Riptide

Percussive

All the Time in the World...

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Bliocadran

In the land of Wales there lived
twelve brothers of wealth and worth;
had you combed the countryside
through all its length and breadth
and the area all around as well,
you'd have found, I do believe,
no other knights of such high renown,
so rich in means, allies, and kin,
in castles and in fortresses,
in woods and streams and meadows.
They were accomplished knights,
bold and fierce on the field,
often traveling through the land
to tournaments and battles
to gain renown and reputation.
But of them I'll speak no more,
for there's only this to say:
that even the worthy can fall,
and so it sadly was with them.
Eleven brothers died,
and only one remained
to claim the legacy of all.
He was a wise and worthy man,
courteous, kind, and prudent;
Bliocadran he was called
by everyone in the land.
He was deeply distressed
that all his brothers were gone;
he brooded in sorrow and pain.
But you can't go on mourning
forever: it's foolish and futile;
there are times you need to feign
a gladness you don't feel,
[. . . . .]
a man who refuses to renounce
the pursuit of noble goals.
Bliocadran would delay no longer
but burnished his arms
and had his horses well shod:
to tournaments he'd return!
His wife and all those close to him
said: "Dear lord, no, please!
Stay here, don't go away;
it would be sheer folly!
If you go, you may be sure
you'll be leaving your land
defenseless and confounded,
your people pained and afflicted."
So much did they beg, so greatly insist,
that he granted their wish:
no way would he leave them.
How cheered they were to hear this!

Bliocadran remained with his wife,
a wonderfully worthy woman,
a good two years or more
without having any children
(nor had they ever had any)—
till God granted at last
that the lady grew big with child.
The news brought joy to all,
for they had no little love for their lord;
and their lord, you may be sure,
had such great joy in his heart
that nothing could have brought him
greater; this is the honest truth!
The lady had borne the child so long
that she was close to giving birth.
Now, one day after dinner,
her lord stood looking out the window,
watching people as they passed
along the road below.
Suddenly he saw galloping near
a squire astride a struggling mount,
hurrying toward the palace gate.
Into the courtyard he rode,
then, at the stairs, dismounted.
At this sight, the lord cried to the rider:
"Welcome, friend!" and he ordered
his grooms to attend to the horse.
At once, the young rider replied:
"I am grateful to find you,
my dear good lord,
proven knight that you are!"
Hardly hesitant to speak, that squire!
He was quick-witted and smart.
The lord said: "Take my word
and stay the night right here!
We'll lodge you well, I tell you,
and welcome you with pleasure."
"Sir," he said, "that may well be,
but meanwhile I would gladly have
some bread and wine, for I've not
eaten anything all day."
At that, the lord replied:
"Of course! as much as you like!"
He nodded to a knight and said:
"Take charge of this squire;
have a meal made ready for him
and look after him with care,
for he's had no food all day."
The knight led him away,
showing him every honor he knew;
he served him plenty to eat
in his chamber beside the orchard,
and did so cheerfully. At the end,
once he’d eaten as much as he wished,
the tablecloth was taken off;
the squire, with no wish to linger,
rose and left the room.
Bliocadran came up to him
and said in his courteous way:
"God bless you, dear friend!
Tell us what news you have,
the most reliable news you know."
"Indeed, my lord, so help me God,
I'll give you the news without a lie
or falsehood; no liar, I!"
the young man said. "The king of Wales
has undertaken soon to hold,
for both the men of his land
and those who dwell in Cornwall,
a tournament opposing (indeed!)
the men of the Spring called Waste.
He has no wish to delay,
but is sending word throughout
the land in search of knights
tempted to enter the fight.
The day, I tell you, is close:
all are to gather on Saturday.
Dear sir, do come, by God,
and you shall see what a scene
it will be when those knights
and the crowd are all gathered!
The lord replied that, with God's help,
he'd be there, too!
At that, the youth departed
and continued on his way.
Bliocadran waited till morning
to summon his knights,
but he told his squires of his plan
to attend the tournament
and ordered rapid preparation;
then the knights all gathered together.
When they were all assembled,
he greeted them with jubilation.
He didn't take a moment's rest,
but had his sumpters loaded
and all equipment made ready.
That's when his knights rode off.
The people of the town implored
my lord Bliocadran
to remain at home,
and his wife, sad at heart,
gently repeated their entreaty.
But he said: "Quiet, my lady!
Have done with your distress!"
With that, he left his people—
left them all bewildered—
and they prayed to the Creator
that He guide the steps of their seigneur.

Bliocadran thus went on his way
along with the knights he led,
riding together till they reached
a spot near the site of the tourney;
then they turned to their right
and took lodging in a castle
where a warm welcome was shown
to the lord and all his men.
Next day they were there no more,
but gone off to the tournament;
and once all sides were assembled,
the fighters, armed and armored,
all mounted on their horses.
While their foes rushed forward
so fast that they went flying
like bolts from a crossbow,
our men, in tightly closed ranks,
all rode toward the town
at their wonted, deliberate pace.
Bliocadran, at the head of the line,
had with him all of his knights;
his wish was to be first,
at the very start of the tourney.
Suddenly, from in front of another line,
a knight came dashing forward!
Bliocadran spotted him from afar
and spurred his horse in response.
The stranger was aware of this,
so he headed straight for him,
and the two met in a mighty clash.
But the stranger struck first
with such spite at our lord's shield
that his lance broke and shattered,
and Bliocadran, all ablaze,
flung his fury at the other's chest,
forcing the foe from his saddle
down to the ground under the rump
of his mount. Then he handed
that booty of battle to a valet
who led him to their stacks of gear
and stripped him of saddle and bridle.
The jousting was general from that point on
and the fighting was fierce.
Not once that day did Bliocadran
suffer a loss, but fought so well
that his prowess won everyone's praise,
so fine and daring were his feats.
Then, though, he saw a young noble
come near—tall, well mounted,
strong, and just as brave as he.
Facing each other from opposite ends,
they spurred furiously forward
and came together with a crash.
Bliocadran's powerful blow
made his foe's shield shatter and split,
though his hauberk did not rip apart—
but his own lance was smashed to bits,
as those in the lists could see.
The young fighter struck back
and, over the rim of his shield,
hit Bliocadran full in the face,
the blade of the spear pointing down
and out from the back of his neck.
He could only weave and stagger,
for he was fatally wounded;
he fell to the ground in a swoon,
but his men rushed to raise him
as they shouted out their grief.
Then they built a bier for him
and bore him in that litter
to the castle where they'd lodged.
There they gave him comfort
and put him very gently to bed
in a room far away from the crowd,
and they saw to his confession.
His life lasted but two more days,
for he delayed no more than that in dying.
They bore his body to a chapel;
his knights lamented loudly,
tearing their hair and their clothes.
Once the body was inside the church,
they held a fine service,
then buried their lord in the earth.

Of Bliocadran I'll say no more here—
no more of him or the tournament;
I want rather to recount
the fate of the lady, who had stayed
at home, and tell how she fared
after her lord had departed.
Three days had barely passed
when the lady gave birth to a lad—
and a finer one had never been seen.
He was taken to the chapel
and there baptized and named.
Yet when he was christened,
he was given a name such
as had never been known
or borne or even mentioned.
With a youth in her household
the lady sent word to her husband
forthwith, for she wanted to know
how he was faring—but also
to say that she had had a son,
and a finer one had never been seen.
But the bearer of the message
found his lord dead and buried.
The news he was bringing
he recounted to all his companions,
and they were very glad of it;
but grief for their lord was great
and they couldn't show much joy.
At that point, the messenger left,
riding the same road back home.
The knights had expressly warned
he was not to reveal, by even a hint,
that their lord lay dead;
he was to say he'd answered
a summons from the king;
and that's what the youth truly did.
He took the long road back
and spurred at last into town,
dismounting beside the high keep
where his lady lay from her labor.
The messenger was greeted with joy
by all those he encountered,
then was led up to the chamber,
where he bowed at once to his lady
and all her attendants
and was welcomed back warmly.
"My lord sends you greetings,
my lady," said the young man.
"Know that no child has ever
gladdened him as this one does.
He had feared for your health,
and rejoices the danger is past
for yourself and his son.
I tell you, too, that if he could,
he would happily be here to see you;
the king, though, summoned him,
and they all went off to the king in Wales
the very day I reached him;
indeed, I watched how they departed,
my lord and his companions.
They will not be back this week."
The lady lying in her bed
had full trust that this news
of her lord was utterly true—
that the youth had truly seen him—
for he feigned with such conviction.
But not for nothing did he pretend,
for he had been amply warned!
The lady reached the day
when it was time to rise from bed.
One week later, without delay,
the knights were once more there
who had gone to the tourney
where their lord met his death.
"Sirs," said a leading knight,
"we face a knotty situation:
we have said not a thing to my lady
about her husband and lord,
who died so painful a death.
One thing is sure, though: nothing
could make me give her the news!
But nearby lives a good abbot;
let us ask him, out of kindness,
to come speak to my lady."
Then they had their horses
saddled and made ready;
foot in stirrup, each man mounted,
and off they rode in one great group.
When they came to the abbey,
they humbly greeted the abbot
and all who lived and prayed there,
then truthfully told of their lord
and how he had died
and how they had hidden
the news from their lady.
Would the abbot please tell her
and then offer her comfort,
for her need was surely great?
The abbot didn't hesitate
but instantly sent for his horse;
he ordered the knights
to stay right where they were
until he had seen the lady:
"I want first to give her the news
and speak to her a while;
you may return once I've done."
Each man answered: "Yes, I agree."
The abbot then rode off,
with just two servants and two monks.
The abbot and his escort
traveled along the way
until they reached the castle.
The abbot and monks dismounted
and started up the stairs
while the servants watched the horses.
In the great hall they then found
the lady lying in her bed.
When she saw them enter,
she rose to greet the abbot,
saying: "Welcome, good sir!"
The abbot, well-bred and tactful,
graciously replied:
"May our ever-truthful God
sustain you and keep you—
both you and your household—
and bless everyone you hold dear."
Then he sat down at her side,
and the two monks did likewise,
ever so gently, on the other side
of the bed where she lay.
The abbot was the first to speak;
with smooth and practiced words,
he began a fitting speech.
Before giving her the news,
he said: "You must surely love
the One who grants you health
and keeps you from sickness,
who redeemed us from our sins
and was crucified for us
and returned to life on the third day.
Then you, my lady, for love of Him
should always strive
to serve and honor Him
and very willingly welcome, my lady,
whatever He has granted you.
You know that death comes to us all
and that there is no escape from it,
no way to stop from going
to that place of no return,
at whatever hour God decrees.
My lady, I shall not hide from you
the news I bring and you should hear:
your worthy husband is no more;
he, so wise, so loved by knights
and all men of religion, is dead.
Now, my lady, give thought to your soul;
and may God give you strength!"
At this news, the lady fainted,
fainted at hearing the news of her lord,
hearing he had died and was buried.
The abbot, though, was prepared:
he rushed to revive her
with quick words of comfort.
But the comfort was painful and bitter.
Let us now recall the knights
left behind by the abbot.
Their grief came again to the fore,
and they fainted with pain;
then, once they'd revived,
they loudly mourned for their lord
as if he had died that very day.
But the lady, you may be sure,
ceded all her strength to her grief;
she wept as she mourned;
she would faint and then cry out.
She lamented: "Alas, what a loss!
Undone by death! Why do I live
now that I've lost my good lord,
the man who brought me such honor?"
She cried out loud cries,
tore at her hair, and beat her breast;
she cursed the hour of her birth,
that she'd been conceived and raised,
only to suffer this mortal woe.
What sobs you could have heard!
No man alive is so hard-hearted
that, seeing this, he'd not have wept.
What suffering and sorrow!
No, no gladness in that house!
The abbot wished to stay no longer;
he had his horse made ready
and took leave of the lady.
To the knights he bade adieu
once his words and urgings
had made them calm their grief.
The next day, with no delay,
in every church there was, the lady
had Mass sung for the dead;
many knights were in attendance,
townsmen and ladies, of course,
all unsettled by the death,
all full of sorrow and grief.
In that state the lady long remained,
yet found comfort in her son,
a surpassingly beautiful child;
to him she devoted every thought,
even while mourning her husband.
But of him I'll tell no more;
here is where his story stops.
Henceforth my tale will be about
the lady and her child,
and I shall say what became of her
and how she led her life.

Seven months, I believe, had passed
since the lady had learned the news
of her husband's death; she stayed
at home until the month of April;
she tended to her son,
and in his company found comfort
and distraction.
Time and again she had pondered
how she could stop him
from ever becoming a knight
or learning to bear arms or even
hearing knighthood mentioned—
for in her son was all her solace.
And if he were killed by arms,
like his uncles and his father,
she, his mother, would surely kill
herself with grief a moment later;
not one more day could she live.
If she could contrive it, she thought,
she'd gladly move to the waste forest,
and she would do so soon!
No one must know where to find her
until her son were old enough
and wise enough and mature;
he must see no man
except the trusted few.
Thus she planned to protect him:
and she'd have nothing to fear
for all the days of her life.
She turned to a servant of hers—
sent for a steward she cherished
with deepest affection,
a man quick-witted and worthy.
He had twelve children with his wife:
eight sons and four daughters,
every girl charming and lovely,
and all well-bred and bright.
Into their house came the messenger
whom the lady had dispatched;
he found the steward seated
by the bedside [of a child].
The young man said to him
he should come along with no delay
and let nothing prevent him:
His lady was ordering him to come,
and no task should hold him back!
The steward lost no time
nor held back a single moment.
Thus it was, I do believe,
that he went out with the messenger.
Together they rushed off from there
and soon reached the lady's chamber.
When the lady saw her steward,
she greeted him with great affection:
"Steward, you are most welcome here!"
He was hardly mute in turn,
but said: "My lady, God save you—
God the all-powerful over all!
May he grant you gladness and health!
My lady, you have called for me;
now tell me your pleasure."
The lady took him by the hand
and led him to another room;
they sat down together on a couch.
She spoke at once,
she whose heart was heavy:
"Steward, I ask, by God,
that you take pity on my son
and me, my dear good man!
You are a man of worth and a knight
and have always been loyal to me.
I'll tell you, then, what I have in mind:
I want to leave this place and go
where my son will not be killed.
I will move to the waste forest
and there protect him
as long as God wills.
And should you wish to come with me,
my gratitude would be great
and I would never abandon you.
Bring your wife with you,
for the sake of God and your soul,
and bring your whole household, too;
I would indeed be all the gladder."
She spoke enough and urged so much
that the steward agreed
most gladly to go
to whatever place she liked,
because he clearly understood
that he could hardly stay behind.
He said: "Our people, my lady, make it
necessary to act with great discretion,
for if they had a hint of the plan,
they would never let you leave.
But suppose you send for all your men
and tell them that, with the child,
you wish to undertake a pilgrimage
to Saint Brendan of Scotland,
and ask that they conduct themselves
with all courtesy and correctness.
They shall then swear to guard
your land in the name of your son,
as you wish, and acknowledge him
as their lord; and indeed they shall
hold him as such and defend him
as their seigneur and protect him.
You will be doing this—so commanding
your men—with all my support."
The lady answered courteously
that she would accept his counsel.
At that, they closed their discussion
and came out of the room.
The lady faced no impediment
and had no reason for delay.
All the knights throughout her land
she searched out and summoned,
townsmen and ladies and servants,
and all who owed her their allegiance;
all her messengers rode out at once.
Four days later, I believe,
all those convoked assembled,
and the lady held her meeting
with her people.
She said, with courtesy and tact:
"My lords, here you are assembled
at my call and summons,
and yet you know not why.
Now I shall tell you truly:
it is because I pledged sometime ago
to take this child, my son, right here,
to Saint Brendan in Scotland, so God
might grant him strength and power
and keep him safe and sound for me;
I wish therefore to leave tomorrow.
I ask for your considered backing;
it is what I wish. Grant it to me,
and I shall leave tomorrow morning
and take the steward with me.
Since, throughout my land,
I want no strife or warfare,
I want you all to swear to me
that you will defend the land
for my son, so that, should he return,
the land would be his.
Now you know what I want of you;
I await your response."
Know that the knights were astonished
when they heard of this plan,
for they would gladly have retained
both mother and son if they could.
They said: "My lady, in God's name,
remain here this summer,
or leave us our young lord.
Should both of you perish,
we would be wholly undone."
The lady then said, though meaning
no scorn: "Be sure of one thing—
it would be pointless to insist,
for I will take my child with me
and guard him as the son of mine he is."
At that, they gave her leave.
"Who will go with you?" they asked.
"I will!" cried knights. "And I!"
said servants, who were all dismayed
to see here go away
and take her son as well.
The lady had a nephew—a fine knight
he was, both worthy and bright;
to him, without a moment's pause,
she had the barons who were there
pledge to secure the land
and honor his command
till God allowed their lord's return;
one and all, she had them swear.
When they had thus sworn,
the knights returned
to their lodgings to rest.
One whole month before,
the lady had taken her treasure,
which abounded in silver and gold,
and sent it out of the land;
servants had readied the carts
and wagons — a hundred or more—
laden with oats and wheat of all sorts,
and sent them on their way;
they'd sent away horses and livestock,
steers and cows, sheep and ewes;
and this they had done, as the story goes,
with no one, I tell you, noticing any hint
that the lady would be leaving
with no plan to return.
She now wanted no further delay,
but set out the next morning at dawn
with her son and her steward
and the whole of his household—
and the lady was exceedingly glad.
Friends and kin formed an escort,
who displayed great distress,
but she sent them back home.

They carefully made their way
straight to a castle that stood
on the Sea of Wales
and was impressive and pleasant;
the peasants called it Calfle,
as did all others in the region.
There the lady assembled everyone
she had brought along; but she barely
lingered there and instead moved on
with her belongings, more abundant
than a queen's or king's;
and her people went with her.
They never paused a single day
until they entered the forest,
and there they wandered two whole weeks.
They saw no town, no dwelling,
nothing but forest all around.
Along the rough road they wandered,
through the endless waste forest,
until they came to a heath
with low trees leafed out and green.
Tens of leagues wide seemed the heath,
and below it lay a meadow
that was lovely and pleasing.
Further along, a broad stream
flowed down from the forest.
I assure you it was lovely
and I can tell you, in short,
it was just made for a mill!
That's where the lady and her people
immediately dismounted;
and there they stayed the night
till morning came and they arose.
The lady turned to her steward
and asked what he thought of that spot
as a place where her son
would be sheltered and safe,
and the steward answered, saying:
"My lady, I tell you in truth
for tens of leagues around us
there is no town or village or house,
no man or woman, it seems to me,
and it would be good to settle here.
Let us build a dwelling here
and make it our refuge.
My sons will build it very well,
using the wood that abounds
in the forest around us."
"Do as you think right," she replied,
"and it will be acceptable to me."
The steward hurried to his sons
and said: "Good sirs,
this is no time for tarrying!
Start to clear this place of trees
and prepare the wood for building:
you will build a house here
in which all of us can dwell.
That is my lady's wish."
The sons agreed with no complaint.
They went right into the woods,
and in two weeks' time had worked
hard enough to produce a house
protected all around by pales,
a dwelling large enough to lodge
the lady and her entire household.
The servants prepared the ground
and tilled the soil
and, once the fields were ready,
they planted them with grain.

Thus they lived for a long while,
and the lady watched over her son.
Little by little, he learned to ride
and learned to hurl javelins
as the sons of the steward did—
who could do so very well.
Fourteen years the lady stayed
in such seclusion in the forest
that no man alive knew
where she lived.
Her people at home went seeking
and searching at sea and on land,
but could uncover no clue;
they all came to believe
that she and her household
had drowned and died at sea;
and so they concluded their quest.
Meanwhile, the lady gave her son
to understand there was no house,
no man, no woman, in this world
however vast, outside their forest;
and the child believed her,
for he was artless and trusting.
She sat him down beside her on a bed,
gave him a hundred mother's kisses,
called him "dear son," "little lord,"
then said: "My son, go into the forest,
slay roebucks and stags
as often as you like,
but there is one thing I forbid:
If you should see any people
who are all dressed up
as if they were covered in iron,
remember they are really devils,
wicked and winged,
all ready to devour you.
Don't stop to talk with them,
but run and come back home
and cross yourself with care;
that way, you're out of danger!
And recite your Credo, too, dear son—
in God's name, I urge you —
that way, you needn't fear a thing."
"Mother," he said, "I'll do as you say.
Rest assured, if I saw such people,
I would come running home very fast—
if, with God's permission,
I could pull myself away."
With that, he rose from his seat.
He slept all through that night
and in the morning he awoke.
He hurried to make ready
and, as quickly as he could,
he had his horse saddled,
and he mounted in a moment.
Off into the forest he rode,
his three javelins in his hand.
All day long, without a pause,
he hunted through woods and fields
but found no game to take;
he said he'd be back the next day
and push further out than before.
Then he returned to the house
and quickly dismounted.
His mother went to greet him
and covered him with kisses,
then asked him very gently—
and gently ordered—that he say
what he'd encountered in the forest.
The boy said, without lying:
"Yes, mother, I was in the forest
and I assure you I enjoyed it!
It was a wonderful pleasure."
That's all that was said that evening:
the mother posed no further question;
the young man offered no further reply.
- Anonymous (Author), Samuel N. Rosenberg (Translator)

Deus Ex Machina

Go Loud, Pollyanna

The Un-American

Quo Vadis? We're Being Buffaloed!

