The Knights Who Say "Us".

Toad

"Some time before he became involved in the Dreyfus Affair, Emile Zola wrote an article called 'The Toad.' It purported to be his advice to a young writer who could not stomach the aggressive mendacity of a press which in 1890 was determined to plunge the citizens of the French Republic into disaster.

"Zola explained to the young man his own method of inuring himself against newspaper columns. Each morning, over a period of time, he bought a toad in the market place, and devoured it alive and whole. The toads cost only three sous each, and after such a steady matutinal diet one could face almost any newspaper with a tranquil stomach, recognize and swallow the toad contained therein, and actually relish that which to healthy men not similarly immunized would be a lethal poison.

BreXit : Fraternal Iceland

Morgan

How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!

These boys know little they are sons to The King;

Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.

They think they are mine; and though train'd

up thus meanly

I' the cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit

The roofs of palaces, and nature prompts them

In simple and low things to prince it much

Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore,

The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who

The king his father call'd Guiderius,--Jove!

When on my three-foot stool I sit and tell

The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out

Into my story: say 'Thus, mine enemy fell,

And thus I set my foot on 's neck;' even then

The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats,

Strains his young nerves and puts himself in posture

That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal,

Once Arviragus, in as like a figure,

Strikes life into my speech and shows much more

His own conceiving.--Hark, the game is roused!

O Cymbeline! heaven and my conscience knows

Thou didst unjustly banish me: whereon,

At three and two years old, I stole these babes;

Thinking to bar thee of succession, as

Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile,

Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for

their mother,

And every day do honour to her grave:

Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,

They take for natural father. 

The Game is Up.

Exit

CYMBELINE
Take him hence:
The whole world shall not save him.

BELARIUS
Not too hot:
First pay me for the nursing of thy sons;
And let it be confiscate all, so soon
As I have received it.

CYMBELINE
Nursing of my sons!

BELARIUS
I am too blunt and saucy: here's my knee:
Ere I arise, I will prefer my sons;
Then spare not the old father. Mighty sir,
These two young gentlemen, that call me father
And think they are my sons, are none of mine;
They are the issue of your loins, my liege,
And blood of your begetting.

CYMBELINE
How! my issue!

BELARIUS
So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan,
Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd:
Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment
Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer'd
Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes--
For such and so they are--these twenty years
Have I train'd up: those arts they have as I
Could put into them; my breeding was, sir, as
Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile,
Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children
Upon my banishment: I moved her to't,
Having received the punishment before,
For that which I did then: beaten for loyalty
Excited me to treason: their dear loss,
The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shaped
Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir,
Here are your sons again; and I must lose
Two of the sweet'st companions in the world.
The benediction of these covering heavens
Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy
To inlay heaven with stars.

CYMBELINE
Thou weep'st, and speak'st.
The service that you three have done is more
Unlike than this thou tell'st. I lost my children:
If these be they, I know not how to wish
A pair of worthier sons.

BELARIUS
Be pleased awhile.
This gentleman, whom I call Polydore,
Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius:
This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus,
Your younger princely son; he, sir, was lapp'd
In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand
Of his queen mother, which for more probation
I can with ease produce.

CYMBELINE
Guiderius had
Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star;
It was a mark of wonder.

BELARIUS
This is he;
Who hath upon him still that natural stamp:
It was wise nature's end in the donation,
To be his evidence now.

CYMBELINE
O, what, am I
A mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mother
Rejoiced deliverance more. Blest pray you be,
That, after this strange starting from your orbs,
may reign in them now! O Imogen,
Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.

IMOGEN
No, my lord;
I have got two worlds by 't. O my gentle brothers,
Have we thus met? O, never say hereafter
But I am truest speaker you call'd me brother,
When I was but your sister; I you brothers,
When ye were so indeed.

CYMBELINE
Did you e'er meet?

ARVIRAGUS
Ay, my good lord.

GUIDERIUS
And at first meeting loved;
Continued so, until we thought he died.

CORNELIUS
By the queen's dram she swallow'd.

