Blogging ends here. I will be doing other things. Thanks for listening. If anyone wants to send me an entry, please do so. I will create a space for it. One last thing. I run into Catholics who tell me how to practice my faith. No. Not allowed. I do not tell others how to practice their faith. The way I do it is peculiar to me. So much more is seen in the dark.
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Magdalene’s Complaint at Christ’s Death Thirty-four-year-old Robert was beheaded and quartered at Tyburn on Feb. 21, 1595, for the crime of being a Catholic priest. He came from the Douay-Rheims group (NT - 1582, OT - 1609-1610).
Southwell and Shakespeare “Apart from their mutual acquaintance with the Earl of Southampton, and the strong circumstantial evidence that they must have known each other within the confines of London’s close-knit Catholic recusant community, the strongest evidence for Southwell’s and Shakespeare’s friendship is to be found in their respective works. … “Shortly before his capture in July 1592, Southwell had been working on a manuscript of his poems and had penned a Preface addressed to the author’s ‘Loving Cousin’. Since Southwell and Shakespeare were distant cousins, it has been conjectured that the Preface was addressed to Shakespeare, though others have suggested that the ‘Cousin’ in question was perhaps Southampton, since Southwell’s brother and sister had each married Southampton’s first cousins. “Either way, the Preface itself is an appeal to poets in general, or perhaps to Shakespeare in particular, to use their God-given talents in the service of the Giver of them: ‘Poets, by abusing their talents, and making the follies and feignings of love the customary subject of their base endeavours, have so discredited this faculty, that a poet, a lover, and a liar, are by many reckoned but three words of one signification….’” theimaginativeconservative.org/2023/07/romeo-jesuits-robert-southwell-joseph-pearce.html#:~:text=Since%20Southwell%20and%20Shakespeare%20were,each%20married%20Southampton's%20first%20cousins. Shakespeare wrote a poem to honor Anne Line and her husband, but you will find no mention of her name in it. The Phoenix and the Turtle Catholics were subject to a COE tax and fines and had two choices: pay the tax and lay low or be jailed and executed. Shakespeare chose the former; the Line's and Southwell chose the latter. Two other women were executed for hiding priests: Clitherow and Ward.
"The Sierra Club's Equity Language Guide discourages using the words stand, Americans, blind, and crazy. “The first two fail at inclusion, because not everyone can stand and not everyone living in this country is a citizen. The third and fourth, even as figures of speech (‘Legislators are blind to climate change’), are insulting to the disabled. “The guide also rejects the disabled in favor of people living with disabilities, for the same reason that enslaved person has generally replaced slave: to affirm, by the tenets of what’s called ‘people-first language,’ that ‘everyone is first and foremost a person, not their disability or other identity.’ “The guide’s purpose is not just to make sure that the Sierra Club avoids obviously derogatory terms, such as welfare queen. It seeks to cleanse language of any trace of privilege, hierarchy, bias, or exclusion. "In its zeal, the Sierra Club has clear-cut a whole national park of words. Urban, vibrant, hardworking, and brown bag all crash to earth for subtle racism. “Y’all supplants the patriarchal you guys, and elevate voices replaces empower, which used to be uplifting but is now condescending. “The poor is classist; battle and minefield disrespect veterans; depressing appropriates a disability; migrant—no explanation, it just has to go.” https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2023/04/equity-language-guides-sierra-club-banned-words/673085/ To euphemize English is to anesthetize English, then leave it for dead. I cracked an egg this morning and out came two yokes.
According to the American Egg Board, "Double-yoked eggs are often produced by young hens whose egg production cycles are not yet completely synchronized. They're often produced, too, by hens that are old enough to produce extra large-sized eggs." My dad loved our little blue parakeet, and I loved watching him eat breakfast in the breakfast room and the parakeet running around and looking at his reflection in the toaster. Well, we thought the bird was a male. In the 12th year, a tiny egg was found. elements of fiction writing - plot, character, point of view, and place My good friend Bill sent me this lecture given by a Baptist preacher and teacher on purity, the most mysterious virtue, as found in Flannery O'Connor's "Temple of the Holy Ghost." Temple of the Holy Ghost This is the second commentary on literature I have allowed, and that is because it is most excellent. Generally, I want readers to reach their own conclusions. However, serious Catholics would do well to listen and learn. Ralph C. Wood at Thomas International Center Her happiest year was 12, pre-puberty, and mine was 14, post-puberty. Happiness doesn't mean blissful: it means having been found, an actuality caused not by me and manifested by the fact that not once have others seen me at Mass for having been told to go.
