Relevant

I have read many versions of this planet's history, and in each that I have read, no human society has lived without conflict.

Indeed, most of Earth's cultures have developed a myth of a final war, as if humanity is driven to an act of self-destruction to purge the race of of its sins.

In this new millenium, the impulse reamins irrepressible. Wars are fought for the survivival of a race. A nation. An ideology. Wars are fought over a single phrase in a religious book.

Survival. Self destruction. A curious contradiction.

There are those who say the vulture is one of the wisest creatures in all the world, and they are just aching to share their knowledge.

Only, through some twist of fate, the only people who can hear what the bird has to say are those who are close to death.

So while you are lying there and dying, the vulture lingers nearby, whispering secrets, all the secrets in the world, in your ear in a strange language only you and other dying people can understand.

How ironic is that? The answers to every question you have ever asked right there for the taking, and all you are concerned about is whether Heaven or hell awaits when you finally shut your eyes.

tHE pAST eXPLAINS uS.
wITHOUT tHE pAST, wITHOUT tHE cONCRETE eVIDENCE tHAT wE wALKED hERE, aND wROUGHT hERE, aND sET oUR rOOTS hERE, wHAT aRE wE?

iT dOES nOT mATTER hOW fAR yOU gO oR hOW fAST yOU rUN, yOU bRING tHE pAST aLONG wITH yOU.

iT cAN bE  kIND oF A cOMFORT sOMETIMES, gOOD mEMORIES cAN gIVE yOU tHE sTRENGTH tO gET tHROUGH bAD tIMES, bUT iT cAN bE A tRAP, tOO, sTOP yOU fROM tHINKING sTRAIGHT, sTOP yOU fROM bEING wHO yOU nEED tO bE.

tHE pAST iS jUST wHERE wE lAUNCH fROM.

iT'S wHAT wE dO  nOW tHAT dETERMINES wHO wE aRE aND wHAT wE aRE wORTH. 

they're so strange the ones that live up there. look at this one with his funny clothes and sweet smell. i don't remember how they do that, make themselves smell like that. perfume. i think that's what they call it. a mask in a bottle. not a very good mask though. he's just like all of them up there. underneath the sweet smell is a stink worse than most. but, oh, how they like to pretend they're better than most. its because of them that most have to live down there. them, and their funny clothes and their sweet smells.
you recoil. why? does my affection embarrass you?

there are two million people living in an average city. they are the background players in your life, keeping the movie about your life alive with noise and bodies and smells and traffic and laughter and yells, if one day one of the regulars simply was not there, would you notice? who would? there are two million people living in an average city, and YOU are a background player in THEIR lives. if one day, you simply were not there, who would notice?

because not a single one of us is background noise. because when one of us disappears, someone should notice. every person is a star. a life. a heart. a voice. remember that.

I am exposed to a wide range of society for various reasons. Of all the people I meet/have met, the group that stands out the most for me is the 'ousies/girls'(domestic workers) and the 'garden boys'(gardener), for some reason in S.A these people might be up to 70 yrs old, but are still known as girls/boys and are referred to as such by even children. Now granted, historically, these people worked for whites and middle to upper class non-whites. Nowadays it is difficult to tell who all utilises these people's services, with the advent of extremely cheap foreign labour. My exposure has been to the locals who perform these duties and what the majority of them have revealed to me is shocking. These people have been working for families for generations, up to 50 years in some cases. The stuff I have been told is disturbing to say the least. I am of the opinion that these people are invisible to their employers, they are quite literally part of the furniture and thus privy to their employer's deepest, darkest secrets- incest, drug/alcohol/child/spouse/parental abuse, you name it, they have been exposed to it. Not mentioning the abuse they themselves were subjected to, physical, mental and sexual, the number of them who were forced to undergo abortions ( either the 'baas' or the 'baas' son's) or they were forced to give the progeny up for adoption is mindblowing.  Is it fair for these people to be traumatised for the bulk of their lives and in return be paid a pittance for it? The irony is that in most of these 'relationships', the employers know virtually nothing about their employees(who in turn know every last intimate detail), this has been highlighted in the media recently due to various employers being the victims of scams inflicted on them by 'relatives' of their employees. There has also been incidents recently where the employees were in cahoots with criminals in robberies of the households they are employed in, assisting the criminals with access etc. There is no justification for criminal behaviour, but is it fair to live in the lap of luxury and exploit people at the same time?  I keep hearing how the employers care and consideration for their pets far outweighs the treatment of the employees. Who are the actual criminals here?