CYMBELINE
O rare instinct!
When shall I hear all through? This fierce
abridgement
Hath to it circumstantial branches, which
Distinction should be rich in. Where? how lived You?
And when came you to serve our Roman captive?
How parted with your brothers? how first met them?
Why fled you from the court? and whither? These,
And your three motives to the battle, with
I know not how much more, should be demanded;
And all the other by-dependencies,
From chance to chance: but nor the time nor place
Will serve our long inter'gatories. See,
Posthumus anchors upon Imogen,
And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye
On him, her brother, me, her master, hitting
Each object with a joy: the counterchange
Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground,
And smoke the temple with our sacrifices.

To BELARIUS
Thou art my brother; so we'll hold thee ever.

IMOGEN
You are my father too, and did relieve me,
To see this gracious season.

CYMBELINE
All o'erjoy'd,
Save these in bonds: let them be joyful too,
For they shall taste our comfort.

IMOGEN
My good master,
I will yet do you service.

CAIUS LUCIUS
Happy be you!

CYMBELINE
The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought,
He would have well becomed this place, and graced
The thankings of a king.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS
I am, sir,
The soldier that did company these three
In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for
The purpose I then follow'd. That I was he,
Speak, Iachimo: I had you down and might
Have made you finish.

IACHIMO
[Kneeling] I am down again:
But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee,
As then your force did. Take that life, beseech you,
Which I so often owe: but your ring first;
And here the bracelet of the truest princess
That ever swore her faith.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS
Kneel not to me:
The power that I have on you is, to spare you;
The malice towards you to forgive you: live,
And deal with others better.

CYMBELINE
Nobly doom'd!
We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law;
Pardon's the word to all.

ARVIRAGUS
You holp us, sir,
As you did mean indeed to be our brother;
Joy'd are we that you are.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS
Your servant, princes. Good my lord of Rome,
Call forth your soothsayer: as I slept, methought
Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back'd,
Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows
Of mine own kindred: when I waked, I found
This label on my bosom; whose containing
Is so from sense in hardness, that I can
Make no collection of it: let him show
His skill in the construction.

CAIUS LUCIUS
Philarmonus!
Soothsayer
Here, my good lord.

CAIUS LUCIUS
Read, and declare the meaning.

Soothsayer
[Reads] 'When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself
unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by a
piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar
shall be lopped branches, which, being dead many
years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old
stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end
his miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in
peace and plenty.'
Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp;
The fit and apt construction of thy name,
Being Leonatus, doth import so much.

To CYMBELINE
The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,
Which we call 'mollis aer;' and 'mollis aer'
We term it 'mulier:' which 'mulier' I divine
Is this most constant wife; who, even now,
Answering the letter of the oracle,
Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about
With this most tender air.

CYMBELINE
This hath some seeming.

Soothsayer
The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,
Personates thee: and thy lopp'd branches point
Thy two sons forth; who, by Belarius stol'n,
For many years thought dead, are now revived,
To the majestic cedar join'd, whose issue
Promises Britain peace and plenty.

CYMBELINE
Well
My peace we will begin. And, Caius Lucius,
Although the victor, we submit to Caesar,
And to the Roman empire; promising
To pay our wonted tribute, from the which
We were dissuaded by our wicked queen;
Whom heavens, in justice, both on her and hers,
Have laid most heavy hand.
Soothsayer
The fingers of the powers above do tune
The harmony of this peace. The vision
Which I made known to Lucius, ere the stroke
Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant
Is full accomplish'd; for the Roman eagle,
From south to west on wing soaring aloft,
Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o' the sun
So vanish'd: which foreshow'd our princely eagle,
The imperial Caesar, should again unite
His favour with the radiant Cymbeline,
Which shines here in the west.

CYMBELINE
Laud we the gods;
And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils
From our blest altars. Publish we this peace
To all our subjects. Set we forward: let
A Roman and a British ensign wave
Friendly together: so through Lud's-town march:
And in the temple of great Jupiter
Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts.
Set on there! Never was a war did cease,
Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace.

