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THEY sing their dearest songs–
He, she, all of them — yea,
Treble and tenor and bass.
And one to play;
With the candles mooning each face….
Ah, no; the years O !
How the sick leaves reel down in throngs !

They clear the creeping moss–
Elders and juniors — aye,
Making the pathways neat
And the garden gay;
And they build a shady seat….
Ah, no; the years, the years;
See, the white storm-birds wing across !

They are blithely breakfasting all —
Men and maidens — yea,
Under the summer tree,
With a glimpse of the bay,
While pet fowl come to the knee….
Ah, no; the years O !
And the rotten rose is ripped from the wall.

They change to a high new house,
He, she, all of them — aye,
Clocks and carpets and chairs
On the lawn all day,
And brightest things that are theirs….
Ah, no; the years, the years;
Down their carved names the raindrop plows.

Thomas Hardy : During Wind and Rain

Black Bird Flying


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at 6:23 amcontact (Other Writ, Poetry, The King of Terrors)

Autumn eves are chilly
The sand is soft enough
Propped without movement
Consider the fracture as less

That sail is going, that ship is gone

Yet to cross to the tree shade, no…
Brought here from the brigand craft
The swift-biting metal blow
Broke above the knee.

That sail is going, that ship is gone

I have water, days-worth
Days that fever will not give;
Food even…
To give a voided strengthening.

That sail is going, that ship is gone

The emptiness hangs palpable
The rim of the world holds naught.
No birds mutter,
No creatures fumble ‘pon this Isle.

That sail is going, that ship is gone

Too sick to curse the fate,
Over-cold to concern on causes:
Death shall take me as I still stare
Along the prospect where hope died first.

That sail is going, that ship is gone

Johann Winterfelt : Broken Leg On the Lee Shore

de Stael Fort Carre

Nicolas De Staël – Le Fort Carré d’Antibes


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Eagles fly alone, but sheep flock together

polish eagle

In 1846, the Polish exiles of Paris fomented a rebellion in and around Galicia against two of the tripartite powers who held Poland in thrall. The Prussians merely arrested the exiles’ envoy, and that sufficed around Poznan; for Austria, though, who possessed Galicia, events could have taken an unpleasant turn, had it not been for the fact that the intellectuals in Paris had underestimated the sturdy good sense of the simple Polish peasantry…

On 17th February, however, the local commander at Tarnow in western Galicia was told by a group of Polish peasants that they had been urged to rise up and massacre all Germans and Jews and sack their shops in the towns. Although at first as disinclined to believe them as his superiors in Vienna, he became convinced of the truth of this tale when the peasants returned to him on the following day. He found it relatively simple to show them it was their duty to uphold the existing order, advice which many interpreted as an invitation to butcher any members of the Polish landowning class suspected of disloyalty to the Monarchy. There were scenes of bloodshed and destruction around Tarnow — and further east, around Lemberg — for two or three days; and it is probable that some 1,500 to 2000 Polish landowners perished at the hands of the peasants.

Alan Palmer : Metternich

hapsburg eagle

Preuss eagle



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Two from Tosca

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Suat Arikan sings the Te Deum

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Raina Kabaivanska and Placido Domingo in the Finale

Tosca Cat

Susan Herbert – Tosca Places the Candles


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at 11:45 pmcontact (Art, High Germany, Places)


Industrial Photography, even as the buildings are being destroyed…

german pepperpot dalek


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A Touch of Class

Indian teachers sprinkled cow urine on low-caste students to purify them and drive away evil, reports said on Saturday, in a country where millions of people remain oppressed at the bottom of the ancient Hindu caste system.

He told an upper-caste colleague to spray cow urine in a cleansing ceremony as the students were taking an examination, wetting their faces and their answer sheets


Ganesh on Rat



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The Phrases That We Breathed

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The Blow – True Affection


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Progress to the Grave

at 4:01 amcontact (Other Writ, The Enemy)

This last point should make it clear that uncontrolled immigration is not the only factor in the suicidal trend I have been describing. Even if there were no immigration at all, America would still be experiencing what can only be called a terrifying social and moral decline. Concerns over mediocrity are hardly a new thing in this country, but surely the attack on the intellect, the decay of family and individual character that have occurred over the past 25 years are phenomena of an entirely different order, posing a very real threat to the freedoms and the high level of civilization this country has enjoyed. The combination of both factors — progressive degeneracy and divisiveness of the existing society on one hand and perpetual mass immigration on the other — must be fatal. History offers many examples of nations that have recovered from overwhelming catastrophe; Ancient Israel recovered more than once from spiritual decadence and conquest; Europe recovered from the death of a third of its population in the Black Plague; the French recovered from the ravages of the French Revolution. Renewal was possible in such cases not least because the national identity of those peoples, and the spiritual spark of their civilizations, remained intact. But if America continues “the slide into apathy, hedonism and moral chaos,” as Christopher Lasch has called it, and at the same time its present population is replaced by a chaotic mix of peoples from radically diverse, non-European cultures, then there will be no basis for continuation or renewal. Like ancient Greece after the classical Hellenes had dwindled away and the land was repopulated by Slavonic and Turkic peoples, America will have become literally a different country. There will be no American Renaissance — except perhaps as some faceless subdivision of the global shopping mall.