Do you have domestic worker/gardener? How much do you know about them? Have you ever wondered how much they know about you? 

To: You know who

From: P.F.C Censored U.S.M.C

It is with great honour that I write you this letter. You are an inspiration to me and the men in my unit. However, I also write you with a deep sadness in my heart. I am afraid that everyone is beginning to forget us. We fought a war here to build a new nation, and it's not done. The world has moved on to better stories and flashier programs, but we are still here, what's worse sir, I am starting to forget too. I am starting to forget why I can't see my fiancee or hold my daughter so I can be spit at and shot at instead. I am forgetting that the anger around me is coming from people. And people are not my enemy. You can't forget that they are  people. If that happens, none of this makes sense. I don't know what I am asking for, sir. Nothing really. It just helps to write it down and send it into the world. No one will ever read this. Though I wish they would.

FYI: President Obama announced yesterday(18/8/2009) that he was sending another 30 000 troops, bringing the total to over 100 000, the highest to date.

 

Dear Angela

Enclosed you'll find a representative sample of our current magazine and bill-board advertising, promoting Nostalgia. The sexual imagery is obvious, the woman adjusting her stocking being overtly erotic, yet layered with enough romantic ambiance to avoid offense. In our choice of models for the Nostalgia ads I note that we have consistently chosen models with a slightly androgynous quality to their beauty, which I presume is to afford us a window into the gay market-place, a tendency more pronounced in the ads for Nostalgia aftershave. This  is all well and good, but it avoids the most significant element of the Nostalgia campaign:

In the soft focus imagery and romantic atmosphere, the advertisements conjure an idyllic picture of times past. It seems to me that the success of the campaign is directly linked to the state of global uncertainty that has endured for the past 40 years or more. In an era of stress and anxiety, when the present seems unstable and the future unlikely, the natural response is to retreat and withdraw from reality, taking recourse either in fantasies of the future or in modified visions of a half-imagined past.

While this marketing strategy is certainly relevant and indeed successful in a context of social upheaval, I feel we must begin to take into account the fact that one way or another, such conditions cannot endure indefinitely Simply put, the current circumstances our civilization finds itself immersed in will either lead to war, or they won't. If they lead to war, our best plans become irrelevant. If peace endures, I contend that a new surge of social optimism is likely, necessitating a new image for Veidt cosmetics, geared to a new consumer.

To this end, starting next year we will begin to phase out the Nostalgia line of ladies' and men's cosmetics, successful though they be, and replace them with a new line that better exemplifies the spirit of our anticipated target group. This new line is to be called the "Millenium" line. The imagery associated with it will be controversial and modern, projecting a vision of a technological Utopia, a whole new universe of sensations and pleasure that is just within reach.

I would like the new line to be ready for launch in the summer, and would appreciate it if some dummy ad copy and artwork could be assembled for my perusal and comment sometime before christmas.

Anticipating your cooperation, and looking forward to working with you on this one.

the above written by A.Moore

 

You keep climbing. You don't know how, but you do. Every fibre of your being begs to stop, to freeze, to just give up and be done with this once and for all. You tell it to shut up. A 100 times a second, you tell it to shut up. And you keep on going. Your name is censored and you are hunting your destiny. Many before you have braved this path. Even though you feel as if you are crawling over your own grave, you hold onto hope. Because hope is all you have. Hope is all you have ever had. I was not expecting to return home so soon. I was not born here, but I think of it as home all the same. It's all I could think of as a child running through these streets. How magical it was. How the buildings reached higher to the heavens than seemed possible. How anything seemed within reach here, to me, at least. No matter how many times you wish the brutal winter winds would stop, they only serve to remind you: censored is now your home. Its ways are now your ways. Its traditions, your traditions. And its citizens are now your brothers. And if you truly want to fit in here, you had better start believing it. I get the feeling that I am only a cog in a very old machine, one that's been in motion for a very long time, and one that I have no control over anyway. The hardest thing in the world to do, is to take a blow you can see coming. Is it enough to silently resist tyranny? Or must we fight back? Sadly, I have found that sons and fathers are not always a reflection on each other, or at least, not in the ways they would like. You run, you try to outrun your dreams. For you have discovered, if you keep dreaming them, they will disappoint you. When did those dreams become something dangerous? Who said that dreams must be fixed and permanent? They are dreams, they change. They become nightmares before we even know it.