Exeunt

King Arthur II & Prince Madoc's voyage to America in AD 562

Zac Tudor

'G'

Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be

Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,

By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,

To set my brother Clarence and the king

In deadly hate the one against the other:

And if King Edward be as true and just

As I am subtle, false and treacherous,

This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,

About a prophecy, which says that 'G'

Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.

 

As I remember, Henry the Sixth

Did prophesy that Richmond should be King,

When Richmond was a little peevish boy.

A King, perhaps, perhaps,--

How chance the prophet could not at that time

Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him.?

Richmond! When last I was at Exeter,

The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle,

And call'd it Rougemont: at which name I started,

Because a bard of Ireland told me once

I should not live long after I saw Richmond.

The German Mind and The Axioms of Gothic Thought

A letter of 5 November 1777 to Mozart’s cousin Maria Anna Thekla Mozart is an example of Mozart’s use of scatology. The German original is in rhymed verse "

"Well, I wish you good night

But first shit in your bed and make it burst.

Sleep soundly, my love

Into your mouth your arse you’ll shove."

Mozart’s canon “Leck mich im Arsch” K. 231 (K6 382c) includes the lyrics:

"Leck mich im A[rsch] g’schwindi, g’schwindi!"

This would be translated into English as 

“lick me in the arse/ass, quickly, quickly!”.

“Leck mich im Arsch” is a standard vulgarism in German. The closest English counterpart is 

“Kiss my arse/ass”.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mozart_and_scatology

Du musst amboss oder Hammer sein.

You Must Be Anvil or Hammer.
- Goethe


In modern German, "Lieber Hammer als Amboss" (Better to be the hammer than the anvil) is a fairly common proverb.



"In real life it is always the anvil that breaks the hammer, never the other way about."
-George Orwell 
"Politics and the English Language"

Ape and Tiger in Us Demand Fight, Says Jack London

Ape and Tiger in US Demand Fight, Says Jack London
New York Herald/June 29, 1910

Thrill of Combat a Passion of Race That Grew as Our Language Grew

Must Accept it as Reality of Nature

Sport of Prize Fighting a Fair One and Marks Development of Humanity

Eventually Will Cease

Mr. London Says Personally He Wants to See Battle So Bad it Hurts

Here is the problem. At 1:30 o’clock on the afternoon of July 4 two men, a white and a black, are going to face each other in a squared ring, elevated in the centre of a large arena. They are not going to try to kill each other. They are to fight each other, true, but the fighting will be done with natural weapons, and according to very rigid and restricted rules. They are to strike each other with their hands, and their hands only. No other blow will be permitted. They cannot wrestle with each other or throw each other down. The very area on which they are allowed to land their blows is limited. It is the upper portion of the body. From the waist down all striking is tabooed. Nor may a blow be struck when a man is off his feet. The fists, which are their only fighting weapons, will be encased in padded gloves that weigh one-third of a pound. A naked knuckle can cut and injure, and it is a thing to be avoided. A third man will be in the ring with them to see that all the rules are observed. He is the referee. His word is law. Whatever he says must be obeyed. If a man strikes a foul blow, the referee will immediately disqualify him and award the victory to the other man. The referee will watch closely, circling about the two men, sometimes speaking to them in a low voice, sometimes touching one on the shoulder and sometimes the other.

And what are these two men, with the padded gloves, the rigid rules and the referee, in the ring for? What is their desire to achieve? Simply this: By means of blows with their gloved hands to see who can put the other down on the ground, and put him down so hard that he will stay down for 10 consecutive seconds. And why do they want to do this? For honor and fame and a prize for $100,000.

It sounds silly on the face of it, doesn’t it? But when it is considered that from 15,000 to 20,000 men, paying each from $10 to $50 for a seat, will be in the arena to watch the two men, that millions of dollars will be spent on this contest, that men will journey from the uttermost ends of the earth to witness it, that the ablest journalists and cartoonists of the country will be present, and that it has been and will be for a week to come the one overshadowing issue of the whole United States, all to see which of the two men can put the other down for 10 consecutive seconds, why, it would seem to become a colossal silliness.

