusiastic, about this fucking program, or is it really approaching fucking Shakespearean heights?
Buster Stronghart
A: MG
Buster:
Can we not deduce that the Cocksucker who employs Shakespearean ways of speaking likely intends Shakespearean fucking themes? MG
A: SS
Dearest Buster:
It is laughable that you would think that you are too excited overly enthusiastic about Deadwood. I too find it the greatest.
The characters and their interplay cast i na forming American town is high art. The language and actionunconstrained by our present day experience is transporting .
K. and M. are repelled by it. I wont miss it if I can help it. I gladly pay the HBO bill -cheap at double the price. Each and everycharacter is complex and nuanced. I love it. I love it.
I even watchthe Tues nite repeat to fill in for bathroom abscence or frig visits. There is nothing on TV that even comes close. Epic.
ss
A: HR
I MUST AGREE WITH STEVE, DEADWOOD IS TRULY ONE OF THE MOST ORIGINAL TVDRAMAS TO EVER HIT THE AIRWAVES.I LOVE THE DIRTY FILTHY LOOK OF THE SHOW, AND OF COURSE THE WAY THEAVAILABLE EASY SEX WITH WHORES IS DEPICTED. NO DINNERS, NO FLOWERS;THE WAY GOD INTENDED IT TO BE. JUST LIFT UP YOUR SKIRTS. FORGET SHAKESPEARE....hr
Q. from Buster to all and sundry:
Has every grandisonic, lexiphnanic phrasemonger found his way to Deadwood on Sunday nights? Have I been hornswoggled by its magniloquent, bedizened language? Am I getting cock sucking over-excited, overly enthusiastic, about this fucking program, or is it really approaching fucking Shakespearean heights?
Buster Stronghart
A: MG
Buster:
Can we not deduce that the Cocksucker who employs Shakespearean ways of speaking likely intends Shakespearean fucking themes? MG
A: SS
Dearest Buster:
It is laughable that you would think that you are too excited overly enthusiastic about Deadwood. I too find it the greatest.
The characters and their interplay cast i na forming American town is high art. The language and actionunconstrained by our present day experience is transporting .
K. and M. are repelled by it. I wont miss it if I can help it. I gladly pay the HBO bill -cheap at double the price. Each and everycharacter is complex and nuanced. I love it. I love it.
I even watchthe Tues nite repeat to fill in for bathroom abscence or frig visits. There is nothing on TV that even comes close. Epic.
ss
A: HR
I MUST AGREE WITH STEVE, DEADWOOD IS TRULY ONE OF THE MOST ORIGINAL TVDRAMAS TO EVER HIT THE AIRWAVES.I LOVE THE DIRTY FILTHY LOOK OF THE SHOW, AND OF COURSE THE WAY THEAVAILABLE EASY SEX WITH WHORES IS DEPICTED. NO DINNERS, NO FLOWERS;THE WAY GOD INTENDED IT TO BE. JUST LIFT UP YOUR SKIRTS. FORGET SHAKESPEARE....hr
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
re: Deadwood
Am I getting over-excited, overly enthusiastic about this program, or is it really approaching Shakespearean heights?
re: Deadwood
Am I getting over-excited, overly enthusiastic about this program, or is it really approaching Shakespearean heights?
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
Fed Ex Letter received at the offices of a certain Attorney
Fed Ex Letter received at the offices of a certain Attorney
Sirs:
A hypothetical question:
If an individual were making love with his mistress or wife and took an actual bite, a chunk of meat, out of her shoulder while possessed by passion, what crime would that be?
If, still in a state of passion he were actually to eat, that chunk of flesh, to swallow it in some fury of blinded love, would that act be cannibalism? If so, would it be a criminal act or would it be muted, mitigated, by the court's recognition of the uncontrollable power of their explosive passion?
Kindly let me know as soon as possible.
m
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