Also listen to her speakOr a southerner speak Proponents of the 4B feminist movement renounce dating men, having sex with men, marrying men, and having babies. Watch a 10-minute adaptation of E.M. Forster's 1909 tale, “The Machine Stops.” Smell the Glade freshener and feel the Bounce static. She is a white left-winger, saying to the helpful black sister, "Don't touch me," and hanging the Hispanic brother on a peg. The unelected spy of gated neighbors calls the police if an unknown brother/sister is seen. The leftist can't see a soul. When there are no babies, there are no workers. When there are no workers, machines fill the void. What then? “EM Forster imagined the trajectory that an ever-more-industrialized, machine-dominated world could take, and ‘The Machine Stops’ … was the dire end result.” – Gabrielle Bellot 2020
Kuno is the future. I am not. I call this Southern romance, cuz Flannery says it is. What do you call it? I want to know. Mr. Shiftlet made the girl a married woman and left her innocent. Did he do right?
Word Daily says vulgate means means common or colloquial word. Flannery read the Vulgate. I guess that means the Vulgate Bible was written in common or colloquial words. I can't ask her cuz she's gone on to her reward for writing what is. Listen for Catholic symbols. Recently my will got some guts. Latin Mass Catholicism can be just as stifling as the Rondo's. Thanks to mama and papa daddy I have used every one of Eudora's idioms. We played Casino and Old Maid. Normal is school. My nana went to San Francisco Normal, which later became SF State College, later SF State University, name changes signifying zip.
Headline The U.S. House has set a strict ban on congressional staffers' use of Microsoft Copilot, the company's AI-based chatbot, Axios has learned. -Axios Media Inc.
https://www.axios.com/2024/03/29/congress-house-strict-ban-microsoft-copilot-staffers Jill Biden wrote a children’s picture book to be published in June about her White House cat, Willow. Illustrations not hers. No mention anywhere of how much the book deal with Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing is worth. "Add more booty, bitter not sweet, to your purse, Jill." Libraries will buy any new crap from a celebrity, and people will 'gift' it. The celebrity, celebrity cat, and celebrity publisher aren't the fools on this April Fools' Day.
Miss O'Connor, the greatest writer in the genre called Southern Gothic I call Southern realism, and a very devout Catholic, never married, loved birds, and died at 39 from Lupus. Probably you will have to listen to the story twice.
"She argued that she wrote for an audience who, for all its Sunday piety, did not share her belief in the fall of humanity and its need for redemption. 'To the hard of hearing,' she explained, '[Christian writers] shout, and for the… almost-blind [they] draw large and startling figures'…". https://www.georgiaencyclopedia.org/articles/arts-culture/flannery-oconnor/ I cite the reference but don't bother reading it. I rather listen to Flannery explain herself than hear what others have to say. I've only allowed one commentary for a short story. You and I can decide if something is good without help. Only the Bible needs commentary. 1846 New Orleans, LA Poe had 35 addresses, dropped out of West Point, and never visited Italy. Writers have said that there are three story cities: San Francisco, New York, and New Orleans. If you want to know more about this man Poe, visit The Fordham Ram
https://thefordhamram.com/20302/news/fordham-students-explore-the-home-of-edgar-allen-poe/ All that glitters isn’t gold. The Merchant of Venice
Latin Could Shakespeare read Latin? Yes. Sometimes he quoted from the Douay-Rheims. Williams Play This is the setting for “Shakeshafte” by Rowan Williams when Edmund Campion, a Jesuit priest travelling incognito from one household to another, meets a young Will Shakeshafte who has been hidden at the request of a schoolmaster in Stratford! Based on some truth, gossip, and rumour, it is an exciting play, full of suspense and drama, and Rowan has used his poetical and philosophical gifts to create Will’s depth of thought and feelings about human relationships and to elaborate on the personal choices that he has to make. https://supremacyandsurvival.blogspot.com/2016/07/campion-and-shakespeare-meet.html Rowan Williams, b. 1950, is the former Archbishop of Canterbury and a former member of the House of Lords (2003-2020). He believes Shakespeare was a Catholic. 1938 Los Angeles, CA The title, Private Eye (shamus), first appeared in a Chandler story in Dime Detective magazine in June 1938, with the words, “We don't use any private eyes in here. So sorry.” However, the origin might be the American detective agency founded by Allan Pinkerton; their motto c. 1855 was 'We never sleep', and the agency was informally known as 'The Eye.' An eye featured in a Poe short story written 1843, "The Tell-Tale Heart." See Reading List for link.