Lawrence Auster : The Path To National Suicide ( 1991 )

Chaos unknown painter 1841

Anon, 1841 : Chaos


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Trop d’Audace

…Now, in this aspect, as well as in a good many others, the Assembly is the people; satisfied that it is in danger, it makes laws as the former make their insurrections, and protects itself by strokes of legislation as the former protects itself by blows with pikes. Failing to take hold of the motor spring by which it might direct the government machine, it distrusts all the old and all the new wheels. The old ones seem to it an obstacle, and, instead of utilizing them, it breaks them one by one — parliaments, provincial states, religious orders, the church, the nobles, and royalty. The new ones are suspicious, and instead of harmonizing them, it puts them out of gear in advance — the executive power, administrative powers, judicial powers, the police, the gendarmerie, and the army. Thanks to these precautions it is impossible for any of them to be turned against itself; but, also, thanks to these precautions, none of them can perform their functions.

Hippolyte-Adolphe Taine : Les Origines de la France contemporaine — ( La révolution: l’anarchie. Vol I )

medal of French Rev



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My Heart, When First The Black-Bird Sings

My heart, when first the blackbird sings,
My heart drinks in the song:
Cool pleasure fills my bosom through
And spreads each nerve along.

My bosom eddies quietly,
My heart is stirred and cool
As when a wind-moved briar sweeps
A stone into a pool

But unto thee, when thee I meet,
My pulses thicken fast,
As when the maddened lake grows black
And ruffles in the blast.

Robert Louis Stevenson : My Heart, When First The Black-Bird Sings

crow from bestiary


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Throbbing With Ecstasy

at 7:20 pmcontact (Music)

Harry MacDonough & Haydn Quartet : Will You Love Me In December, As You Do In May ? (1905)

Vide: Paul’s Ramblings


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Ending of the Day

Over all the hilltops
Among all the treetops
You feel hardly
A breath moving.
The birds fall silent in the woods.
Simply wait ! Soon
You too will be silent.

Goethe : The Second Poem the Night-Walker Wrote

Trans: Robert Bly

grouse at dusk

Empyrium cover: Where At Night The Woodgrouse Plays

Über allen Gipfeln
Ist Ruh’
In allen Wipfeln
Spürest Du
Kaum einen Hauch;
Die Vögelein schweigen im Walde
Warte nur, balde
Ruhest Du auch.

Wanderers Nachtlied



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I Heard The Baby Owl Call My Name

The relationship between the Gooroo and his disciple is accounted the most holy that can be formed, and subsists to the latest period of life. A Thug may betray his father, but never his Gooroo.

So wrote the redoubtable Charles Mackay in his ever popular Memoirs of Popular Delusions on the Thuggee cult: the wandering ritualists who, whether moving in small groups or in vast gangs, despite extreme affability were less admirable on a walking tour than, say, Christian Andersen’s Travelling Companion. Revisionists have downplayed the millions of alleged murders, as imperialist slander, and as in all these cases, it can be assumed that the count is unknown; that it is vastly inflated; but that even if they killed hardly anyone, the perpetrators were not nice people.

Meadows Taylor’s famous Confessions of a Thug is reviewed here, and here. Dr. Mike Dash wrote a more recent work, Thug, and a newspaper review mentioned that ‘Only once they had found a suitable place for disposing of the bodies would the signal be given — often the victim would be invited to look skywards’ ( Look Upwards Angel ! ) — then the chief strangler would make like Tod Slaughter. The various superstitions attached to the cult added some element of chance to the business: people were safe if employed as an Elephant driver or washerman; but blacksmiths and carpenters were only disallowed if travelling together. If in temporary possession of a cow, you were safe; good thugs couldn’t start the day off until they had heard a partridge; yet to hear a baby owl in daylight presaged disaster — not to the victims, though.

stuff owls


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As I Lay A-Thinkynge

at 11:35 pmcontact (Other Writ, Poetry, The King of Terrors)

As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge,
Merrie sang the Birde as she sat upon the spraye;
There came a noble Knyghte,
With his hauberke shynynge brighte,
And his gallant heart was lyghte,
Free and gaye;
As I lay a-thynkynge, he rode upon his waye.

