Voor we hem vergeten…

Hij is dood.

Een actueel praatje.

La guerre du feu

Voor we hem vergeten…

Hij is dood.

#HiHowAreYou

Volledige aflevering alhier.

Eric Weinstein heeft inmiddels zijn eigen podcast: The Portal.

Deel 2, deel 3 en deel 4.

Take it easy
Walk with a light step, baby
Catch a breezy
Live amongst the life forms in your day
Marinate a good piece of beef
Understand the mind of a leaf
Swim around til the fish float out of the socket
In your skull

Dive deeper
Corner all the fungus in your brain
Take it easy
Don’t wanna live your life in vain
Poke at, shoot things, or leave them to rot
Woke up with a nose full of snot
Baked the muffins
The tops burned and I had to
Throw them away

Up this morning
Daylight’s sooner than I thought
The sun was shining
Plucked a flower from a stalk
Smelled good and it made me smile
So I took a run about a quarter of a mile
Felt my lungs swell
So I got myself back home

Take it easy
Walk with a light step, baby
Catch a breezy
Live amongst the life forms in your day
Marinate a good piece of beef
Understand the mind of a leaf
Swim around til the fish float out of the socket
In your skull

Gynandromorfe aspiraties
Mensen van kleur
Schedelmeters, nazi’s
Pepernotengeur

Koninklijke huisbaas
Huren tyfusduur
Grachtengordelnichten
Kneiterlinks bestuur

Hoofddoekje, keppel
Tulband, Bosche bol
Hoertjes uit Meppel
Coke in je hol

-Andre

#gedichtendag

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

– Dylan Thomas, 1914 – 1953