Monthly Archives: May 2018

Ear-Wig II…

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… “But let us suppose a stateman were to put his nation in the position

of having to pursue ‘grand politics’ though it were ill equipped to do so.”

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“Or worse, suppose he forced his nation to politicise when it had otherwise

better things to do…”

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“Would we call such a statesman great?”

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“Undoubtedly, else he would not have been able to achieve such a feat.

He may have been mad to attempt it but perhaps all greatness starts out as madness.”

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“I disagree, we might want to call him strong and mad but never great!”

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Let the ignorant speculate –

When one nation becomes spiritually shallow,

another sets out for the deep…

Ear-Wig

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“He understands about as much philosophy as a pheasant!”

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“He is, then, an innocent.”

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“But it is all one in this age of the masses.”

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“They prostrate themselves before anything, well, massive.”

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“And also in politics, where the statesman responsible

for constructing the biggest Babel is called great.”

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“While we can rest secure in the old belief

that only a great idea can bestow greatness

on deed or cause.”

 

 

 

Clocking off?

The Silent Eye

The road was calling me north and I couldn’t wait to finish work and give in to its blandishments. The sun was shining and warm, the forecast unusually good for England. The fields were ablaze with the brilliant yellow of rapeseed, the hedgerows, bending beneath the weight of May blossom, awash with wildflowers. Pink campions covered the roadside, pale blue forget-me-nots, bright starry ransom and banks of anemones, and, in the shade of the trees, carpets of bluebells linger. The dandelion clocks swayed in the breeze, sending fairy-like seeds up in clouds to dance beneacth the trees. It was a glorious day.

As my job extends over seven days each week and any day off is deducted from my holiday entitlement, I make the most of these trips north for the monthly meeting of the Silent Eye, so the journey is part of the adventure. Refusing the mind-numbing boredom…

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A Particoloured Earth…

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There is no question…

These exhibits should be returned to their native soil.

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My mind wanders to the energy expended in excavation and transportation…

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Could the sculptors have forseen this end for their work?

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There is still coloured-paint on the sandalled feet of ‘the Gods’.

Shadowlands and the magic lantern…

The Silent Eye

Every so often, I need a break from whatever is currently occupying my attention. Occasionally, I will watch a film. These are usually whatever I can find online and I seldom have a clear idea of what I fancy until something catches my eye.

Now, I freely admit that I am useless where films are concerned. I have neither been a movie buff, nor followed fashion. I’ve never… except for one brief period in Paris… had access to a cinema that showed arthouse films and even many of the cultural and cinematic classics escaped me, including those popular movies counted as old favourites by many.

Most movies aimed primarily at women have never really attracted me; Gone with the Wind was fifty years old before I saw it, I never did see Grease and I only watched Dirty Dancing only because it was a Christmas present. Anything more modern than…

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Claw-in-Glove…

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Wherever the spirit of industry

triumphs over the aristocratic spirit

woman aspires to the economic and legal independence of a clerk.

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‘Erica-the-Cleric’, stands inscribed over the portal of our modern society.

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There has been an almost masculine stupidity about this movement

of which real women, that is to say clever women, are heartily ashamed.

There has been a desire to make woman more cultivated

as if history had not declared that to cultivate anything

is to make it weaker.

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That in woman which inspires respect is her ‘nature’,

which is more ‘natural’ than that of man,

her beast-of-prey suppleness and inner savagery.

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Woman is being divested of her enchantment.

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Europe, O’ Europe…

No Goddess lies concealed within this crazy notion.

It is just an idea, and a thoroughly modern idea at that!

 

 

 

More than survival

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

One of my all-time favourite fantasy cycles is the Chronicles of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever by Stephen Donaldson. They were the first fantasy books I ever read other than the classics such as Tolkien, Lewis and Carroll. My grandfather sent me a copy of the first book in paperback when I was living in France, “You’ll like this. The cover says it all…”

Well, if it did,  I didn’t fancy it. Bear in mind the fantasy genre hadn’t come my way much back then and flicking through the first chapters the style didn’t appeal, the hero was an anti-hero and commits unspeakable acts. I didn’t care for the way the opening chapters were written and honestly, the only reason I persevered was because I had already read my way through all the English language books in the library in Vichy, including the ones in the storeroom. Reading in French…

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Somewhere in the world,​ there is a child seeking hope: Why we’re creating thelabyrinth.online

Not Tomatoes

Thelabyrinth.online

Somewhere in the world, right now, there is a ten-year-old child sitting at a desk. Her hand is drawing the dreams of her mind, while her ears half-listen to the lesson of her teacher. For a moment, her eyes lift towards the window and her heart fills with a deep longing to find her place in a world that does not feel like home.

Somewhere in the world, right now, there is a fourteen-year-old boy so troubled by the injustices he perceives around him, he is contemplating the end of his life. He has no true friends and is misunderstood by his parents and teachers. Every day he is tormented for being unlike those around him.

At this very moment, there is a child being born into this world. A child who will face a foreign landscape as she seeks the familiar. This child is filled with gifts she can…

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