"The Arena Scene from Quo Vadis" (1910) by A. D. M. (Astley David Middleton) Cooper (Californian, 1856-1924)
Originally commissioned by W. J. Ferguson in 1910 for his establishment, New Louvre Saloon (53 North First, San Jose, CA). The painting was featured in the saloon until 1943. Note: The Classical Allegorical subject matter of the painting is based on the rescue of Lygia by Ursus from the back of the Wild Bull during the time of Emperor Nero which eventually led to their freedom as slaves.

Charlotte Mittnacht

"Be assured those will be thy worst enemies, not to whom thou hast done evil, but who have done evil to thee. And those will be thy best friends, not to whom thou hast done good, but who have done good to thee."

-Cornelius Tacitus

The Call...

Into the Mouth of the Wolf!

Crepi il lupo!

In bocca al lupo (pronounced [im ˈbokka al ˈluːpo], "into the mouth of the wolf") is an Italian idiom originally used in opera and theatre to wish a performer good luck prior to a performance. The standard response is crepi il lupo! ([ˈkrɛːpi il ˈluːpo], "may the wolf die") or, more commonly, simply crepi! ("may it die").

Equivalent to the English actor's idiom break a leg, the expression reflects a theatrical superstition in which wishing a person "good luck" is considered bad luck. The expression is commonly used in Italy off stage, as superstitions and customs travel through other professions and then into common use, and it can sometimes be heard outside of Italy.

Fantastic Negrito

Chicago

Gone Hollywood

Breaking the Rules

Opium of the Masses

Dizz Knee Land

The Peterloo Massacre

As I lay asleep in Italy
There came a voice from over the Sea,
And with great power it forth led me
To walk in the visions of Poesy.

I met Murder on the way -
He had a mask like Castlereagh -
Very smooth he looked, yet grim;
Seven blood-hounds followed him:

All were fat; and well they might
Be in admirable plight,
For one by one, and two by two,
He tossed the human hearts to chew
Which from his wide cloak he drew.

Next came Fraud, and he had on,
Like Eldon, an ermined gown;
His big tears, for he wept well,
Turned to mill-stones as they fell.

And the little children, who
Round his feet played to and fro,
Thinking every tear a gem,
Had their brains knocked out by them.

Clothed with the Bible, as with light,
And the shadows of the night,
Like Sidmouth, next, Hypocrisy
On a crocodile rode by.

And many more Destructions played
In this ghastly masquerade,
All disguised, even to the eyes,
Like Bishops, lawyers, peers, or spies.

Last came Anarchy: he rode
On a white horse, splashed with blood;
He was pale even to the lips,
Like Death in the Apocalypse.

And he wore a kingly crown;
And in his grasp a sceptre shone;
On his brow this mark I saw -
'I AM GOD, AND KING, AND LAW!'

With a pace stately and fast,
Over English land he passed,
Trampling to a mire of blood
The adoring multitude.

And a mighty troop around,
With their trampling shook the ground,
Waving each a bloody sword,
For the service of their Lord.

And with glorious triumph, they
Rode through England proud and gay,
Drunk as with intoxication
Of the wine of desolation.

O'er fields and towns, from sea to sea,
Passed the Pageant swift and free,
Tearing up, and trampling down;
Till they came to London town.

And each dweller, panic-stricken,
Felt his heart with terror sicken
Hearing the tempestuous cry
Of the triumph of Anarchy.

For with pomp to meet him came,
Clothed in arms like blood and flame,
The hired murderers, who did sing
'Thou art God, and Law, and King.

'We have waited, weak and lone
For thy coming, Mighty One!
Our Purses are empty, our swords are cold,
Give us glory, and blood, and gold.'

Lawyers and priests, a motley crowd,
To the earth their pale brows bowed;
Like a bad prayer not over loud,
Whispering - 'Thou art Law and God.' -

Then all cried with one accord,
'Thou art King, and God and Lord;
Anarchy, to thee we bow,
Be thy name made holy now!'

And Anarchy, the skeleton,
Bowed and grinned to every one,
As well as if his education
Had cost ten millions to the nation.

For he knew the Palaces
Of our Kings were rightly his;
His the sceptre, crown and globe,
And the gold-inwoven robe.

So he sent his slaves before
To seize upon the Bank and Tower,
And was proceeding with intent
To meet his pensioned Parliament

When one fled past, a maniac maid,
And her name was Hope, she said:
But she looked more like Despair,
And she cried out in the air:

'My father Time is weak and gray
With waiting for a better day;
See how idiot-like he stands,
Fumbling with his palsied hands!

He has had child after child,
And the dust of death is piled
Over every one but me -
Misery, oh, Misery!'

Then she lay down in the street,
Right before the horses' feet,
Expecting, with a patient eye,
Murder, Fraud, and Anarchy.

When between her and her foes
A mist, a light, an image rose,
Small at first, and weak, and frail
Like the vapour of a vale:

Till as clouds grow on the blast,
Like tower-crowned giants striding fast,
And glare with lightnings as they fly,
And speak in thunder to the sky,

It grew - a Shape arrayed in mail
Brighter than the viper's scale,
And upborne on wings whose grain
Was as the light of sunny rain.

