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We gained his operational capabilities and he gained our marketing skills.

quote by Mercer Reynolds
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Soccer Rollback

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[...] Read more

poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society

Epigraph

Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.

I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.

You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning (1871)
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Prescription: Love

I been wandering for quite a while
When it seems like love is all around
Seems when people cant get love
They substitute it with a bunch of drugs
If love was a drug that was real cheap
Everybody could get some sleep
I been wandering for quite a while
When it seems like love is all around
Seems when love dont get to far
They buy a real expensive car
If love was a car that was real cheap
Everybody would drive a jeep
Lets give love the marketing scam
Lets give love the marketing scam
Make it something they can understand
Lets give love the marketing scam
Lets give love the marketing scam
And get on with it
Ive been wandering for quite a while
When it seems like love is all around
Seems when people dont have nobody
They spend their time makin lots of money
If love was money and it was cheap
Everybody could get some sleep

song performed by Flaming Lips
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Sweet Little Girls

Sweet little girls
Cut a swathe through this world
Using skills that they get
From their mothers
Sweet little girls
Might like ribbons and curls
But they most like to torture their brothers
And sweet little girls
Love their friends
'Till it hurts
Or until
They can find them another
Watch their lips, they make a circle like
"Coo coo coo coo"
But the words their saying softly are
Cruel cruel cruel
Sweet little girls
Cut a swathe through this world
Using skills that they get
From their mothers
Watch their lips, they make a circle like
"Coo coo coo coo"
But the words their saying softly are
Cruel cruel cruel
Yeah sweet little girls
Cut a swathe through this world
Using skills that they get
From their mothers
Using skills that they get from their mothers
Using skills that they get from their
Aah aah etc...

song performed by Proclaimers
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Pharsalia - Book IV: Caesar In Spain. War In The Adriatic Sea. Death Of Curio.

But in the distant regions of the earth
Fierce Caesar warring, though in fight he dealt
No baneful slaughter, hastened on the doom
To swift fulfillment. There on Magnus' side
Afranius and Petreius held command,
Who ruled alternate, and the rampart guard
Obeyed the standard of each chief in turn.
There with the Romans in the camp were joined
Asturians swift, and Vettons lightly armed,
And Celts who, exiled from their ancient home,
Had joined 'Iberus' to their former name.
Where the rich soil in gentle slope ascends
And forms a modest hill, Ilerda stands,
Founded in ancient days; beside her glides
Not least of western rivers, Sicoris
Of placid current, by a mighty arch
Of stone o'erspanned, which not the winter floods
Shall overwhelm. Upon a rock hard by
Was Magnus' camp; but Caesar's on a hill,
Rivalling the first; and in the midst a stream.
Here boundless plains are spread beyond the range
Of human vision; Cinga girds them in
With greedy waves; forbidden to contend
With tides of ocean; for that larger flood
Who names the land, Iberus, sweeps along
The lesser stream commingled with his own.

Guiltless of war, the first day saw the hosts
In long array confronted; standard rose
Opposing standard, numberless; yet none
Essayed attack, in shame of impious strife.
One day they gave their country and her laws.
But Caesar, when from heaven fell the night,
Drew round a hasty trench; his foremost rank
With close array concealing those who wrought.
Then with the morn he bids them seize the hill
Which parted from the camp Ilerda's walls,
And gave them safety. But in fear and shame
On rushed the foe and seized the vantage ground,
First in the onset. From the height they held
Their hopes of conquest; but to Caesar's men
Their hearts by courage stirred, and their good swords
Promised the victory. Burdened up the ridge
The soldier climbed, and from the opposing steep
But for his comrade's shield had fallen back;
None had the space to hurl the quivering lance
Upon the foeman: spear and pike made sure
The failing foothold, and the falchion's edge
Hewed out their upward path. But Caesar saw
Ruin impending, and he bade his horse

[...] Read more

poem by Marcus Annaeus Lucanus
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A Map Of Culture

Culture

Contents

What is Culture?

The Importance of Culture

Culture Varies

Culture is Critical

The Sociobiology Debate

Values, Norms, and Social Control

Signs and Symbols

Language

Terms and Definitions

Approaches to the Study of Culture

Are We Prisoners of Our Culture?

What is Culture?