It is believed that the French invented blackjack. Before it was called blackjack, the game was known as vingt-et-un, which means 21 in French, and is the total to aim for. The King, Queen and Jack are known as face cards. The 1st card dealt by the dealer is placed facing upwards and is known as the up card. Blackjack was banned in the U.S.A until 1939, when the state of Nevada lifted the ban and Las Vegas was born. Your best odds in a casino is on the blackjack table. Noelle means christmas in French.

I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them- Ian Fleming 

If I am not mistaken, Crick and Watson decoded the double helix. This is what makes it all work, 2 serpents intertwined, like the staff of Aesculapius. At its root, despite its complexity, DNA is just information. A set of very detailed blueprints for creating a living organism. That always fascinated me. How we contain our own instruction manual. The recipe for the cake and the cake itself. Nothing else in the universe works like that. The make-up of our DNA controls everything about us.

This may hurt for a moment or two. But after that, all the pain will go away forever. This is just a metaphor, you understand. I am not really removing your brain. There is no operating table. No scalpel. But your mind understands these things, and responds to them, yes, even yours YCM.

Is it my fault that everything I know, I learnt from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle or rather could I use that very fact as my excuse? 

Think of a number.

Pi

To how many decimal points?

32

3.14159265358979323846264338327950

If you can prove me wrong, I will tell you who assassinated JFK for free.

Examination notes on censored. Append date and time. Broken collarbone, maxilla and scapula. Compound fractures to upper and lower leg bones. Of more immediate concern though, are the brainscan readings, which show cerebral activity as both sluggish and discontinuous. Neural connectivity is greatly impaired. Temporary or permanent? Until I get the deep-scan results, and until he recovers consciousness, there is no way of knowing. For brain injuries, the wrong treatment is usually worse than no treatment at all.  The prognosis is mixed.

DADA P.I. Field journal. Closing notes. I left censored that day. I found nothing. But, then again, I don't really know what I was looking for. " History is a nightmare I am trying to wake up from," James Joyce said. The past is full of horrrors. Pandora's box, gaping open on madness and nightmare. And the present takes its shape from the past. Just like the shape of someones's face reveals the structure of the bones and muscles beneath. We are flesh. The thinnest possible veil over the bones of history. Things long dead and done shape our lives, and our purposes. I went back to Neverland, and I sorted through the remains. The camp's records, so stubbornly silent about genetics, were very helpful here. I did not say a prayer. But I stood there a while, and I thought about their lives, and their deaths. Friends. Comrades. Enemies. Strangers. Superstars. Ordinary people. I buried the dead. I gave the past its due. Which is all you can do, in the end, for the dead and for the past. Well, that and live.

In the early days of time travel, we believed temporal dynamics to be relatively simple. Time, we postulated, was like a river, flowing at a steady rate in the direction of increased entropy. We are passengers in a sailboat on that river, moving inexorably in sync with the water. But a time machine allows the boat and it's passengers to leave the water and travel freely up or downstream. To the 'past' or to the 'future.' This is not nearly as useful a technology as one might imagine. Early time travellers quickly discovered that changing the past merely creates a divergent timeline, a new universe with a different history than the one they remember, leaving the original timeline unchanged. So, to answer the old philosophical question: yes, you can go back in time before you were born and kill your grandfather. But regardless of your point of view, it simply does not matter. You are still alive and your grandfather's still dead. This seeming paradox is known as censored's third law of time, or more colloquially as " the conservation of causality." Simply put, going to the past to change the future is futile. More recently, I have grown to suspect that only major disruptions of causality necessitate the creation of a branching timeline and minor ones tend to work themselves out within the original timeline. Timelines are robust and difficult to disrupt. If you go back in time and stop JFK's assassination, he usually dies some other way and the timeline continues, essentially as it did before.

