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Re: DAY :ashes in new year, Chinese yet soon too? I'll be blowed: drink?

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  • dnjost
    ... ewas ... is ... and ... down ... all ... civilization. ... yon ... This is evidence that the spirit of John Cage lives on in the computer programming
    Message 1 of 6 , Jan 4, 2008
      > > mr Bolger was goin on about so much more but nevertha less it
      ewas
      > > there an i felt it but the again t I h also read Reueel Parker an
      > he
      > > kinda hints about DAY ---- oooo ===== nonpareil--- (( what then
      is
      > > bloody pariel? ) == Mowe,r huntington, not what you mow with,
      > and
      > > still tjere is respect that comes through DAY from Bolger here
      > ansd
      > > there and Parker who said Bolger know a Sharpie etc etc anf
      > othersd
      > > who know a parker etc.
      > >
      > > Respect as it posses and passes and passes yey again and again
      and
      > > again each year and drink it down up still up we go and then
      down
      > it
      > > and up etcetera as:::
      > >
      > > "You and I at the end of it will get no more than he will six
      > feet
      > > of mother earth. To the devil with your fifty years of dress
      > shirt
      > > existence, trousers with pockets, and houses with doors, and
      all
      > > the rest of the paraphernalia that goes to make up
      civilization.
      > > When are we happiest? The Look in your hands.... Is what you
      > > have succeeded in grasping worth any more than a fistful of
      yon
      > > gray ash in whos crumbling heap the last sparks are flickering
      > and
      > > passing away?"
      > >
      > > T. F. Day, editor of The Rudder, 1911
      > >
      > > http://groups.yahoo.com/group/MessaboutW/message/19849
      > >
      > > was thi sthe 1900's? Boats, or then fashionable Theosophy? Or is
      > it
      > > allways boats anyway?!

      This is evidence that the spirit of John Cage lives on in the
      computer programming world. I get messages in my email that resemble
      the sentence structure seen above, but they are usually asking me to
      help hide money for some prince in Africa, or enlarging body parts
      through modern medicine.

      I for one, would rather build a boat. June Bug perhaps. 18lbs a
      sheet for Oukume. It should come our around the 100 lbs. Bolger was
      aiming for and will take the place of: 16' canoe, 13' Enterprise, and
      my beloved Pointy Skiff.

      David Jost
    • John Kohnen
      Graeme, in his enthusiasm, got himself all stumbled and jumbled up somehow. ;o) This bit of Thomas Fleming Day s editorial jotting from an old Rudder magazine
      Message 2 of 6 , Jan 4, 2008
        Graeme, in his enthusiasm, got himself all stumbled and jumbled up
        somehow. ;o) This bit of Thomas Fleming Day's editorial jotting from an
        old Rudder magazine that I posted over on the Messabout group evidentally
        sent poor Graeme into an incoherent ecstasy. <g>

        "The fire is well burned down, the end of the last log is sticking out of
        the gray ash, smoking and smoldering like an old love affair, and there is
        no more fuel in the locker. Let her go out, say I, for I'm sick of this
        armchair life and want to get outdoors, where a man don't have to breathe
        the same air twice over in order to get a good full of oxygen. I'm tired,
        boys; tired as a dog that has hunted rabbits all day. The only difference
        the dog runs his quarry to earth, while mine take to the water. I was just
        thinking when you joined me, what's the use of all this this living, this
        working, this worrying, this fretting and fussing? Isn't the negro who
        sits in the shade of the plantain, content that he has a shirt to his back
        and a meal in his belly, the more sensible fellow? You and I at the end of
        it will get no more than he will six feet of mother earth. To the devil
        with your fifty years of dress shirt existence, trousers with pockets, and
        houses with doors, and all the rest of the paraphernalia that goes to make
        up civilization. When are we happiest? The day we throw this all off, and,
        clad in our worst, play savage on some lonely shore, dragging a meal out
        of the water as our ancestors did before some misguided idiots invented
        money, markets, and manners. To-day I have a thousand-fold the knowledge
        possessed by the most learned and brilliant of the ancients, but am I any
        happier? Not a bit. You and I are being dragged at the wheels of the thing
        we call Progress, and those who ride, cry out to join in a song of
        triumph. For what? Look in your hands. Is what you have succeeded in
        grasping worth any more than a fistful of yon gray ash in whose crumbling
        heap the last sparks are flickering and passing away?"