As I lay a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge,
Sadly sang the Birde as she sat upon the tree!
There seem’d a crimson plain,
Where a gallant Knyghte laye slayne,
And a steed with broken rein
Ran free,
As I laye a-thynkynge, most pitiful to see !

As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge,
Merrie sang the Birde as she sat upon the boughe;
A lovely Mayde came bye,
And a gentil youth was nyghe,
And he breathed many a syghe
And a vowe;
As I laye a-thynkynge, her hearte was gladsome now.

As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge,
Sadly sang the Birde as she sat upon the thorne;
No more a Youth was there,
But a Maiden rent her haire,
And cried in sadde despaire,
‘That I was borne !’
As I laye a-thynkynge, she perished forlorne.

As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge,
Sweetly sang the Birde as she sat upon the briar;
There came a lovely childe,
And his face was meek and mild,
Yet joyously he smiled
On his sire;
As I laye a-thynkynge, a Cherub mote admire.

But I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge,
And sadly sang the Birde as it perch’d upon a bier;
That joyous smile was gone,
And the face was white and wan,
As the downe upon the Swan
Doth appear,
As I laye a-thynkynge — oh ! bitter flow’d the tear !

As I laye a-thynkynge, the golden sun was sinking,
O merrie sang that Birde as it glitter’d on her breast
With a thousand gorgeous dyes,
While soaring to the skies,
‘Mid the stars she seem’d to rise,
As to her nest;
As I laye a-thynkynge, her meaning was exprest: —
‘Follow, follow me away,
It boots not to delay,’–
‘Twas so she seem’d to saye,

The Last Lines of Thomas Ingoldsby

R. H. Barham : The Ingoldsby Legends



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Felicitious Co-mingling at the Bifröst Gate

Hildr Valkyrie joined the German band Femegericht this year. The illustrious Court of the Holy Vehm was of course founded by Karl the Great, an enemy of the Norse religion, yet who carried forward the Germanic tradition into it’s transition into High Mediæval christianity.

Here is Hildr singing an Ode to Allfather, with the video arranged by BornInMidgard1987 on YouTube:

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Child of Light

Kurt Vonnegut died yesterday. He survived — as a prisoner of the Germans — the terror-bombing of Dresden.

“The firebombing of Dresden explains absolutely nothing about why I write what I write and am what I am,” Vonnegut wrote in Fates Worse Than Death, his 1991 autobiography of sorts.

But he spent 23 years struggling to write about the ordeal, which he survived by huddling with other POW’s inside an underground meat locker labelled slaughterhouse-five.

I liked Mother Night the best of all his works. Even the film wasn’t bad.



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Universal Love

at 7:05 pmcontact (Other Writ, Correctitude, The Enemy)

equality crap

Now if you start with identifying divine with divinely ordained, and identify the Divinity with the bare fact of existence, then all things are certainly portions of the Divinity, and, in so far, divine. But if all things are in this sense divine, then divine ceases to be a quality which evokes any sense of preference; then divine is no longer an expression commensurate with esteem, still less legitimately productive of emotional satisfaction; if all things are divine, why then some may be divine and honourable and others divine and dishonourable. There is something akin in this anarchic theology to the juggling with the word value of Karl Marx and his followers. It is the acceptance of the emotional quality of a word after emptying out the meaning which had produced it. Good, noble, divine; a hierarchy of words denoting such qualities as we think especially desirable; denoting fuller possession of that which we esteem most in ourselves, be it strength or beauty, moral or intellectual helpfulness; words which awaken in our mind the sense of approval, of respect, and finally of reverence and wonder. Perform a little sleight-of-hand, and shuffle divinity with God, God with Nature, Nature with Being, and you contrive to awaken that emotion of rareness, superiority, wonderfulness, in connection with… with what ? O irony of self-delusion ! with everything equally.

Vernon Lee : Gospels of Anarchy and Other Contemporary Studies

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Pit of Despair

Pit of Despair

Harry Harlow’s Pit of Despair

The pit of despair, or vertical chamber, was a device used in experiments conducted on rhesus macaque monkeys during the 1970s by American comparative psychologist Harry Harlow and his students at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. The aim of the research was to produce an animal model of human clinical depression.

The vertical chamber was little more than a stainless-steel trough with sides that sloped to a rounded bottom. A 3/8 in. wire mesh floor 1 in. above the bottom of the chamber allowed waste material to drop through the drain and out of holes drilled in the stainless-steel. The chamber was equipped with a food box and a water-bottle holder, and was covered with a pyramid top — … — designed to discourage incarcerated subjects from hanging from the upper part of the chamber.

Harlow placed baby monkeys in the chamber alone for up to six weeks. Within a few days, they stopped moving about and remained huddled in a corner. The monkeys were found to be psychotic when removed from the chamber, and most did not recover.