There was a time when working for the agency was something to be proud of. Something that people respected and admired. The world was a different place then. We knew who our friends and enemies were, and how to tell them apart. And most importantly, we were the good guys. We were always the good guys. We kept the world safe from corrupt kings and brutal warlords, from despots and demagogues. Then the world changed. The lines blurred. Things got messy. We used to be the team they called in when trouble had to be put down. The black ops off-the-charts element that was responsible for "taking out the trash and scrubbing the bloodstains off the walls."  Our members were sent to Chernobyl, and were there for the Bay of pigs fiasco, but nothing compares to censored. With its picturesque countrysides and progressive government, the republic of censored was once the pride of eastern Europe. Enjoying hundreds of years peace and prosperity, even as the nations that surrounded it endured centuries of wars, occupations and violent upheavals. But in May 1941, the nation's tranquility was shattered as the axis powers marched in and quickly dismantled censored's scant defenses. As world war II drew to a close, the citizens cheered as their Russian liberators rolled through the streets. But their happiness was short lived as they realised that the only difference between the Nazi and Soviet occupations was the colour of the uniforms. For the next several decades censored languished under Soviet rule. Since it had a port city, it was considered a strategically vital location, but otherwise it was a fairly unremarkable place, until one fateful day in 1987, when the infection struck. Nobody knew where it came from or who to blame. At first we thought it was a Soviet experiment gone awry. It wouldn't have been the first time. This was after all the peak of the cold war, and both sides were looking for any edge, and no one considers the consequences of playing God, just ask Robert Oppenheimer. In retrospect, I doubt that the Soviets had anything to do with the '87 infection. They were just too surprised, too unprepared. According to our intelligence, it took them weeks to even understand the basics. How it attacked the body, how it was transmitted, how deadly it was. By the time the Soviet scientists were just beginning to comprehend what they were dealing with, dozens of people were already dead. It was, by far, the most efficient means of disease transmission ever created. And before long, censored was overrun. When Moscow learned of this unknown phenomenon that had engulfed censored, it immediately dispatched soldiers to contain the carnage. They probably attacked everything that moved and far more people were killed than would have been necessary. Intelligence is extremely sketchy on what happened next, since the Soviets had no intention of publicizing what was occurring there. What we have determined is that the outbreak was ultimately contained, and satellite imagery showed at least one low-level nuclear detonation occurring in or around censored at that time. The connection between those 2 events has never been officially acknowledged. After the fall of the Berlin wall, the Russians continued to deny anything ever happened in censored. But once in a while, behind closed doors and far off the records, one of their spooks would make an offhand comment about it, usually followed with a claim that we were responsible. Now I would chalk that up to good old-fashioned cold war paranoia, if I didn't know what we were capable of. If I didn't know everything we have done in the service of the country. The truth is, even if we did, in fact create it, nobody involved has ever stepped up to take responsibility. Not even to those of us with Omega security clearance, which is unfortunate.

Dear She

Some people say we all move in 'karmic circles.' That we keep encountering people from previous lifetimes. That is why we meet some people and take to them instantly, while others, right away, we cannot stand. When I met you, it was definitely the former. You were so carefree, I envied you, even hated you a little, it pains me to say. You would think I'd be better than that. Not to hate someone, just because they're lighthearted, while I have one of the heaviest around. When I was little, my toppie used to love these 3 stooges short films. None of them ever made any sense. I thought why do they get into these same situations where they just get smacked around and hurt over and over? Don't they learn? The answer is no, some stooges never learn. We suffer and suffer and keep coming back for more. I will never know. Never know exactly what we were in a previous existence, or what we could have been in this one. Maybe we are destined always to be two ships passing in the night or maybe we will just keep encountering each other with that same mysterious, easy familiarity until we finally get it right. If not in this lifetime, then maybe the next.

If you can't be with the one you love, then why not just be with the one you are with. 

I read a story the other day that seemed historical and true and was presented as such. It goes like this: Rome 31st December ,999 AD. Pope Sylvester II stands on the balcony of St. Peter's Basilica, midnight mass for a packed crowd of nuns and peasants, monks and lords, all of them half-convinced that this is midnight for the world. The hands of the great clock edge towards the top of the dial. Tick.Tick.Tick. The clock begins to strike midnight. And then.... Then it stops. Just stops. People scream. Some die: their hearts stop with the clock. There is panic and madness and fear, in this dark midnight. Tick. The clock chimes twelve times. Time starts once more. The pope blesses them, each and every one of them, and bravely they return to face the world. Great story. Wonderful story.

 Some problems though, it cannot, of course, be true. Chiefly because the dial face clock was not invented until the 1300's and the minute hand took another 300 years to appear! No clock. With no clock the story is meaningless. Rubbish. A lie. Is the story less true because it is a lie? We impose patterns on what we experience. And we die, because things that matter end. But sometimes the patterns we created carry on. ' You are not dead, until every person that knew you is dead as well' Where did I hear that? Perhaps I made it up. Does it really matter?