        T. F. Day, editor of The Rudder, 1911
        On Fri, 04 Jan 2008 02:31:32 -0800, Peter L wrote:
        > There are times,though not all that frequent, when I sincerely wish
        > I had a better understanding of the English language.And then there
        > are times, such as with this piece of work, when I doubt a better
        > understanding would really help all that much........perhaps it is
        > not too early for a drink afterall!!! :-D
        >
        > --- In bolger@yahoogroups.com, graeme wrote:
        >
        >> from some coot lurker; ( where i got it from, an go the coOts/
        >> yeh.
        > > ...

        --
        John <jkohnen@...>
        The world is a skirt I want to lift up. <Hanif Kureishi>
      • SaIL Again Resources
        Had a good friend that lived in the dunes of Truro back in the 60 s that waxed profound in the same manner as Mr. Day. Sure miss that man and his wonderful
        Message 3 of 6 , Jan 6, 2008
          Had a good friend that lived in the dunes of Truro back in the 60's that waxed profound in the same manner as Mr. Day. Sure miss that man and his wonderful wisdom.

          John Kohnen <jhkohnen@...> wrote: Graeme, in his enthusiasm, got himself all stumbled and jumbled up
          somehow. ;o) This bit of Thomas Fleming Day's editorial jotting from an
          old Rudder magazine that I posted over on the Messabout group evidentally
          sent poor Graeme into an incoherent ecstasy.

          "The fire is well burned down, the end of the last log is sticking out of
          the gray ash, smoking and smoldering like an old love affair, and there is
          no more fuel in the locker. Let her go out, say I, for I'm sick of this
          armchair life and want to get outdoors, where a man don't have to breathe
          the same air twice over in order to get a good full of oxygen. I'm tired,
          boys; tired as a dog that has hunted rabbits all day. The only difference
          the dog runs his quarry to earth, while mine take to the water. I was just
          thinking when you joined me, what's the use of all this this living, this
          working, this worrying, this fretting and fussing? Isn't the negro who
          sits in the shade of the plantain, content that he has a shirt to his back
          and a meal in his belly, the more sensible fellow? You and I at the end of
          it will get no more than he will six feet of mother earth. To the devil
          with your fifty years of dress shirt existence, trousers with pockets, and
          houses with doors, and all the rest of the paraphernalia that goes to make
          up civilization. When are we happiest? The day we throw this all off, and,
          clad in our worst, play savage on some lonely shore, dragging a meal out
          of the water as our ancestors did before some misguided idiots invented
          money, markets, and manners. To-day I have a thousand-fold the knowledge
          possessed by the most learned and brilliant of the ancients, but am I any
          happier? Not a bit. You and I are being dragged at the wheels of the thing
          we call Progress, and those who ride, cry out to join in a song of
          triumph. For what? Look in your hands. Is what you have succeeded in
          grasping worth any more than a fistful of yon gray ash in whose crumbling
          heap the last sparks are flickering and passing away?"

          T. F. Day, editor of The Rudder, 1911
          On Fri, 04 Jan 2008 02:31:32 -0800, Peter L wrote:
          > There are times,though not all that frequent, when I sincerely wish
          > I had a better understanding of the English language.And then there
          > are times, such as with this piece of work, when I doubt a better
          > understanding would really help all that much........perhaps it is
          > not too early for a drink afterall!!! :-D
          >
          > --- In bolger@yahoogroups.com, graeme wrote:
          >
          >> from some coot lurker; ( where i got it from, an go the coOts/
          >> yeh.
          > > ...

          --
          John
          The world is a skirt I want to lift up.


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