This is my old house on the marsh, and here,
Here is the terror of the distant sea
Moaning, and here the wind that wails, the drear
Groans like a ghost’s, the desolate house of fear
Whence I fled once from my great enemy —
This is the house! O speechless misery!
Cruelty has a Human Heart, and Jealousy a Human Face, Terror the Human Form Divine, and Secrecy the Human Dress. The Human Dress is forged Iron, The Human Form a fiery Forge, The Human Face a Furnace seal’d, The Human Heart its hungry Gorge.
Kitten “lived up to his namesake”, Aleister Crowley, by being raucous and getting rid of vermin at “Take care in entering the realm of cat-owning“.
“We named him Aleister, after the occultist/mystic/writer/extremely controversial Aleister Crowley. He soon lived up to his namesake. He could be scooped up in one hand but could somehow mimic the noise level of a stampede as he galloped down the hall at night. He took to destroying toilet paper, stealing food at every opportunity and pinching items off tables to play with. Despite the fact that he still wanders around meowing to thin air when he’s bored and swipes food off unwatched plates, he has settled down and is no longer a furry terror. Though he tested our patience during his kitten period, he is fantastic fun to play with and loves to snuggle close. Aleister has also successfully reduced the amount of vermin that creep into our house.” [via]
“Yet the thought chilled me as I touched the reins.
Ah! the poor horse, he will not. So remains,
Divided in his love. With mastered tears
I stride toward the parapet. My ears
Catch his low call; and now a song complains.
The bridge is bleeding and the river hears.
Ah! God! I cannot live for pity deep
Of that heart-quelling chant—I could not sleep
Ever again to think of it. I close
My hearing with my fingers. Gently goes
A quivering foot above them as they weep—
I weep, I also, as the river flows.
Slowly the bridge subsides, and I am flung
Deep in the tears and terrors never sung.
I swim with sorrow bursting at my breast.
Yet I am cleansed, and find some little rest.
Still from my agonised unspeaking tongue
Breaks: I must go, go onward to the quest.” [via]
“The need to grow to the limit of our capacities, to become what we potentially are …”
“This is not a proper documentary.”
“‘the abolition of free will by methodical conditioning, the servitude made acceptable by regular doses of chemically induced happiness, the orthodoxies drummed in by nightly courses in sleep-teaching’, advertising, soma, Prozac, music TV, everyone belongs to everyone else”
“Totalitarian regimes of the future won’t be based on terror”