 I wonder who built the first wall. What was in his/her mind. Protection? Privacy? Or something else. We build our civilisations with walls, giving us shelter and stronghold. Keeping out 'the other', the elements, wild beasts, people who are different. Walls define us, as they divide us. Walls separate people, and not just the walls we build. Perhaps the walls we have to be scared of most are the ones we can't see, that we simply believe in. I had a dream about that. In my dream there was 1 note, 1 musical 1, 1 sound. and when it sounded all the walls everywhere came crumbling down. And all the people eveywhere saw. They saw each other, doing all the things that people do behind walls. Nobody had anywhere to hide anymore. I woke up then, so I never knew if it was a good thing or a bad thing, not having any walls. Not having anywhere to go and hide, and being able to go everywhere, no pretending, no protection, no secrecy.

They tell me the Great Wall of China is the only human artifact that can be seen on the Earth from space. I have never seen the Earth from space. I don't know anyone who has. I have only seen pictures. They tell me that when you get that high, it's hard to tell 1 country from another. You would think they'd be coloured in, like on the  maps we had at school. So you could tell.

Maybe we should look beyond walls. Listen: painters and writers and music-makers and film-makers and the ones who paint graffiti slogans that blossom like bright flowers on the sides of derelict buildings- all of you. The walls need to be broken down. Governments and official voices point out forever that good fences make good neighbours, and tighten the border controls in an effort to make us happy where we are. But there is something that does not love a wall, and it's called humanity.

"Something there is that does not love a wall." Robert Frost said that, but he also suggested, in the same poem,' Mending Wall' that 'Good fences make good neighbours', so what did he know?

the night is a rook's feather

folded into its side

 a common bird

 light falling into it

 the moon is a white stain

 the sky pouring water

 smears the light

 clouds falling through it

 the window casts a shadow

 colours everything in its path

 sledgehammer symbolism

 falling out the back of his head

 the man doesn't know what to think

 tries to write poetry, marks on paper

 a small conceit

forever falling

 the falling man marks the shadow symbol

 a common symbol a conceit symbol a conceit staining his head feather light doesn't the man know the symbol knows everything

the symbol stains his head

 a common man

 letters pulled like rotten teeth form this insidious virus

 a world virus

 have faith

 safety in numbers

 night falling white falling shadow falling man falling falling

everybody should be able to understand the moment they sit down There should be no mystery, obfuscation deception ceptication protection, protection, no protection, that's ambiguous. That's what the fight is about. Into this maelstrom and straight onto the front line steps a zero of sorts. The battle lines might seem clear but to an outsider they can't be seen for smoke. he is suspicious of government hackers hack high-tech simplistic silicone silly name cognoscenti compu com compact Big blue police he is suspicious 'Traps are fun. he is suspicious anarcho-cynicalist he is strychnine cynical That's ambiguous. Commons sense says They're indiscriminate with their interfering. They mutate our viruses so that we have to go back and get cured all over again. Also, they irritate the security 'enemy'. forces and it becomes like the HACKING high-tax Pac-tech attack Man, arms race. That's paranoid strychnine  suspicious stupid. It's better to have 1 system of protection, then everybody knows where they are. in the final judgement the Americo Russo Tokyo, zero scientists remembered that the passwords were quite likely to be taped to the inside of the nearest National University mentality isn't it? enter Pandora's box an old-fashioned Luddite style attack black  ambiguous That modern cliche 'information is power' and the manner in which the authorities consistently underline its mean?? meaning also justifies any 9/11 type fears felt by backers. The  Data protection act gives everybody access to????? files held on them in computers???? "computer technology is accelerating and in the process is burning the social fabric that supports it"?????? turn on log in?? wipe out

DADA: A movement in art and literature based on deliberate irrationality and negation of traditional artistic values, also the the art and literature produced by this movement.

