>Comments: To: [log in to unmask]
>To: [log in to unmask]
>On 5 Dec 96 at 15:16, Bruce L Jones wrote:
>> There have been a couple of calls for Christmas Traditions on the list.
>> This offering is definitely different, with an extra "nugget" after the
>Thanks for this one, Bruce.
>Here's another. Apologies to any who may have already seen it.
>Is there still a Santa Claus?
[snipped the science part, forgive me Ray,,,]
>But since every child knows he does exist, it is equally obvious that
>scientists have forgotten about magic.
My Heavens, Shae!
Your posting reminds me of a supposedly *new* Jules Verne novel turned
down in 1864 or something and just published (in English) that I was perusing
last night, "Paris of the Future," or something like that. in which the
accurate *prophesies* of that Parisian "cafe society" regarding what Paris of
the 1960's would look like (fax machines, subways, other "technological
marvels") become quite boring and bogged down in "techno-speak-manual"
excessive-speak, and the protagonist, Mee-hail (Michele), never developed
beyond a 'straw/wicker man," so to speak...
Made me think of a coupla tales...As this Jules Verne was an intimate of
that notorious thief and plagarist, Herr Alexander Dumas (the
merci"-to-fallen-demi-mondes-do-anything-ya-want-wid-her, ala, say, a "Bossie"
turned into tame, obedient "bessie," as those American Yip-yap-Yahoo's with
pappies and grandpappies done been "dirtbulb farmers gettin paid ta make sure
nuttin grows"...likes ta boast dey *good* at...), I was given to wondering
while reading if that "black Irish-in-exile," our Brittainy Celt and Professor
of Hebrew Studies till his "early success," his book "The Life of Jesus," made
him "branded as a heretic being taught a lesson," one *Joseph* Ernest Renan
(see, e.g., "The Poetry of the Celtic Races," circa 1850), was meant to be
Verne's *hidden* protagonist--or even, ala mine own poem using "l'amour et
l'actione" Renan as the *hero*, "Love's Untaught Strain," his own tale he often
told, only to have Dumas, Dumas fils, and "others" taking advantage of the
situation, rip our poor poet off for anything and everything, including the
title bestowed upon him by his sad-eyed collection of demi-mondes, "King of the
Cafe Scene"--as he became further and further exiled as a "lunatic spouting
non-scientific rubbish," (ala the dark figure in Van Gogh's brightly-lit
sidewalk cafe). The times most hostile to *creativity*, as no one was
protected by any copyrights, yet; one "horror story" appearing as "evidence" in
the 1876 Berne (Amsterdam) Convention on International Intellectual Property
involved one of Renan's dear friends, a composer and musician being taught a
similar "lesson of respect for [Napolean III's] the Crown's authority" or, as
one of the same neo-Nazi "secret police" I describe babbles and burbles *these
days* as part of mine own legal "opposition," merely a "learning experience"
(the key to really efficient deconstructuralism-nee-*existentialism* is all in
"the words, the words..."); anyway, this likewise poor man walked into one of
the Parisian Cafe's hot spots one evening, upon hearing his own composition
being played by the house band, and ordered a glass of water. When told to
cough up the francs, he remarked something like, "But, kind sir, your band is
playing the tune I wrote for free, without just compensation to me!" The waiter
grew surly and waved notes of money at him, snarling something about "Dis is
all dat matters, you fool! Now pay me!" Our clever friend reached into his
pocket and pulled out some coins, shaking them in his palm. "Did you hear
that?" The waiter sniffed, "But of course, now hand it over." Our musician
friend then smiled, said, "Not so fast, gay Pierre! As you've *heard* the sound
of the coins jingling, consider yourself paid!"
Fortunately our other friend, L'amour Renan "happenstanced" along as our
poor musician was being tossed out on his *nose* by some overgrown ruffians,
otherwise I'm afraid the gendarmes the waiter was summoning would have hauled
the already *deprived* musician most mercilessly "off to the housgow..."
who wishes his own daughters and sons wherever they are Happy Holidays
your daddy indeed loves you...
Rudra Mac Chumaill
Our Day Will Come...in the meantime, as Gustave Flaubert said
of "la plat a la mode," let us not become "poisoned by the filth
of modern life"
When born into a "munus sine missione," a "vir fortis,"
one "gladiatorio animo,"
has only to "recto tibi invictoque moriendum est." (Seneca, "Epistulae," 7.4)
"If there is a lonesome tall pine tree standing, the forest has not ended..."
Olde Tibetan Saying
"Wealth that is acquired by proper means in a manner
That harms none will yield both virtue and happiness."
Gurudeva's Vedas, Trikural Verse 754
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