Archives for the month of: February, 2013

John 1:1

Let’s rise like one, and say farewell to Mrs. Destitution.

We don’t want such a wife, who destroys us from every side.

We demand a divorce, for obvious reasons. We are in love with Freedom.

We must have her for our own, to give birth to Prosperity.

(Poland, 1988)

If you come as softly
As the wind within the trees
You may hear what I hear
See what sorrow sees.

If you come as lightly
As threading dew
I will take you gladly
Nor ask more of you.

You may sit beside me
Silent as a breath
Only those who stay dead
Shall remember death.

And if you come I will be silent
Nor speak harsh words to you.
I will not ask you why now.
Or how, or what you do.

We shall sit here, softly
Beneath two different years
And the rich between us
Shall drink our tears.

— Audre Lorde

Par Gérard de Nerval

Impressionists paint what they see–

Expressionists paint what they feel–

And socialist realists paint what they HEAR–

A letter from Tito was found among Stalin’s papers after Stalin’s death, saying:

Stalin. Stop sending assassins to murder me. We have already caught five, one with a bomb, another with a rifle… If this doesn’t stop, we will send one man to Moscow and there will be no need for another one.

Khrushchev recalls that Stalin once boasted: “”I will shake my little finger — and there will be no more Tito. He will fall.“. . . But this did not happen to Tito. No matter how much or how little Stalin shook, not only his little finger but everything else that he could shake =)), Tito did not fall.”

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Hahahahahahahahahaha

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(From Archie Brown’s The Rise and Fall of Communism)

If e’er faith had fallen asleep

I hear a voice ‘believe no more’

And heard an ever-breaking shore

That tumbles in the Godless deep.

 

A warmth within the breast would melt

The freezing Reason’s colder part,

And like a man in wrath the heart

Stood up and answer’d ‘I have felt.’

 

No, like a child in doubt and fear:

But that blind clamour made me wise.

And was I as a child that cries

But, crying knows his Father is near.”

Tennyson