Father Winter will give chase, as it is his nature. Hunting errant souls is great sport. Join in at your peril, take care, for in the wake of the passing storm a Black Dog will come.

Time to bid you a fond adieu, faithful readers (and I do see from the stat counter there are those who still pop in from time to time). It seems my time has finally passed, or I’ve finally realized that it passed sometime last winter. I believe next on the itinerary is a series of motivational speeches or some such endeavor. In my stead I leave you with that astute philosopher, Zadig. I will let him make his own introduction in his own time.

Picture via Pixdaus found at Smashing Magazine.

Please to enjoy your pagan holidays and all their variations…

One night in a meditation vision Avalokitesvara the Hearer and Answerer of Prayer said to me “You are empowered to remind people that they are utterly free” so I laid my hand on myself to remind myself first and then felt gay, yelled “Ta,” opened my eyes, and a shooting star shot. The innumerable worlds in the Milky Way, words. I ate my soup in little doleful bowlfuls and it tasted much better than in some vast tureen . . . my Japhy pea-and-bacon soup. I took two-hour naps every afternoon, waking up and realizing “none of this ever happened” as I looked around my mountaintop. The world was upsidedown hanging in an ocean of endless space and here were all these people sitting in theaters watching movies, down there in the world to which I would return. . . .

Jack Kerouac – The Dharma Bums

Clarissa Vaughn: I remember one morning getting up at dawn, there was such a sense of possibility. You know, that feeling? And I remember thinking to myself: So, this is the beginning of happiness. This is where it starts. And of course there will always be more. It never occurred to me it wasn’t the beginning. It was happiness. It was the moment. Right then.

But other Powers as great
Fell not, but stand unshaken, from within
Or from without to all temptations armed!
Hadst thou the same free will and power to stand?
Thou hadst. Whom has thou then, or what, to accuse,
But Heaven’s free love dealt equally to all?
Be then his love accursed, since, love or hate,
To me alike it deals eternal woe.

John Milton. (1608–1674). Complete Poems.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.

Im goin home, my baby
Im goin home, to see my baby
Goin home, my baby

Gonna see my baby, see my baby fine
Take my baby, take my baby mine
Gonna tell your mama how good that love of ours

Im goin home, to see my baby
Im goin home, to see my baby
Oh, baby ooh

Wanna take you back, take where love belong
Treat me baby, treat, dont treat me wrong

Ten Years After › I’m Going Home

*Edited for continuity.

Celebrity

Get ‘em me droogs!