"What is supposed to happen in a democracy is that each sovereign citizen will always vote
in the public interest for the safety and welfare of all. But what does happen is that he votes
his own self-interest as he sees it... which for the majority translates as 'Bread and Circuses'."
- Robert A. Heinlein

In Roman times, free Bread and Circuses entertained the masses. I hope you find your time
here both entertaining and informative.

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

We Believe...

We believe in one God, the Father, the Almighty
Maker of heaven and earth, of all that is seen and unseen.

We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ,
the only Son of God, eternally begotten of the Father,
God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God,
begotten, not made, one in Being with the Father.
Through him all things were made.
For us men and for our salvation he came down from heaven:
by the power of the Holy Spirit he was born of the Virgin Mary, and became man.
For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate; he suffered, died, and was buried.
On the third day he rose again in fulfillment of the Scriptures
he ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father.
He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead,
And his kingdom will have no end

We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the Giver of Life,
Who proceeds from the Father.
With the Father and the Son he is worshipped and glorified
He has spoken through the Prophets.

We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church
We acknowledge one baptism for the forgiveness of sins.
We look for the resurrection of the dead,
and the life of the world to come. Amen

Sunday, May 07, 2006

Our Captain

Our captain set out to sea. Upon his final sail.
A funeral pyre of Viking fame, whose spark could never fail
To set ablaze the hearts of us who served our captain well
That pyre lit a flame eternal, kept pure for years to come
    Our capt'n lies cold and dead my son
        but his soul burns evermore
            Within the hearts of you and I
                And those who led he well.

And from those sons of a gun to their sons, And to the sons
of their sons, they taught well the captain's tale
Mark well these words my son. Seek the Way,
Stand for truth, and pilot your ship well
    And then you'll be a captain fit
        To bear the title of such a man
            As he whose cold dead hands
                Have set our longitude

And then one day the port of those who slew our captain dead
Saw cresting over every wave the black sails of our crew
And the sons of the sons of the sons of them
Who served on the captain's ship, rekindled the flame
of the funeral pyre, kept pure for so many years,
    And they lit such a candle in that land that
        By God's grace could ne'er be put out
            And that cleansing fire burned fierce
                And purified as it passed

Oh Captain! My Captain! We set to sail for you
So fight for our captain that last time, my son.
To vindicate his sacrifice and show his life was true
Fallen cold and dead no more, My Captain lives in you.

Friday, May 05, 2006

Oh Captain! My Captain!

O Captain! My Captain!
Walt Whitman


O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
        But O heart! heart! heart!
                O the bleeding drops of red,
                        Where on the deck my Captain lies,
                                Fallen cold and dead.


O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
        Here Captain! dear father!
                This arm beneath your head;
                        It is some dream that on the deck,
                                You’ve fallen cold and dead.


My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
        Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
                But I, with mournful tread,
                        Walk the deck my Captain lies,
                                Fallen cold and dead.