Requiem Ultra Repris


Requiem Ultra Repris
(Click to Enlarge)

It’s past the centennial of the Armistice that ended WW1, but I feel that the dead of that long ago war deserve a reprise of their requiem. And, thanks to the calligraphic skills and efforts of Satwinder Sehmi, this is easy to do. On top of that, his rendering of Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae’s iconic poem as a poppy is brilliant.

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place, and in the sky,
The larks, still bravely singing, fly,
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead; short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe!
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high!
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Indeed, by way of a history lesson, In Flanders Fields is cited as the reason that the poppy is the symbol of remembrance for those who died in service and in war.

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Michael Brown Memorial

It’s almost hard to believe that a year has passed and that today, August 9, 2015 marks the first anniversary of of Officer David Wilson having to put down Michael Brown in Ferguson, MO.

Such sensationalized events must be remembered and memorialized, lest we forget what happened and doom ourselves to be shocked when history repeats itself.

There once was a thug named Brown Who bum-rushed a cop with a frown Six bullets later He met his creator Then his homies burnt down the townMichael Brown Memorial

And there is, on the internet at least, a fitting memorial of Michael Brown. Apt, apropos, and a pithy, it a fitting summation of this ghetto thug’s existence and “contribution” to history.

There once was a thug named Brown
Who bum-rushed a cop with a frown
Six bullets later
He met his creator
Then his homies burnt down the town

Yes, let each and every American remember Michael Brown’s death and the savage and senseless violence that sparked. let each and every American remember keep it in their minds that this is what happens when Americans have to deal with the more feral cultures we allow live within our border.

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A Math Limerick

Most people think that math and poetry are polar opposites. This, however, is not true. Take, for instance, this mathematical limerick:


What? This doesn’t seem to be a limerick to you? Let’s translate the formula into prose…

A dozen, a gross, and a score,
plus three times the square root of four,
divided by seven,
plus five times eleven,
is nine squared and not a bit more.

See? Math and poetry can be one and the same. It’s just take a little work and some understanding 😛

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The Danse Macabre

The dance of nations’ diplomacy is always underscored by the drums of war but rarely before has this dance been so evocative of Death.

Gothic Belly Dancer
The Dance with Iran Is A Danse Macabre

There is little doubt that dance we’re in with Iran over their nuclear weapons program is a Dance of Death. This is largely because Obama and the other players from the West don’t even seem to realize that Iran is dancing to completely different music, in instruments, meter, tempo, and even scale it is written and played in.

Dance when you’re broken open.
Dance when you’ve torn the bandage off.
Dance in the middle of fighting.
Dance in your blood.
Dance when you’re perfectly free.
Struck, the dancer hears a tambourine inside her,
like a wave that crests into foam at the very top,
Maybe you don’t hear that tambourine,
or the tree leaves clapping time.
Close the ears on your head,
that listen mostly to lies and cynical jokes.
There are other things to see, and hear.
Music. Dance.
A brilliant city inside your soul!

— Jalāl ad-DÄ«n Muhammad RÅ«mÄ«

And so we shall cavort and gyrate to our songs as the Iranians shall to their own strains. I think though that their music is stronger to them and stranger to us than ours can ever again be and that their dancers in their terrible beauty shall best amuse Death on Her thrown.

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The Liberals’ Racism

white-mans-burden-jpg Liberals and Progressives are really into labeling American Whites as racists, all the while ignoring and/or denying their racism which, in point of fact, is more endemic and more pernicious than anything that has been been displayed by any measurable number of Americans for more than a generation.

Theirs is the racism of lowered expectation and the caretaker mentality that goes with it. Note that this racist attitude is nothing new and has been used as an excuse for far greater harm than the modern Liberals and Progressives attempt.

The White Man’s Burden

Take up the White Man’s burden–
Send forth the best ye breed–
Go bind your sons to exile
To serve your captives’ need;
To wait in heavy harness,
On fluttered folk and wild–
Your new-caught, sullen peoples,
Half-devil and half-child.

Take up the White Man’s burden–
In patience to abide,
To veil the threat of terror
And check the show of pride;
By open speech and simple,
An hundred times made plain
To seek another’s profit,
And work another’s gain.

Take up the White Man’s burden–
The savage wars of peace–
Fill full the mouth of Famine
And bid the sickness cease;
And when your goal is nearest
The end for others sought,
Watch sloth and heathen Folly
Bring all your hopes to nought.

Take up the White Man’s burden–
No tawdry rule of kings,
But toil of serf and sweeper–
The tale of common things.
The ports ye shall not enter,
The roads ye shall not tread,
Go mark them with your living,
And mark them with your dead.

Take up the White Man’s burden–
And reap his old reward:
The blame of those ye better,
The hate of those ye guard–
The cry of hosts ye humour
(Ah, slowly!) toward the light:–
“Why brought he us from bondage,
Our loved Egyptian night?”

Take up the White Man’s burden–
Ye dare not stoop to less–
Nor call too loud on Freedom
To cloke your weariness;
By all ye cry or whisper,
By all ye leave or do,
The silent, sullen peoples
Shall weigh your gods and you.

Take up the White Man’s burden–
Have done with childish days–
The lightly proferred laurel,
The easy, ungrudged praise.
Comes now, to search your manhood
Through all the thankless years
Cold, edged with dear-bought wisdom,
The judgment of your peers!

— Rudyard Kipling
McClure’s Magazine, 1899

Rudyard Kipling’s poem, while fully steeped in the Colonialism of the 19th century, still describes “White Man’s burden” that the Liberals and Progressives want to foist onto all of our shoulders. It may be politics, legislation, and activism in these times instead of war and “benevolent” conquest, but the underlying sentiment is the same – that the White Man must bear the burden of tending and “raising” the various minority subcultures in America.

The only fundamental differences are that this is now a domestic effort instead of foreign adventure, and what was an excuse is now the sole reason for shouldering the burden of these sullen people.

No, the dear-bought wisdom of a bygone age was frittered away and lost upon the Liberals and Progressives. Yet, times and Man do not truly change and one need only look to Africa or to Detroit to see what this shadow of Colonialism will lead to in its inevitable failure.

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