But is it such a silliness? Is it a silliness at all, when the pages of all the newspapers are daily filled with it, the only concession that a very large portion of the people of the country are interested in it? There is a reason for their interest, just as there is a reason for my interest, and why am I interested? In the next paragraph let me show you. But here let me stand up and announce that I am so keenly interested, so overwhelmingly desirous of witnessing this contest, that there are moments when sudden fears assail me, such as that the fight will not come off, that it may be prevented by some great earthquake or terrific cataclysm of Nature. Why, I want to see that fight so bad that it hurts.

This contest of men with padded gloves on their hands is a sport that belongs unequivocally to the English-speaking race, and that has taken centuries for the race to develop. It is no superficial thing, a fad of a moment or a generation. No genius or philosopher devised it and persuaded the race to adopt it as their radical sport of sports. It is as deep as our consciousness, and is woven into the fibers of our being. It grew as our very language grew. It is an instructive passion of race. And as men to-day thrill to short Saxon words, just so do they thrill to the thud of blows of a prize fight, to the onslaught and the repulse and to the exhibition of gameness and courage. This is the ape and tiger in us, granted. But like the man in jail, it is in us, isn’t it? We can’t get away from it. It is the fact, the irrefragable fact. We like fighting—it’s our nature. We are realities in a real world, and we must accept the reality of our nature and all its thrillableness if we are to live in accord with the real world, and those who try to get away from these realities, who by ukase will deny their existence, succeed only in living in a world of illusion and misunderstanding. These are the people who compose theatre panics, fire panics and wreck panics. They are so far out of accord with the real world that they can make no adjustment with it when the supreme moment comes.

It goes without discussion, so patent is it, that an audience composed wholly of prize fighters would never engage in a theatre panic. They would be too close to the real, too wide-seeing and clear-seeing and cool to stampede like a herd of brute cattle. The chance is that they would stay and put out the fire.

Another thing which merits pointing out is that our sport of prize fighting is a fair sport. It gives play to our ethical natures. No one can disbelieve this who has ever heard a fighter, guilty of a foul blow, hooted by an indignant and outraged audience.

Our sport of prize fighting is hedged with ethical restrictions. It is synonymous with fair play. It is different from the fighting of the jungle, of which it is a development. There is absolutely no fair play in the jungle fighting. So has man improved. By that much is he less red of fang and claw. By that much has he climbed up the ladder of life. Don’t rush his development too hard. He will climb higher.

The works of Jack London and other American journalists are now freely available at The Archive of American Journalism.

The Politics of Optimism

" We Almost Cured Cancer. "

BARTLET

Sam.

SAM

Yes sir?

BARTLET

Why shouldn't I do it?

SAM

I think you should. 

I think ambition is Good. 

I think overreaching is Good. 

I think giving people a vision of Government that's more than Social Security checks and debt reduction is Good. 

I think Government should be Optimistic.

Here's something interesting. 

In 1940, our armed forces weren't among the twelve

most formidable in the world, but obviously, we were gonna fight a big war. 

And Roosevelt said the U.S. would produce 50,000 planes in the next four years.

Everyone thought it was a joke. 

And it was.
 
'Cause it turned out we produced 100,000 planes.

 Gave the Air Force an armada that would block the sun.

LISA

Do you still have what you wrote that night?

SAM

About curing Cancer?

LISA

Yeah.

Read it to me. [sits]

SAM

"Over the past half-century, we've split the atom, we've spliced the gene, and we've roamed Tranquility Base. 

We've reached for the stars, and never have we

been closer to having them in our grasp. 

New science, new technology is making the difference between life and death, and so we need a national commitment equal to this

unparalleled moment of possibility. 

And so, I announce to you tonight, that I will bring the full resources of the federal government and the full reach of my office to this fundamental goal :

" We Will Cure Cancer by the End of This Decade. "

Klingon Guile

KRUGE: 

Why haven't they finished us? 

...They outgun me ten to one.

MALTZ: 

My Lord, enemy commander wishes a truce to confer.

KRUGE: 

Put him on screen!

