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Tuesday, November 18, 2025
"Americans Safety Net Just Collapsed, Panic Setting In"
"Gold Set To Skyrocket, Dollar Collapses, Crypto Crushed; Home Depot Sees Big Trouble"
Gerald Celente, "As Forecast: Dot-Com Bust 2.0, The Worst Is Yet To Come"
Musical Interlude: Medwyn Goodall, “Eyes of Heaven”
"A Look to the Heavens"
The Poet: Samuel Taylor Coleridge, "What If?"
"What if you slept?
And what if,
In your sleep
You dreamed?
And what if,
In your dream,
You went to heaven
And there plucked
A strange and
Beautiful flower?
And what if,
When you awoke,
You had the flower
In your hand?
... Ah, what then?"
- Samuel Taylor Coleridge
"Be That Guy"
Chet Raymo, "Know Thyself"
"The ancient Greek aphorism, attributed to Socrates and others. Good advice, I'm sure. If only we knew what it means. Is it the same as the "examination of conscience" we were asked to perform as young Catholics? "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned." Well, yes, it is good to ask ourselves if we have lived up to our highest moral aspirations. But surely "Know thyself" means more than that.
Or perhaps it means to apply the method of scientia to the problem of consciousness, treat the mind like a fish that can be dissected at the lab bench, watch the brain flickering on the display of a scanning machine as the subject is stimulated with love, sex, fear, music, pain. Neuroscience. Daniel Dennet's book audaciously titled "Consciousness Explained." There is a line from a poem by Jane Hirshfield, in which she questions herself: "A knife cannot cut itself open/ yet you ask me both to be you and to know you."
Is it hopeless then? Is there an essential absurdity in a thing knowing itself? Does knowing necessarily imply a knower more complex than the thing known? Is it possible that we might fully understand, say, the neurology of the sea slug Aplysia, that favorite subject of experimental neurobiologists with only 20,000 central nerve cells, big nerve cells, ten times bigger than human neurons, but not the workings of the human brain, with its 100 billion nerve cells, each one connected to thousands of others?
Hirshfield's poem is titled "Instant Glimpsable Only For An Instant." Perhaps that is the best we can do. To know ourselves in those fleeting moments of recognition than come now and then, often unbidden, sometimes as the result of a chance encounter with beauty or with ugliness, sometimes bidden out of the silence and solitude of meditation - a flash upon one's inward eye that is, perhaps, all the ancients were asking for when they asked us to "know ourselves."
"The Middle Class Is Being Completely Destroyed By The Cost Of Living Crisis"
"In Human Society..."
"A Reasonable End"
"Live Dangerously And You Live Right"
"Trapping Wild Pigs"
Naturally, in order to expand the volume of free stuff, greater taxation will be required. And of course, some rights will have to be sacrificed. And just like the pigs, all that’s really necessary to get humans to comply is to make the increase in fencing gradual. People focus more on the corn than the fence. Once they’re substantially dependent, it’s time to shut the gate.
"The Chief Obstacle..."
"Trumps Affordability Plan: $2 Gas, $2,000 Stimulus Checks & More"
Dan, I Allegedly, "Banks Are Cancelling Credit Cards Right Now!"
"Americans Are So Poor That Now Even Eating At McDonald’s Is Considered To Be “Prohibitively Expensive” For Many People"
Monday, November 17, 2025
"Alert! Russian Doomsday Radio Attacked, WTF?!"
"The Blow That Ended America 112 Years Ago"
"Understanding the Federal Reserve"
Musical Interlude: The Traveling Wilburys, "End Of The Line"
"A Look to the Heavens"
Chet Raymo, "Away Above The Chimney Pots "
"So Oz finally became home; the imagined world became the actual world, as it does for us all, because the truth is that once we have left our childhood places and started out to make up our lives, armed only with what we have and are, we understand that the real secret of the ruby slippers is not that "there's no place like home", but rather that there is no longer any such place as home: except, of course, for the home we make, or the homes that are made for us, in Oz: which is anywhere, and everywhere, except the place from which we began.











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