I prefer the definition used by Ian Robertson: 'all the shared products of society: material and nonmaterial' (Our text defines it in somewhat more ponderous terms- 'The totality of learned, socially transmitted behavior. It includes ideas, values, and customs (as well as the sailboats, comic books, and birth control devices) of groups of people' (p.32) .

Back to Contents

[...] Read more

poem by Nyein Way
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I don't know what 'operational control' of the border means, but I do understand the English language. And as I understand that phrase, that's not true. We do not have operational control.

quote by John Cornyn
Added by Lucian Velea
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Battle Of Britain: Attacking Enemy Aircraft

Life is diced in fatal split seconds agonized flying.
Hurricane's weakness is comparative acceleration
offset by frame design extreme strength ruggedness.
Spitfire Me109 are dueling paired equals between
12,000 and 17,000 feet but above cut 20,000 feet;

Messerschmitt preys supreme out dived opponents;
but required much more skilled physical effort to fly.
Weak narrow undercarriage caused many fatal accidents
in take off especially landings in cramped cockpit but;
over Battle of Britain skies skill fate decides who dies?

Nazi Germany flies fighter aircraft veteran blood bathed legions.
Me109B-C models achieved blooded success in Civil War Spain.
Legion Condor's fighter unit spat swift death in floods of flames.
Lufwaffe's most successful wartime fighter pilots many received
operational blooding in Spain on developing early Me109 models.

August 1940 twenty-three Gruppen are in action on Channel front;
equipped mainly with new improved Me109E-3 which mounted;
death two machine guns in the nose two machine guns in the wings.
Nerves stretch various strengths shortcomings of Nazi Messerschmitt;
against RAF Hurricane RAF Spitfire largely cancelled out in combat.

Radar warns mass attacking enemy aircraft are;
coming in fighters fast scramble climb how far?
Operational heights gunfights haunt shot bar!
Good pilots dance a screaming dive dice death
combat inexperience quickly sliced new deck!

Youth pilots strapped into rotating blades in flight;
powered motors surge at prey target enemy bomber bay.
Rain of steel or bombs away a deadly game to play!
Good pilots trace desperate spins loops sky dives
roulette wheel slots death chanced blacks to reds!

Compasses fuel gauges throttle spinning rip firing burning;
fighting in 'Vic' fives on wing leader dealt death loosing.
Fighting in finger fours meant twos stay together winning?
Life survival paired few fighters survived lamb split alone
experienced Messerschmitt ME109s sought out stray solo sheep!

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Wings of destiny

I

Ask any parabat that jumped at Cassinga
and he would tell you
that destiny has wings.

While facing a battalion of
Cuban tanks and armoured cars,
out of the blue and as if by magic
a Buccaneer appeared.

There was nothing more beautiful
than to see that jet
making self-sacrificing dives,
before it flew off to disappear
into the blue sky,
but let me tell that heroic story
as I know it.

II

Coming back from a bombing raid on Cassinga
the next target of Captain Dries Marais was
the Swapo camp at Chetequera
and he insisted
on arming the Buccaneer bomber,
with armour penetrating rockets
in addition to the standard
high explosive rockets.

Andries Marais himself
couldn’t explain the reason
for the irregular request,
but kept on insisting
that every third rocket
should be armour piercing.

Even navigator Ernie Harvey
was perplexed with this request
and they were tense,
while preparing for
the strike mission.

The Buccaneer took of
and in a short while
crossed the Angolan border
and just when Ernie Harvey
were going to check in
with Tactical headquarters
things went mad

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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Nationalistic Catastrophe Governs-Mentally Engendered

In New Zealand
potential equalled people
source sustaining
planned future prosperity.

Turkey’s critical
expanding ethnic cultures
within politically
limited land mass.

Attracts foreign forces like PPK
influencing social degeneration.
Profit geared militarist capitalist
environmental economic rape ruination.

Potentially ultimately neo-liberalism
nationalistic amoral annihilation.

New Zealand required operation...?
Nats (national) Nazi health care policy.
User pays death awaiting...
on delaying pain credit waiting lists?

Die by waiting expedient
political cost cutting agenda.

Armed offenders
face off with paroled
formally institutionalized crazies
in community released liquidation?

Self medicated not sequel
equals tragic home shoot out.
On street gun running fad
future police shooting scenarios?