It gets worse…

After 30 days, the “total isolates,” as they were called, were found to be “enormously disturbed”: two of them refused to eat and starved themselves to death. After being isolated for a year, the monkeys were found initially to barely move, didn’t explore or play, and were incapable of having sexual relations. When put with other monkeys for a daily play session, they were badly bullied by the other monkeys.

In order to find out how the isolates would parent, Harlow devised what he called a “rape rack,” to which the female isolates were tied in the position taken by a normal female monkey in order to be impregnated. Artificial insemination had not been developed at that time. He found that, just as they were incapable of having sexual relations, they were also unable to parent their offspring, either abusing or neglecting them. “Not even in our most devious dreams could we have designed a surrogate as evil as these real monkey mothers were,” he wrote. Having no social experience themselves, they were incapable of appropriate social interaction. One mother held her baby’s face to the floor and chewed off his feet and fingers. Another crushed her baby’s head. Most of them simply ignored their offspring.


Wikipedia Pit of Despair

Isolation Monkey

A rhesus monkey infant in one of Harlow’s isolation chambers. The photograph was taken when the chamber door was raised for the first time after six months of total isolation.

‘…In action how like an angel !…’



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So, An Octave Struck The Answer

“As for Venice and her people, merely born to bloom and drop,
“Here on earth they bore their fruitage, mirth and folly were the crop:
“What of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop ?

Robert Browning : A Toccata of Galuppi’s

camels on Venice Beach

Venice Beach

Historic Camel Photographs

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Church of the Nerds

at 2:36 amcontact (Generalia)

‘Yea though we must sometimes walk through the valley of reality, we WILL fear no evil, for in virtuality there is the freedom of no consequences for our words and actions!’

My friend , Reverend MacFellow , the time has come again .

Posted by Intellihence at ZDNET

NY Society Suppression of Vice


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The Trail of the Lonesome Pine

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Going West

Orion M42 Spitzer

This is the night when I must die,
And great Orion walketh high
In silent glory overhead:
He’ll set just after I am dead.

A week this night, I’m in my grave:
Orion walketh o’er the wave:
Down in the dark damp earth I lie,
While he doth march in majesty.

A few weeks hence and spring will come;
The earth will bright array put on
Of daisy and of primrose bright,
And everything which loves the light.

And some one to my child will say,
“You’ll soon forget that you could play
Beethoven; let us hear a strain
From that slow movement once again.”

And so she’ll play that melody,
While I among the worms do lie;
Dead to them all, for ever dead;
The churchyard clay dense overhead.

I once did think there might be mine
One friendship perfect and divine;
Alas! that dream dissolved in tears
Before I’d counted twenty years.

For I was ever commonplace;
Of genius never had a trace;
My thoughts the world have never fed,
Mere echoes of the book last read.

Those whom I knew I cannot blame:
If they are cold, I am the same:
How could they ever show to me
More than a common courtesy ?

There is no deed which I have done;
There is no love which I have won,
To make them for a moment grieve
That I this night their earth must leave.

Thus, moaning at the break of day,
A man upon his deathbed lay;
A moment more and all was still;
The Morning Star came o’er the hill.

But when the dawn lay on his face,
It kindled an immortal grace;
As if in death that Life were shown
Which lives not in the great alone.

Orion sank down in the west
Just as he sank into his rest;
I closed in solitude his eyes,
And watched him till the sun’s uprise.

Proem to The Autobiography of Mark Rutherford — [ W. Hale White ]


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Maiden Dilemma

at 8:07 pmcontact (Self Writ, Animals, Art, Generalia, Literature)

Or as the Metaphysicals would say, ‘Go for it: we haven’t got much time…’

Click to magnify

Minette's Temptation

J. J. Grandville : The Temptation of Minette


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‘Mundus Vult Decipi’

A famous socialist who was also a close if not acute observer of men and events, Henry Mayers Hyndham, wrote: “Why Mr Gladstone, who changed his opinions whenever it suited his convenience, after turning from the extremest Toryism to advanced Liberalism, should have been credited with the highest political morality, while Disraeli, who, having once chosen his party, stuck to it all his life without the faintest shadow of turning, was regarded as a man of few scruples, I am at a loss to understand.” The explanation is simple. Apart from the fact that Englishmen instinctively distrust anyone and anything alien to themselves, Gladstone was the mouthpiece of his race and period. Everything that is impulsive, irrational, incoherent, and hysterical in the English people found expression in that Englishman, who also contained within himself the peculiar qualities of an age that exhibited self-righteousness, moral indignation, democratic enthusiasm and religious emotionalism; everything in short that Disraeli could not endure.

Hesketh Pearson : Dizzy

Pape illustration



Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported
This work by Claverhouse is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported.
Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported
This work by Claverhouse is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported.