Tag Archives: Lyric

Something fishy… Stuart France

* Vesica, vesica Inscribed-on-the-land Colour-it-fair or Colour-it-bland… Count Jack Black Reblogged from Stuart France

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Being European…Stuart France

* Is it civilisation, this trajectory we have embarked upon? It may once have been regarded thus. Humanisation? Probably never. Progress? In some things, perhaps, but not in others… Continue reading at Stuart France

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Ear-Wig II … Stuart France

* … “But let us suppose a stateman were to put his nation in the position of having to pursue ‘grand politics’ though it were ill equipped to do so.” * “Or worse, suppose he forced his nation to politicise … Continue reading

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Ear-Wig … Stuart France

* “He understands about as much philosophy as a pheasant!” * “He is, then, an innocent.” * “But it is all one in this age of the masses.” * “They prostrate themselves before anything, well, massive.” * Continue reading at … Continue reading

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Claw-in-Glove… Stuart France

* Wherever the spirit of industry triumphs over the aristocratic spirit woman aspires to the economic and legal independence of a clerk. *   Continue reading at Stuart France

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Of Men and Women… Stuart France

* Hitherto… Men have treated Women like birds strayed down from on high… * As beings more fragile more savage stranger and sweeter more soulful… * Continue reading at Stuart France

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The Unteachable… Stuart France

* Learning does that which all nourishment which is not merely a preservative does… It transforms. * But deep down there is something Adamantine and formidable in us. * Continue reading at Stuart France

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Rather, a Neanderthal?… Stuart France

* If it were true that we had evolved and progressed and were still continuing to do so… Continue reading at Stuart France

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Odyssian Airs… Stuart France

* The spirit most resmbles a stomach. Its intent is always the assimilation of new experience, according to its digestive capacity. * The free spirit, that discarder of cloaks and masks, is endowed with brutal honesty. * Continue reading at … Continue reading

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A dollop of gruel… Stuart France

* The hour grows late. The shadows lengthen. As ever that supernatural fear of the savage holds sway. It calls us to the compound to watch it prowl. We see it reflected in our eyes. All we designate high culture … Continue reading

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