KIRK (on viewscreen): This is Admiral James T. Kirk of the Federation Starship Enterprise.

KRUGE: 

So! The Genesis Commander himself.

KIRK (on viewscreen): 

By violation of treaty between the Federation and the Klingon Empire, your presence here is an act of war. You have two minutes to surrender your crew and your vessel, or we will destroy you.

KRUGE: 

He's hiding something. We may have dealt him a more serious blow than I thought.

TORG: 

How can you tell that?

KRUGE: 

I trust my instincts. 

...Admiral Kirk, this is your opponent speaking.

Do not lecture me about treaty violations. The Federation, in creating an ultimate weapon, has become a gang of Intergalactic criminals!

It is not I who will surrender, it is YOU! 

...On the planet below, I have three prisoners from the team who developed your doomsday weapon. If you do not surrender immediately, I will execute them, one at a time, as enemies of galactic peace.

KIRK: 

Who is this? How dare you take prisoners?

KRUGE: 

Who I am is not important. That I have them IS. 

...I will allow you speak to them.

BreXit : The Grenadian Revolution

Bring me my Bow of burning Gold;
Bring me my Arrows of desire:
Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my Chariot of Fire!

I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand:
Till we have built 

A Working Class Hero is Something to Be

And Then....

Iam The Anti-Christ.

Iam an Anar-kist.

Iam in a World of Shit. 

Jesus says do not change Jewish law. 
Paul says we do not have to obey those laws. 
The first Christians thought that Paul was the Anti-Christ. 
He did not know Jesus and was not with Jesus and his claims in biblical times were not accepted by Jews or Christians.

"You see, you don't know how much people need God. 

You don't know how happy He can make them. 

He can make them happy to do anything. 
Make them happy to die, and they'll die, all for the sake of Christ. 

Jesus Christ. 

Jesus of Nazareth. 

The Son of God. 

The Messiah. 

Not you. Not for your sake. 

You know, I'm glad I met you. 

Because now I can forget all about you. 

My Jesus is much more important and much more powerful."

GLOUCESTER
Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed.
O, he hath kept an evil diet long,
And overmuch consumed his royal person:
'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.

What, is he in his bed?

*****

RICHARD GLOUCESTER
Stay, you that bear the corpse, and set it down.

LADY ANNE
What black magician conjures up this fiend,
To stop devoted charitable deeds?

RICHARD GLOUCESTER
Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul,
I'll make a corpse of him that disobeys.

Gentleman
My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass.

RICHARD GLOUCESTER
Unmanner'd dog! stand thou, when I command:
Advance thy halbert higher than my breast,
Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot,
And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.


******

RICHARD GLOUCESTER
They do me wrong, and I will not endure it:
Who are they that complain unto the king,
That I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not?
By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly
That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours.
Because I cannot flatter and speak fair,
Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive and cog,
Duck with French nods and apish courtesy,
I must be held a rancorous enemy.
Cannot a plain man live and think no harm,
But thus his simple truth must be abused
By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?

*****

RICHARD GLOUCESTER
If I thou protector of this damned strumpet--
Tellest thou me of 'ifs'? Thou art a traitor:
Off with his head! Now, by Saint Paul I swear,
I will not dine until I see the same.
Lovel and Ratcliff, look that it be done:
The rest, that love me, rise and follow me.

*****

Enter a Scrivener, with a paper in his hand
Scrivener
This is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings;
Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd,
That it may be this day read over in Paul's.
And mark how well the sequel hangs together:
Eleven hours I spent to write it over,
For yesternight by Catesby was it brought me;
The precedent was full as long a-doing:
And yet within these five hours lived Lord Hastings,
Untainted, unexamined, free, at liberty
Here's a good world the while! Why who's so gross,
That seeth not this palpable device?
Yet who's so blind, but says he sees it not?
Bad is the world; and all will come to nought,

When such bad dealings must be seen in thought.

*****

KING RICHARD III
By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night
Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard
Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers
Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond.
It is not yet near day. Come, go with me;
Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper,

To see if any mean to shrink from me.

Ungoliant

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