On its helm, seen far away,
A planet, like the Morning's, lay;
And those plumes its light rained through
Like a shower of crimson dew.

With step as soft as wind it passed
O'er the heads of men - so fast
That they knew the presence there,
And looked, - but all was empty air.

As flowers beneath May's footstep waken,
As stars from Night's loose hair are shaken,
As waves arise when loud winds call,
Thoughts sprung where'er that step did fall.

And the prostrate multitude
Looked - and ankle-deep in blood,
Hope, that maiden most serene,
Was walking with a quiet mien:

And Anarchy, the ghastly birth,
Lay dead earth upon the earth;
The Horse of Death tameless as wind
Fled, and with his hoofs did grind
To dust the murderers thronged behind.

A rushing light of clouds and splendour,
A sense awakening and yet tender
Was heard and felt - and at its close
These words of joy and fear arose

As if their own indignant Earth
Which gave the sons of England birth
Had felt their blood upon her brow,
And shuddering with a mother's throe

Had turned every drop of blood
By which her face had been bedewed
To an accent unwithstood, -
As if her heart had cried aloud:

'Men of England, heirs of Glory,
Heroes of unwritten story,
Nurslings of one mighty Mother,
Hopes of her, and one another;

'Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number,
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you -
Ye are many - they are few.

'What is Freedom? - ye can tell
That which slavery is, too well -
For its very name has grown
To an echo of your own.

'Tis to work and have such pay
As just keeps life from day to day
In your limbs, as in a cell
For the tyrants' use to dwell,

'So that ye for them are made
Loom, and plough, and sword, and spade,
With or without your own will bent
To their defence and nourishment.

'Tis to see your children weak
With their mothers pine and peak,
When the winter winds are bleak, -
They are dying whilst I speak.

'Tis to hunger for such diet
As the rich man in his riot
Casts to the fat dogs that lie
Surfeiting beneath his eye;

'Tis to let the Ghost of Gold
Take from Toil a thousandfold
More that e'er its substance could
In the tyrannies of old.

'Paper coin - that forgery
Of the title-deeds, which ye
Hold to something of the worth
Of the inheritance of Earth.

'Tis to be a slave in soul
And to hold no strong control
Over your own wills, but be
All that others make of ye.

'And at length when ye complain
With a murmur weak and vain
'Tis to see the Tyrant's crew
Ride over your wives and you -
Blood is on the grass like dew.

'Then it is to feel revenge
Fiercely thirsting to exchange
Blood for blood - and wrong for wrong -
Do not thus when ye are strong.

'Birds find rest, in narrow nest
When weary of their wingèd quest
Beasts find fare, in woody lair
When storm and snow are in the air.

'Asses, swine, have litter spread
And with fitting food are fed;
All things have a home but one -
Thou, Oh, Englishman, hast none!

'This is slavery - savage men
Or wild beasts within a den
Would endure not as ye do -
But such ills they never knew.

'What art thou Freedom? O! could slaves
Answer from their living graves
This demand - tyrants would flee
Like a dream's dim imagery:

'Thou art not, as impostors say,
A shadow soon to pass away,
A superstition, and a name
Echoing from the cave of Fame.

'For the labourer thou art bread,
And a comely table spread
From his daily labour come
In a neat and happy home.

'Thou art clothes, and fire, and food
For the trampled multitude -
No - in countries that are free
Such starvation cannot be
As in England now we see.

'To the rich thou art a check,
When his foot is on the neck
Of his victim, thou dost make
That he treads upon a snake.

'Thou art Justice - ne'er for gold
May thy righteous laws be sold
As laws are in England - thou
Shield'st alike the high and low.

'Thou art Wisdom - Freemen never
Dream that God will damn for ever
All who think those things untrue
Of which Priests make such ado.

'Thou art Peace - never by thee
Would blood and treasure wasted be
As tyrants wasted them, when all
Leagued to quench thy flame in Gaul.

'What if English toil and blood
Was poured forth, even as a flood?
It availed, Oh, Liberty,
To dim, but not extinguish thee.

'Thou art Love - the rich have kissed
Thy feet, and like him following Christ,
Give their substance to the free
And through the rough world follow thee,

'Or turn their wealth to arms, and make
War for thy belovèd sake
On wealth, and war, and fraud - whence they
Drew the power which is their prey.

'Science, Poetry, and Thought
Are thy lamps; they make the lot
Of the dwellers in a cot
So serene, they curse it not.

'Spirit, Patience, Gentleness,
All that can adorn and bless
Art thou - let deeds, not words, express
Thine exceeding loveliness.

'Let a great Assembly be
Of the fearless and the free
On some spot of English ground
Where the plains stretch wide around.

'Let the blue sky overhead,
The green earth on which ye tread,
All that must eternal be
Witness the solemnity.

'From the corners uttermost
Of the bounds of English coast;
From every hut, village, and town
Where those who live and suffer moan,

'From the workhouse and the prison
Where pale as corpses newly risen,
Women, children, young and old
Groan for pain, and weep for cold -

'From the haunts of daily life
Where is waged the daily strife
With common wants and common cares
Which sows the human heart with tares -

'Lastly from the palaces
Where the murmur of distress
Echoes, like the distant sound
Of a wind alive around

'Those prison halls of wealth and fashion,
Where some few feel such compassion
For those who groan, and toil, and wail
As must make their brethren pale -

'Ye who suffer woes untold,
Or to feel, or to behold
Your lost country bought and sold
With a price of blood and gold -

'Let a vast assembly be,
And with great solemnity
Declare with measured words that ye
Are, as God has made ye, free -

'Be your strong and simple words
Keen to wound as sharpened swords,
And wide as targes let them be,
With their shade to cover ye.