While eighty thousand await judgement
on crown health hospital operational lists.
Pensioners dying to painful order
on Jenny Mengler’s experimental...

“Twelve months
about right”
good long wait not theoretical

permanent damage done
observational negligence
six star programme.

Faithfully fulfilling party policy

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock (1995)
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The skills that we have are the actual magic skills - not the performing skills. We have to separate those. But the actual skills that make the tricks work, we don't get to use again.

quote by Penn Jillette
Added by Lucian Velea
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When I Argue I See Shapes

I'm not really sure of all this pressure,
i'm never going to lose any of my old letters
They'll stay with me, until i can see,
until i can see that i'm no-one
They'll stay with me, until i can see,
until i can see that i'm no-one
So don't slight it off cuz you'll be fined,
don't start slighting off cuz you'll be fined
All you ever do is build it up inside,
All you ever do is build it up inside
I'm not really sure of all this pressure,
i'm never going to lose any of my old letters
They'll stay with me, until i can see,
until i can see that i'm no-one
So don't slight it off cuz you'll be fined,
don't start slighting off cuz you'll be fined
All you ever do is build it up inside,
All you ever do is build it up inside
You smoke too much when you talk too much,
and when i argue syd barrett makes me laugh
I laugh at your conversational skills, or lack of
I laugh at your conversational skills, or lack of
I'm not really sure of all this pressure,
i'm never going to lose any of my old letters
They'll stay with me, until i can see,
until i can see that i'm no-one
They'll stay with me, until i can see,
until i can see that i'm no-one
So don't slight it off cuz you'll be fined,
don't start slighting off cuz you'll be fined
All you ever do is build it up inside,
All you ever do is build it up inside
You smoke too much when you talk too much,
and when i argue syd barrett makes me laugh
I laugh at your conversational skills, or lack of
I laugh at your conversational skills, or lack of
Cuz when i argue i see shapes (x10)
You smoke too much when you talk too much,-ac

song performed by Idlewild
Added by Lucian Velea
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III. The Other Half-Rome

Another day that finds her living yet,
Little Pompilia, with the patient brow
And lamentable smile on those poor lips,
And, under the white hospital-array,
A flower-like body, to frighten at a bruise
You'd think, yet now, stabbed through and through again,
Alive i' the ruins. 'T is a miracle.
It seems that, when her husband struck her first,
She prayed Madonna just that she might live
So long as to confess and be absolved;
And whether it was that, all her sad life long
Never before successful in a prayer,
This prayer rose with authority too dread,—
Or whether, because earth was hell to her,
By compensation, when the blackness broke
She got one glimpse of quiet and the cool blue,
To show her for a moment such things were,—
Or else,—as the Augustinian Brother thinks,
The friar who took confession from her lip,—
When a probationary soul that moved
From nobleness to nobleness, as she,
Over the rough way of the world, succumbs,
Bloodies its last thorn with unflinching foot,
The angels love to do their work betimes,
Staunch some wounds here nor leave so much for God.
Who knows? However it be, confessed, absolved,
She lies, with overplus of life beside
To speak and right herself from first to last,
Right the friend also, lamb-pure, lion-brave,
Care for the boy's concerns, to save the son
From the sire, her two-weeks' infant orphaned thus,
And—with best smile of all reserved for him—
Pardon that sire and husband from the heart.
A miracle, so tell your Molinists!

There she lies in the long white lazar-house.
Rome has besieged, these two days, never doubt,
Saint Anna's where she waits her death, to hear
Though but the chink o' the bell, turn o' the hinge
When the reluctant wicket opes at last,
Lets in, on now this and now that pretence,
Too many by half,—complain the men of art,—
For a patient in such plight. The lawyers first
Paid the due visit—justice must be done;
They took her witness, why the murder was.
Then the priests followed properly,—a soul
To shrive; 't was Brother Celestine's own right,
The same who noises thus her gifts abroad.
But many more, who found they were old friends,
Pushed in to have their stare and take their talk

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Those Inclined To Be Most Radical

Is it possible for anyone to escape,
The onslaught of a marketing of decadence?
Is it possible to ignore,
The mental illnesses...
Of someone who just may live next door?

Intellectuals sitting back,
With theories and graphs...
To compare demographics,
Of those who might be lacking...
In social skills and tasks,
Have no answers when asked...
Why such acts are rising fast...
In their own backyards.

