Futnuckery. A Helluva Vision. The Film-Flam Man. Conjugates of the Infinite.

Dylan Thomas wrote that a person should not "go gently into that milquetoast precedence's ass."  Indeed, in my days, I marvelled not that W sat a full 8 inches taller in the saddle because I had both a Gateway and a Systemax wedged ungently in his buttocks. During the obligatory Democratic response, Tom Daschell sat a bit taller, of which the pundits thought he might have looked, without the smell of cat piss and his World War II library, more than a bit Presidential. We know what that means, a man of no consequence and less report: such is the sort that sit on the tips of tongues, and an old man can be a lame duck and not realize it, not want to admit it even to himself. *I'll slap the coldmoor fuck out of anyone that disrespects Jimmy Johnson. My great Grandpa and his wife. And his children. Once walked nearly ten miles one-way to eat a dinner of beans, then maybe pick wild fruits from the roadside. They had a silver dollar they carried around in pocket until it was

Aurelius postulated, pagan that he was, that the universe had no guiding rational principle, but perhaps, maybe a loose cadre of energized Democrats, whereas Epictetus, also the pagan, believed in a singular "just" ruling principle, ala monotheism, echoing the underground Christian church that would come into being soon thereafter. Of my own, I face thereafter judgement like anyone, without that guiding star, and have in essence unconsciously circumvented control machinations to become "the voice of my own private deity". However, that said... I will, left to my own devices, eventually come under the once-and-eternally-binding judgment of Yahweh. I had a moment.  What do I care for, and do I nurture only what nourishes me?  Do I nurture the things that I care for, but bear me no propitious interest in any particular visible way?  That means, would I be beneficent or benevolent in instances where there is no benefit to me, whatsoever? Only I decide what I care about,