"One's-self I sing, a simple separate person, Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-Masse. The Female equally with the Male I sing. Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power, Cheerful, for freest action form'd under the laws divine, The Modern Man I sing."
One's-Self I Sing (1867; 1871)
I really wish I could write like that. I can't, and that makes me sad. I am thinking about shutting this blog down after my three hundredth entry. I won't delete it, but I will stop updating it. Perhaps, when a significant life event happens, I will come back to it, but I am running out of the meager creativity that I have, even now.
I'm fooling myself. This is not my media. Indeed, I don't think I am that much of a performer, at all.
Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired signifies, in the final sense, a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and are not clothed. This world in arms is not spending money alone. It is spending the sweat of its laborers, the genius of its scientists, the hopes of its children.
- President Dwight D. Eisenhower
Friday, November 02, 2007
Walt Whitman
Labels:
This American Life
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
Where are the Halloween pictures you promised??
Don't be a putz. Do that and I'll hit you upside the head with this bottle. And by the way, don't insult my intelligence. I'LL choose what I want to read, thank you very much. So there.
Post a Comment