by Alfred Lord Tennyson
I. The plain was grassy, wild and bare, Wide, wild, and open to the air, Which had built up everywhere An under-roof of doleful gray. With an inner voice the river ran, Adown it floated a dying swan, And loudly did lament. It was the middle of the day. Ever the weary wind went on, And took the reed-tops as it went. II. Some blue peaks in the distance rose, And white against the cold-white sky, Shone out their crowning snows. One willow over the river wept, And shook the wave as the wind did sigh; Above in the wind was the swallow, Chasing itself at its own wild will, And far thro' the marish green and still The tangled water-courses slept, Shot over with purple, and green, and yellow. III. The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul Of that waste place with joy Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear The warble was low, and full and clear; And floating about the under-sky, Prevailing in weakness, the coronach stole Sometimes afar, and sometimes anear; But anon her awful jubilant voice, With a music strange and manifold, Flow'd forth on a carol free and bold; As when a mighty people rejoice With shawms, and with cymbals, and harps of gold, And the tumult of their acclaim is roll'd Thro' the open gates of the city afar, To the shepherd who watcheth the evening star. And the creeping mosses and clambering weeds, And the willow-branches hoar and dank, And the wavy swell of the soughing reeds, And the wave-worn horns of the echoing bank, And the silvery marish-flowers that throng The desolate creeks and pools among, Were flooded over with eddying song. The Bible is the most translated book in history, but closely following it on the list is Antoine de Saint-Exupery’s 1943 novella, “The Little Prince.” To date, the book has been translated into 475 languages, including rarer dialects like Quechua and Aramaic, and has sold over 100 million copies.
Antoine is Anthony in English and comes from the Roman name Anthony, Mark Antony being the most famous Roman with the name. The th sound is preserved in Icelandic and among West Germanic languages, such as English, and in Catalan (most of Spain). Latin begot French begot English with a heavy dose of German. Bible's Babel. The Ocean
BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE The Ocean has its silent caves, Deep, quiet, and alone; Though there be fury on the waves, Beneath them there is none. The awful spirits of the deep Hold their communion there; And there are those for whom we weep, The young, the bright, the fair. Calmly the wearied seamen rest Beneath their own blue sea. The ocean solitudes are blest, For there is purity. The earth has guilt, the earth has care, Unquiet are its graves; But peaceful sleep is ever there, Beneath the dark blue waves. Source: The Mariner's Library or Voyager's Companion (1833) Read this hysterical parody of socially progressive Malibu welcoming its first beach landing of illegal immigrants. The parody, which is so well written by California surfer Derek Rielly that I put it in the English category, comes with real landing video (Latin for I see):
https://beachgrit.com/2023/12/socially-progressive-malibu-welcomes-first-beach-landing-of-illegal-migrants/ written 1959 hope you liked it
Everyone in San Francisco knew about 3rd and Howard. It's been replaced by a square convention center. Twice I went to black churches, once for some kind of graduation for a little girl I was tutoring in the Bayview, her gramma asked me to keep tutoring her, but I couldn't, I had another job, and once for a girl I knew in college who had made her piano debut on the swanky Opera House stage. My uncle was a cop in Chinatown and disparaged black ministers and Jews, but you had to know him. If anyone needed help, he was on it. Kerouac died of drink. "Button, Button", written in 1970, is in a group of short stories by Matheson published from 1950 through 1970 in different short story publications. The reader said that this was his fourth take. Wait till the end. Norma is a classic girl's name of Latin origin, translating to “the standard” or the norm.
I mix a good deal with the Millionaires. I like them. I like their faces. I like the way they live. I like the things they eat. The more we mix together the better I like the things we mix.