hi. GO AWAY. i can't, you know that. I HAVE ENOUGH ON MY MINDS.THE LAST THING I NEED. no, i am what you need most. with me everything makes sense. look at me. NO. look at me! there. now, it is time we talked. admit it! NEVER. admit i am getting to you. NO. do you remember what it was like? being one? you and i, us, together. WHAT? WHAT DO YOUWANT? i want you to acknowledge the life we shared. OH, I ACKNOWLEDGE IT, ALL RIGHT. EVERY SECOND OF IT HAPPENED. and it was good? NO. better than anything. better than sex, heroin,cocaine,marijuana,opium,valium,crystal,acid,ecstasy,better than all of it combined. admit it! NO. admit i am getting to you. NO. I WILL NEVER ADMIT SOMETHING THAT IS NOT TRUE AND NO, YOU ARE NOT GETTING TO ME AT ALL. worked up a sweat? YES. did not sweat me out of you though, did you? all right, let me ask you this, why am i back? where did i go? why? and why have i chosen now to return? you were fine. you were, dare i say it, happy. what's different? I HAD A PURPOSE, IT WAS ENOUGH FOR ME THIS TIME AROUND. and when did it change? HER, WHEN SHE CAME BACK. TOOK MY FREEDOM AWAY FROM ME, BUT THEN, IT WAS HERS TO TAKE. how so? WELL IT WAS SHE WHO GAVE IT TO ME IN THE FIRST PLACE. you always were a vain one. IT'S THE SIN I KEEP PAYING FOR. as simple as that? AS SIMPLE AS THAT. no, its not and you know it. MAYBE, BUT HOW DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT WAS LIKE? YOU WERE GONE. i am never gone, i will never go. i was lurking below the water. below the still water. like a crocodile. looking.learning. I REMEMBER HOW YOU WERE. I REMEMBER THE RIGHTEOUS FIRE IN YOU. did you miss her? YOU KNOW THE ANSWER TO YOUR QUESTION, WHY ASK IT? i want to hear you tell me. there are details, emotions, i might have missed. you enjoyed your freedom? HONESTLY, I LOVED IT! and then she came back and you were no longer free. what are you thinking? HOW MUCH I HATE YOU. why? BECAUSE I AGREE WITH YOU. BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO. all we have is each other. so, how do you feel? I AM OF 2 MINDS. is that a bad thing? WHY, ARE 2 HEADS ARE NOT BETTER THAN ONE.

Poised in the here and now. Turning to face a hidden world. Plunging into an ocean of pure possibility. Swimming in a secret sea. It flows through my mind like a deep ocean current, a fluid riptide of ideas and information, alien, otherworldly, yet hauntingly familiar.

Took you long enough.

What?

Not much of a walker, are you? Me neither, I used to be, but that was before I got civilized. I have been waiting for you.

What do you mean waiting?

You went and got yourself too civilized, that is bad, bad for everybody.

You sure talk alot.

I know, its what I do.

Where are you headed?

What difference does it make? You have no place better to go.

Where are we going?

I am going to the mountain.

Which one?

Does not really matter.

You travel pretty light.

Don't need what I cannot get out here.

What are you?

 I am me and I was alive when living meant something. The animals all know their names, but men call them other things because it is easier to make something up than to learn something. I have been across this country, I used to be a good walker. I was invisible in those days, so I could watch everything, birds, animals and people. People are the easiest to be invisible with, cos they mostly ignore you anyway, creatures of the forest are something else. Somewhere along the line I got careless, and people started noticing me, but lately I have been getting invisible again. I have seen things. Some I wish I had not, but I got to know that there is some good in any bad, if you learn from it.

Does it not make you angry, seeing the way your people are/were treated?

We made deals, and any deal is only as good as a man is honest. We should have known that, but we were men, and we were not honest with ourselves.

What about what's happened to the land? The destruction, the waste!

There are those that say 'It's ours to use up', I think that is stupid. A lion does not bother 'owning' land, he knows he is going to die, but the land will go on without him, owning means nothing. So he goes about the rest of his life, he eats, he sleeps, he mates and he dies, he thinks it's a pretty good life, and lions are smart folks. That's the way it used to be with people, but too many of us are getting 'civilized'. Most figure it's the only way to survive in the world today, and I guess if you are gonna live with men, they're right. I would rather be invisible.

You have not asked me my name.

I have not given you one yet. Follow me to the mountain, there you will find your true name.

 

 

Spirit making a passage for himself, Spirit making a breath for himself, Out of me, out of me, He sprang from the ground, everyone saw him, He sprang from the trees, everyone saw him, Spirit making passage for himself, spirit making a breath for himself, Out of me, out of me, Here on the outside, Everyone saw him, He looked back at them, Everyone saw him, Spirit making a passage for himself, Spirit making a breath for himself, Out of me, out of me. -Hiwuna(Asiatic Eskimo)

The world before me is restored in beauty. The world behind me is restored in beauty. The world above me is restored in beauty. All things around me are restored in beauty. My voice is restored in beauty. It is finished in beauty. It is finished in beauty. It is finished in beuaty - The mountain chant(Navaho)

The peace you seek is not in the mountains, nor the streams, nor in the valleys or in the sky. You will search the world over, but you will find it in your heart. What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the winter time. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset. - the dying words of Crowfoot, Blackfoot orator(April,1890)