Monday, August 16

Oh, my cousin, I had an illusion, not a dream!

I wonder how the average-liberal-minded American would take the pain of an erected Menara of a mosque being jabbed at the heart of the Financial District in the United States of America? And I also wonder why the President of “the most powerful country on this planet” will play the role of the Archbishop of Whitehouseberry, and puts Americans in such a rotten position as to push them to the corner and then leave them breathless to deal with a blow that will shake them to the bones? Is that how the Free World (a very scary notion) is created? Oh, my cousin, I had an illusion, not a dream!

Bad politics will neither pave the way to the accumulation of wealth and power, nor can it bring like and respect, but it can certainly prepare the ground for a shake that can produce disastrous results. I think a first-rate politician should have a vision, too, because too much ambition and a great lack of vision will not make a Free World. Freedom may be an illusion, a dream, but if it is to be achieved it cannot be so through push and shove and force, and all in the name of Human Rights, First Amendment, Liberalism or what-have-you. All these notions are very flowery and peachy when they are used in political speeches and intellectual-pronouncement, but defining them through our collective conducts is a task that is far from being either flowery or peachy. Running the world with bigotry, horror and terror is only possible if you are willing to pay a very high price. Have you not read your Faustus? And calling yourself a “Democrat” does not mean that at the core of the matter you are a visionary pushing for Freedom, Justice, Human Rights, or any other juicy notion by which you decorate your speeches, and fool the average hard-working-tax-paying-Americans; it simply means that you are a well-trained salesperson in the American-political-mart.

Oh, my dear cousin, I had an illusion, not a dream.


Sunday, August 1

A Poison Tree (1794)

I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered in fears,
Night & morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole,
When the night had veild the pole;
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretchd beneath the tree

(“outstretchd”, and “veild” appear in their 18th century form).

William Blake (1757-1827