'Let the tyrants pour around
With a quick and startling sound,
Like the loosening of a sea,
Troops of armed emblazonry.

Let the charged artillery drive
Till the dead air seems alive
With the clash of clanging wheels,
And the tramp of horses' heels.

'Let the fixèd bayonet
Gleam with sharp desire to wet
Its bright point in English blood
Looking keen as one for food.

'Let the horsemen's scimitars
Wheel and flash, like sphereless stars
Thirsting to eclipse their burning
In a sea of death and mourning.

'Stand ye calm and resolute,
Like a forest close and mute,
With folded arms and looks which are
Weapons of unvanquished war,

'And let Panic, who outspeeds
The career of armèd steeds
Pass, a disregarded shade
Through your phalanx undismayed.

'Let the laws of your own land,
Good or ill, between ye stand
Hand to hand, and foot to foot,
Arbiters of the dispute,

'The old laws of England - they
Whose reverend heads with age are gray,
Children of a wiser day;
And whose solemn voice must be
Thine own echo - Liberty!

'On those who first should violate
Such sacred heralds in their state
Rest the blood that must ensue,
And it will not rest on you.

'And if then the tyrants dare
Let them ride among you there,
Slash, and stab, and maim, and hew, -
What they like, that let them do.

'With folded arms and steady eyes,
And little fear, and less surprise,
Look upon them as they slay
Till their rage has died away.

'Then they will return with shame
To the place from which they came,
And the blood thus shed will speak
In hot blushes on their cheek.

'Every woman in the land
Will point at them as they stand -
They will hardly dare to greet
Their acquaintance in the street.

'And the bold, true warriors
Who have hugged Danger in wars
Will turn to those who would be free,
Ashamed of such base company.

'And that slaughter to the Nation
Shall steam up like inspiration,
Eloquent, oracular;
A volcano heard afar.

'And these words shall then become
Like Oppression's thundered doom
Ringing through each heart and brain,
Heard again - again - again -

'Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number -
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you -
Ye are many - they are few.'

- Percy Bysshe Shelley, "The Masque of Anarchy"

The Importance of Armor

Misunderestimated

Glimpses of the Surreal

Empire

Ribbons

NYC

Courage!

Slavoj Zizek, "As Putin has proven, political madness is the new status quo: We used to hope that politicians wouldn't be held back from pursuing their personal visions by unnecessary bureaucracy and shadowy forces. Now we pray that they are"

Addressing members of the Russian parliament, Vladimir Putin said last week: “The missile's test launch and ground trials make it possible to create a brand new weapon, a strategic nuclear missile powered by a nuclear engine. The range is unlimited. It can manoeuvre for an unlimited period of time.

“No one in the world has anything similar,” he said to applause and concluded: “Russia still has the greatest nuclear potential in the world, but nobody listened to us. Listen to us now.”

Yes, we should listen to these words, but we should listen to them as to the words of a madman joining the duet of two other madmen.

Remember how, a little while ago, Kim Jong-un and Donald Trump competed about buttons to trigger nuclear missiles that they have at their disposal, with Trump claiming his button is bigger than Kim’s? Now we got Putin joining this obscene competition – which is, we should never forget it, a competition about who can destroy us all more quickly and efficiently – with the claim that his is the biggest in turn.

Lately our media reports on the more and more ridiculous exchange of insults between Kim and Trump. The irony of the situation is that, when we get (what appears to be) two immature men hurling insults at each other, our only hope is that there is some anonymous and invisible institutional constraint preventing their rage from exploding into all-out war. Usually, of course, we tend to complain that in today’s alienated and bureaucratised politics, institutional pressures and constraints prevent politicians from expressing their personal visions – now we hope such constraints will prevent the expression of all too crazy personal visions.

But does the danger really reside in personal pathologies? Each side can, of course, claim that it wants only peace and is only reacting to the threat posed by others – true, but what this means is that the madness is in the whole system itself, in the vicious cycle we are caught in once we participate in the system.

Although the differences between North Korea and the US are obvious, one should nonetheless insist that they both cling to the extreme version of state sovereignty (“North Korea first!” versus “America first!”), plus that the obvious madness of North Korea (a small country ready to risk it all and bomb the US) has its counterpart in the US still pretending to play the role of the global policeman, a single state assuming the right to decide which other state should be allowed to possess nuclear weapons.

This global madness becomes visible the moment we ask a simple question: how do the protagonists of nuclear threats (Kim, Trump, Putin) imagine pressing the button? Are they not aware of the almost 100 per cent certainty that their own country will also be destroyed by retaliatory strikes? Well, they are aware and not aware at the same time: although they know they will also perish, they talk as if they somehow stand out of the danger and can strike at the enemy from a safe place.

This schizophrenic position combines the two axioms of nuclear warfare. If the basic underlying axiom of the Cold War was MAD (Mutually Assured Destruction), today this axiom is combined with the opposite one, that of NUTS (Nuclear Utilization Target Selection), i.e. the idea that, by means of a surgical strike, one can destroy the enemy's nuclear capacities while the anti-missile shield is protecting us from a counterstrike. The very fact that two directly contradictory strategies are mobilised simultaneously by the same superpower bears witness to the fantastical character of this entire reasoning.