Is it possible for anyone to escape,
The onslaught of a marketing of decadence?
Is it possible to ignore,
The mental illnesses...
Of someone who just may live next door?

And those who pass their judgements,
On those who have less...
Are themselves most emotionally affected.
And yet...
They are the ones,
With their research completed and studies done...
Trying to convince their outlooks on life are practical.

But observation of these disturbing events...
Proves to anyone witnessing,
Who are the ones with common sense...
And who are those inclined to be most radical.
With a rampaging done they do to be excused.

'But isn't what you do a passing of judgement? '

If you and I sat here observing this with silent lips,
Would what is viewed still exist?
Or will our ignoring it...
Assist it in becoming less effective and fade away?
And 'if' it stays and increases...
Will I then be passing judgement?
Or be thought of as less patriotic?
Because it then becomes a condition of society.

You know me!
I only see what it is.
Not what it aint.
With a censoring done by those pretentious.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Christmas-Eve

I.
OUT of the little chapel I burst
Into the fresh night air again.
I had waited a good five minutes first
In the doorway, to escape the rain
That drove in gusts down the common’s centre,
At the edge of which the chapel stands,
Before I plucked up heart to enter:
Heaven knows how many sorts of hands
Reached past me, groping for the latch
Of the inner door that hung on catch,
More obstinate the more they fumbled,
Till, giving way at last with a scold
Of the crazy hinge, in squeezed or tumbled
One sheep more to the rest in fold,
And left me irresolute, standing sentry
In the sheepfold’s lath-and-plaster entry,
Four feet long by two feet wide,
Partitioned off from the vast inside—
I blocked up half of it at least.
No remedy; the rain kept driving:
They eyed me much as some wild beast,
The congregation, still arriving,
Some of them by the mainroad, white
A long way past me into the night,
Skirting the common, then diverging;
Not a few suddenly emerging
From the common’s self thro’ the paling-gaps,—
—They house in the gravel-pits perhaps,
Where the road stops short with its safeguard border
Of lamps, as tired of such disorder;—
But the most turned in yet more abruptly
From a certain squalid knot of alleys,
Where the town’s bad blood once slept corruptly,
Which now the little chapel rallies
And leads into day again,—its priestliness
Lending itself to hide their beastliness
So cleverly (thanks in part to the mason),
And putting so cheery a whitewashed face on
Those neophytes too much in lack of it,
That, where you cross the common as I did,
And meet the party thus presided,
“Mount Zion,” with Love-lane at the back of it,
They front you as little disconcerted,
As, bound for the hills, her fate averted
And her wicked people made to mind him,
Lot might have marched with Gomorrah behind him.

II.
Well, from the road, the lanes or the common,

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning
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Within NATO, our Defence Capabilities Initiative has identified the essential capabilities all Allies must have for modern operations, and Allies are working to meet those requirements.

quote by Lord Robertson
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Satellite Three

(clarke / benson)
Im a satellite three
Two others before me
I spend my life revolving round your sun
Im a satellite three
For me theres no recovery
Im not in your gravity
Im in limbo
You took me to the limit of my capabilities
And though Im alien to you
Doesnt mean that I am through
Though Ive endless fuel to burn
No way to turn
No way to turn
Im a satellite three
Anyone down there watching me
Send me a signal Ill reply
Dont let me die
Break
You took me to the limit of my capabilities
And though Im alien to you
Doesnt mean that I am through
Though Ive endless fuel to burn
No way to turn
No way to turn
Im a satellite three
Anyone down there watching me
Send me a signal Ill reply
Dont let me die
Dont let me die
Dont let me

song performed by Hollies
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I Will Let You Believe You Have a Right to Question Me

Remember this...
I came to you,
To point out the obstacles on your path.
You weren't aware of them.
They have been there.
I have been in preparation to deal with them!
I've dealt with my own first.
That is how I recognize yours.
I've been in touch.
You insult me,
By questioning my capabilities!
Remember this...
I came to you,
To point out the obstacles on your path.
The only thing I fear...
Is your inability to assist me in their removal.
That is the only reason I am here.
You insult me,
By questioning my capabilities!
Especially when you aren't aware,
Of those things that threaten your way of life!
I will let you believe you have a right to question me.
How's that?

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sobre Horizontes

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[...] Read more

poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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