Re: [bolger] Re: DAY :ashes in new year, Chinese yet soon too? I'll be blowed: drink?
- 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 firstname.lastname@example.org, graeme wrote:
>> from some coot lurker; ( where i got it from, an go the coOts/
> > ...
The world is a skirt I want to lift up.
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