In December 2016, this inconsistency reached an almost unimaginable ridiculous peak: both Trump and Putin emphasised the chance for new more friendly relations between Russia and the US, and simultaneously asserted their full commitment to the arms race – as if peace among the superpowers can only be provided by a new Cold War. Alain Badiou wrote that the contours of the future war are already drawn: “The United States and their Western-Japanese clique on the one side, China and Russia on the other side, atomic arms everywhere. We cannot but recall Lenin’s statement: ‘Either revolution will prevent the war or the war will trigger revolution.’”

There is no way to avoid the conclusion that a radical social change – a revolution – is needed to civilise our civilisations. We cannot afford the hope that a new war will lead to a new revolution: a new war would much more probably mean the end of civilisation as we know it, with the survivors (of any) organized in small authoritarian groups. North Korea is not a crazy exception in a sane world but a pure expression of the madness that drives our world.

On & Off

Communism failed in the 20th century, but is allowing the super-rich to dictate to the rest of humanity the only alternative system? Perhaps we need to design a socialist system, which also recognizes achievement.
Bill Gates, the second-richest person on Earth, has repeatedly criticized capitalism. Back in 2015 he explained his reasoning was based on a simple ecological calculation: the use of fossil fuels has to be radically reduced if we are to avoid a global catastrophe, and the private sector is too selfish to produce clean and economical alternatives to fossil fuels, which means humanity has to act outside market forces. Gates himself plans to spend $2 billion of his own money on green energy, even though there’s no fortune to be made from it, and he called on fellow billionaires to help make the US fossil-free by 2050 with similar philanthropy.

From an orthodox Leftist position, it is easy to make fun of the naivety of Gates’s proposal. However, the more these reproaches are right, the more they render palpable the misery of the genuine Left: where is THEIR feasible proposal on what we should do?

Because we know words matter in public debates: and even if what Gates is talking about is not “true Socialism,” he does talk about the fateful limitations of capitalism – and, again we can ask, do the self-proclaimed Socialists of the present have a serious vision of what Socialism should be today?

Thus, the paradox of our predicament is that, while the resistance against global capitalism seems to fail to undermine its advance, again and again, its opponents remain strangely out of touch with many trends which clearly signal capitalism’s progressive disintegration.

And it is as if the two tendencies (resistance and self-disintegration) move at different paces and cannot meet so that we get futile protests in parallel with talk of imminent decay, but there seems to be no way to bring the two together in a coordinated act (such as capitalism’s emancipatory overcoming).

Good billionaires?

How did it come to this? While (most of) the Left desperately tries to protect the old workers’ rights against the onslaught of global capitalism, it is almost exclusively the most “progressive” capitalists themselves (from Elon Musk to Mark Zuckerberg) who talk about post-capitalism – as if the very topic of passage from capitalism, as we know it, to a new post-capitalist order is appropriated by capitalism itself.

As a consequence, a new group of “organic intellectuals” is thus emerging: and they exemplify the privatization of our commons. The figure of Elon Musk is emblematic here, and he belongs to the same class as Bill Gates, Jeff Bezos, Mark Zuckerberg, and others: all ‘socially conscious’ billionaires. And they represent global capital at its most seductive and “progressive,” in short, at its most dangerous.

But can then these ultra-rich save us?

The German philosopher Peter Sloterdijk would not be Sloterdijk if he did not draw this provocative conclusion: previously, we thought that only the (united) poor could save the world, but the twentieth century has shown the catastrophic consequences of this attitude and the destructive violence which is engendered by universalized resentment.

Now, in the twenty-first century, we should finally have the courage to accept that only the rich can save the world, and we can argue that exceptionally creative individuals, who give generously, like Bill Gates and George Soros, have done more for the struggles for political freedom and against disease than has any state intervention.

Sloterdijk’s diagnosis should not be confused with the usual conservative-liberal rant against the so-called “resentment Left.” Because the central idea that sustains this rant is that we have had enough of the “welfare tyranny” that abounds in our “democratic despotism”; as in the Middle Ages, personal pride is today the greatest sin, and our fundamental right is more and more simply the “right to dependence.”

Alternative approach

“Welfare is today a drug on which more and more people depend. A good human idea turned into a kind of opium for the people,” as Norbert Bolz, another German thinker, explained.

But what makes Sloterdijk different is that he understands his proposal as a strategy to secure the survival of modern Europe's greatest economic-political achievement, the social democratic Welfare State. According to Sloterdijk, our reality — in Europe, at least — is “objective” social democracy as opposed to “subjective” social democracy. And to keep it alive, we should create a “new semantic,” a new space of hegemonic ideas in which the culture of pride, and the recognition of the achievers (not only fiscal but also moral), will have its proper place.

But can this work? I don’t think so. Let’s return to Bill Gates, he correctly locates the ultimate cause of our (ecological) problems in capitalism, and then, instead of proposing changes to the system itself, he appeals to the common sense of individual capitalists.

Yet, wouldn’t it be much more appropriate to try to create a non-capitalist system, which recognizes achievers? Are these two desires really irreconcilable?

-Slavoj Zizek, "Is it true that only progressive billionaires can save humanity?"

Domo

Downtown

MAD Worlds

The Last Wukchumni

Oisin and the Land of Eternal Youth

Bad Things

Elvis Has Left the Building

Damage