(Sent to me tonight by my daughter. The Saker) The Rhythm Of Time There’s an inner thing in every man, Do you know this thing my friend? It has withstood the blows of a million years, And will do so to the end. It was born when time did not exist, And it grew up out of life, It cut down evil’s strangling vines, Like a slashing searing knife. It
Two of the most beautiful voices in Brazil Lyrics and my own, very imperfect, and free translation: Nada consigo fazer Quando a saudade aperta Foge-me a inspiração Sinto a alma deserta Um vazio se faz em meu peito E de fato eu sinto Em meu peito um vazio Me faltando as tuas carícias As noites são longas E eu sinto mais frio Procuro afogar no álcool A tua lembrança Mas
Yesterday I had a meeting with a member of the Saker community in Titusville, just south of where I live. On the way back I drove through the Merritt Island National Wildlife Refuge. A heavy rain was falling and the animals of the Refuge were all “hunkering down”, including a superb Bald Eagle. I took the photo below because that eagle reminded me of how the USA, which considers the
In a theater piece entitled “The Prisoners”, Solzhenitsyn illustrated the price paid by those who serve the Empire and the gift granted to those who struggle against it. Here is the key dialog of this drama. It confronts Vorotyntsev, а monarchist White Russian officer about to be executed and Roublev, an officer of the Soviet secret police who suffers from terminal cancer. Hands behind his back, Vorotyntsev enters the room.
I just listened to Trump’s speech on Afghanistan: American heroes are unique and better than all others… 9/11 was planned in Afghanistan… together with the Saudis will will fight terrorism… and that is when I stopped listening. In a few short sentences Trump just overloaded my capacity to listen to inanity. Just before I switched him off I heard him say something about “we will win in Afghanistan“. Yeah, right.
In the deep dark hills of eastern Kentucky That’s the place where I trace my bloodline And it’s there I read on a hillside gravestone You will never leave Harlan alive Oh, my granddad’s dad walked down Katahrins Mountain And he asked Tillie Helton to be his bride Said, won’t you walk with me out of the mouth Of this holler Or we’ll never leave Harlan alive Where the sun