The War Party

“What does it stand for?” a woman asked. “It sounds aggressive.” “It is aggressive,” I replied. “It stands for agression against those who started this war.” ♠ The War Party believes all public elections should be conducted by paper ballot only, whether at the polls, or absentee by surface mail. Electronic intrusion in the election process should be held to an absolute minimum. It’s common sense. Salesmanship of computerized election devices or software has no place in the fundamental process of free elections, any more than computers would be welcome in the performance of a wedding or a funeral. Computers and their programs can be hacked. They can by thwarted. They can be rigged. If we invite the violation of our elections by computerization, we have no one to blame but ourselves when thieves, saboteurs and enemies take advantage of our stupidity. ♠ The War Party stands for a suspension of all new highway construction […]

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Robin Song

We’ll get it right eventually. You sing homeless and destitute, bereft of any pillow for your head, throat open to the sky and no assurance of a mate, but you sing and so do I. You go to no war, affiliate no politics, have nothing against sparrows or starlings though they fly in the same sky and you sing, sing, sing the jazz of life and my fine feathered friend, so do I. ♥

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You’re Safe

There are so many beautiful sounds in the night. There are so many lights in the darkness. So much love fits into the universe of which the universe is only a part. Yes we are dust and to dust we shall return, but we are for now alive and life is the dust of love. ♥

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Door of Life

The door to my office is a door of life. It opens for me because it is never locked. I open it and close it at will. Today as I reach out and open it again I step into a different world. Macaws cry piercing the tepid air with their shrill screams of indignation at my presence leading an expedition fighting our way back from the torrid zones of discovering the world’s largest diamond embedded in the jagged rocks of Optimisto Thule, pulsing volcano of legend, never conquered by any soul alive to tell the tale. Return is problematic. My men fear. The porters descend to mere hysteria, but I am sure, the words of my mother’s favorite poem etched upon my heart, ‘I am the master of my fate,’ quoth she. Yesterday we sailed for Cowabonga on the tide, headed home a hold full of spices, silks and statuary, the […]

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