Hey hey mama
Mama what you tryin’ to do?
You keep on talkin’ to me
‘Till your face turns blue
Well do you think I’m a young boy
Yet to make up my mind?
Well I’m just castin’ all my toys
I’m gonna leave what’s behind me behind
I’m gonna leave what’s behind me behind
"In Need" - Grand Funk Railroad
Choices of Democracy: Iraq launched today with the following premise:
Place a referendum before the Iraqi people and ask them directly whether they want the Coalition of Peace Keeping forces in their country to stay or leave.Then respect and support their wishes.
You can visit here and share your thoughts and suggestions.
by Billy Preston
Nothin’ from nothin’ leaves nothin’
You gotta have somethin’
If you wanna be with me
Nothin’ from nothin’ leaves nothin’
You gotta have somethin’
If you wanna be with me
I’m not tryin’ to be your hero
‘Cause that zero is too cold for me, Brrr
I’m not tryin’ to be your highness
‘Cause that minus is too low to see, yeah
Nothin’ from nothin’ leaves nothin’
And I’m not stuffin’
Believe you me
Don’t you remember I told ya
I’m a soldier in the war on poverty, yeah
Yes, I am
via (Song Lyrics World)
"The heaviest penalty for deciding to engage in politics is to be ruled by someone inferior to yourself." - Plato
I recently stumbled upon this intriguing quote in the short story American Cannibal from Uncle John’s 14th Edition Bathroom Reader.
" Alferd G. Packer, you no good sonofabitch, there wasn’t but seven Democracts in Hinsdale County, and you done et five of ‘um," he thundered. "your gonna hang by the neck until dead."
This statement had been purportedly made by the sentencing judge to the defendant upon being found guilty of the heinous crime of cannibalism in Lake City, Colorado in 1884.
A little research showed that the judges words had most likely become twisted into "rural legend" around the pickle barrels of the of old west.
The Price of Gas: An Arm and a Leg
I had the distinct pleasure of spending the last five days with my heroes, the members of the VFW and their Auxiliaries at the 107th National Convention in Reno, Nevada. As always it was great to see old friends and to meet new ones. While there I shot this gem of a pic, which I think pretty well sums up how most of us feel about the price of gas.
"The original was Skonk Works (skonk is a dialect variant of skunk), the place of unexplained function near which Lonesome Polecat and Hairless Joe brewed their highly illicit bootleg Kickapoo Joy Juice from ingredients such as old shoes and dead skunks.
Lonesome Polecat & Hairless Joe: They make Kickapoo Joy Juice- if it needs more body, they throw one in!
As a generic term, it dates from the 1960s. One definition is very much that of the original and the one you describe: a small group of experts who drop out of the mainstream of a company’s operations in order to develop some experimental technology or new application in secrecy or at speed, unhampered by bureaucracy or the strict application of regulations (Kelly Johnson formulated 14 visionary rules for running such an operation, which are still regarded as valid even now). It is also sometimes used for a similar group that operates semi-illicitly, without top-level official knowledge or support, though usually with the tacit approval of immediate management."
via (WorldWideWords)
To move too fast was a grievious error, which the young learned and the old knew, but not to move enough, fast enough, far enough, strong enough, that was what really denied goals to those who would be great. How bitter it must be to lie in bed, without the sleep one needed to think clearly and wonder and curse ones self for chances missed and chances lost.
IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
‘ Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And - which is more - you’ll be a Man, my son!