Especially I like the way they dress, their grey check trousers, their white check waist-coats, their heavy gold chains, and the signet-rings that they sign their cheques with. My! they look nice. Get six or seven of them sitting together in the club and it's a treat to see them. And if they get the least dust on them, men come and brush it off. Yes, and are glad to. I'd like to take some of the dust off them myself. Even more than what they eat I like their intellectual grasp. It is wonderful. Just watch them read. They simply read all the time. Go into the club at any hour and you'll see three or four of them at it. And the things they can read! You'd think that a man who'd been driving hard in the office from eleven o'clock until three, with only an hour and a half for lunch, would be too fagged. Not a bit. These men can sit down after office hours and read the Sketch and the Police Gazette and the Pink Un, and understand the jokes just as well as I can. What I love to do is to walk up and down among them and catch the little scraps of conversation. The other day I heard one lean forward and say, "Well, I offered him a million and a half and said I wouldn't give a cent more, he could either take it or leave it--" I just longed to break in and say, "What! what! a million and a half! Oh! say that again! Offer it to me, to either take it or leave it. Do try me once: I know I can: or here, make it a plain million and let's call it done." Not that these men are careless over money. No, sir. Don't think it. Of course they don't take much account of big money, a hundred thousand dollars at a shot or anything of that sort. But little money. You've no idea till you know them how anxious they get about a cent, or half a cent, or less. Why, two of them came into the club the other night just frantic with delight: they said wheat had risen and they'd cleaned up four cents each in less than half an hour. They bought a dinner for sixteen on the strength of it. I don't understand it. I've often made twice as much as that writing for the papers and never felt like boasting about it. One night I heard one man say, "Well, let's call up New York and offer them a quarter of a cent." Great heavens! Imagine paying the cost of calling up New York, nearly five million people, late at night and offering them a quarter of a cent! And yet--did New York get mad? No, they took it. Of course it's high finance. I don't pretend to understand it. I tried after that to call up Chicago and offer it a cent and a half, and to call up Hamilton, Ontario, and offer it half a dollar, and the operator only thought I was crazy. All this shows, of course, that I've been studying how the millionaires do it. I have. For years. I thought it might be helpful to young men just beginning to work and anxious to stop. You know, many a man realizes late in life that if when he was a boy he had known what he knows now, instead of being what he is he might be what he won't; but how few boys stop to think that if they knew what they don't know instead of being what they will be, they wouldn't be? These are awful thoughts. At any rate, I've been gathering hints on how it is they do it. One thing I'm sure about. If a young man wants to make a million dollars he's got to be mighty careful about his diet and his living. This may seem hard. But success is only achieved with pains. There is no use in a young man who hopes to make a million dollars thinking he's entitled to get up at 7.30, eat force and poached eggs, drink cold water at lunch, and go to bed at 10 p.m. You can't do it. I've seen too many millionaires for that. If you want to be a millionaire you mustn't get up till ten in the morning. They never do. They daren't. It would be as much as their business is worth if they were seen on the street at half-past nine. And the old idea of abstemiousness is all wrong. To be a millionaire you need champagne, lots of it and all the time. That and Scotch whisky and soda: you have to sit up nearly all night and drink buckets of it. This is what clears the brain for business next day. I've seen some of these men with their brains so clear in the morning, that their faces look positively boiled. To live like this requires, of course, resolution. But you can buy that by the pint. Therefore, my dear young man, if you want to get moved on from your present status in business, change your life. When your landlady brings your bacon and eggs for breakfast, throw them out of window to the dog and tell her to bring you some chilled asparagus and a pint of Moselle. Then telephone to your employer that you'll be down about eleven o'clock. You will get moved on. Yes, very quickly. Just how the millionaires make the money is a difficult question. But one way is this. Strike the town with five cents in your pocket. They nearly all do this; they've told me again and again (men with millions and millions) that the first time they struck town they had only five cents. That seems to have given them their start. Of course, it's not easy to do. I've tried it several times. I nearly did it once. I borrowed five cents, carried it away out of town, and then turned and came back at the town with an awful rush. If I hadn't struck a beer saloon in the suburbs and spent the five cents I might have been rich to-day. Another good plan is to start something. Something on a huge scale: something nobody ever thought of. For instance, one man I know told me that once he was down in Mexico without a cent (he'd lost his five in striking Central America) and he noticed that they had no power plants. So he started some and made a mint of money. Another man that I know was once stranded in New York, absolutely without a nickel. Well, it occurred to him that what was needed were buildings ten stories higher than any that had been put up. So he built two and sold them right away. Ever so many millionaires begin in some such simple way as that. There is, of course, a much easier way than any of these. I almost hate to tell this, because I want to do it myself. I learned of it just by chance one night at the club. There is one old man there, extremely rich, with one of the best faces of the lot, just like a hyena. I never used to know how he had got so rich. So one evening I asked one of the millionaires how old Bloggs had made all his money. "How he made it?" he answered with a sneer. "Why he made it by taking it out of widows and orphans." Widows and orphans! I thought, what an excellent idea. But who would have suspected that they had it? "And how," I asked pretty cautiously, "did he go at it to get it out of them?" "Why," the man answered, "he just ground them under his heels, that was how." Now isn't that simple? I've thought of that conversation often since and I mean to try it. If I can get hold of them, I'll grind them quick enough. But how to get them. Most of the widows I know look pretty solid for that sort of thing, and as for orphans, it must take an awful lot of them. Meantime I am waiting, and if I ever get a large bunch of orphans all together, I'll stamp on them and see. I find, too, on inquiry, that you can also grind it out of clergymen. They say they grind nicely. But perhaps orphans are easier. published 1914 Stephen Leacock Canadian humorist |
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