some writings by   Terry Hulsey
Harley goes fishing...
...diversified with boggles

Buy His Books!

Buy Twelve Delusions of Our Time

Buy The Art of Dying

Buy Heroic Tales and Treasures
of the Lonely Heart

Published essays:
At Lew Rockwell
   Notes Towards the Definition of Capitalist Culture • December 5, 2016
   Instituting Meritocracy After the Collapse of Democracy in America • September 28, 2012
   Ron Paul, After the Convention • March 24, 2012
   What Is To Be Done? • October 30, 2010
   Your Congressman, Shaper of Souls • March 6, 2010
   Quo vadis, domine? • February 25, 2008
   Chairman Mao: The Success of Myth • April 25, 2007
   Literacy As a State Commodity • December 1, 2005
   Enjoying the Bourgeois Western • November 4, 2005
   A Libertarian in China • September 15, 2005

   Instituting a Democratic Sortition in America • October 20, 2018 [for Journal of Libertarian Studies]
   The Last Barricade • December 17, 2016 [for STR]
   Jack Hinson’s One-Man War • October 24, 2016 [for The Abbeville Institute]
   New England Bound • July 28, 2016 [for The Abbeville Institute]
   Ferrol Sams and Run With the Horsemen • November 2, 2015 [for The Abbeville Institute]
   Discovering Jackson • September 25, 2015 [for The Abbeville Institute]
   White Cargo • March 12, 2015 [for The Abbeville Institute]
   Heaven: Careful What You Wish For • April 29, 2011 [at defunct Untimely Meditations]
   Marx Was Right • April 4, 2011 [at defunct Untimely Meditations]
   Ultimate Self-Ownership • January 31, 2011 [at defunct Untimely Meditations]
   USO – A personal favorite: Quirky, impossible to speed read, convoluted –
   a gnarled bois d'arc meant for the backs of the opinion-mongers.

   The Sentiment We Breathe • August 26, 2010
   How the Libertarian Party Will Come to Power • September 3, 2009

Unpublished essays:
   The Senselessness of Voluntaryism
   For the New Chinese Intellectual
   An Amendment to Save the Republic
   The 28th Amendment
   A Madman, A Liar, or the One Savior?
   Catholic Architectonics
   Review of Twelve Delusions of Our Time
   The Sunlit World of Dr. Schoeck
   George Washington, Meet Stephen Colbert
   The Roots of PC on Campus
   Galt’s Gulch Chile: Six Characters in Search of an Author

I am a proud Founder of the Zero Aggression Project:

Odd's Fish? Gefisch
Kannitverstan! 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10 
11  12  13  14  15  16  17  18  19  20 
21  22  23  24  25  26  27  28  29  30 

Our Bargain

Forgotten is that long past ancestor
Who made the bargain that seals up our curse:
To trade the here and now for that great prize,
The awful lizard’s Cain’s mark, consciousness.

And what is gained? We drop our buckets deep
Into the black and echoing gone-by,
Hoping to drink of its experience.
And hoisting up we find, like Roman forks
Of gold, our affluence has poisoned all
With words, words, words, self-justifying words.

For that too-solid future, palpable
As donkey’s carrots or the fox’s grapes,
We find ourselves merely sand-blind Magoos,
Building a Grand Canyon rope bridge, each new
Plank placed with magic knowing, where we step
Assured that it will materialize.

– Until one day it doesn’t. And we plummet,
Gesticulating, looking up and clawing
At no one, nothing, but a summer azure,
Nonplussed somehow that it was all illusion.

T.H., 17 March 2013

If Leonard Bernstein had done nothing else, we would be
indebted for his understanding of our beloved Mahler.

With the face of a clown and the voice of god himself,
Dylan Thomas reads And Death Shall Have No Dominion

And who doesn't love the sound of a kalimba?

It’s best to hear poetry read aloud.

John Mouldy

I spied John Mouldy in his cellar,
Deep down twenty steps of stone;
In the dusk he sat a-smiling,
  Smiling there all alone.

He read no book, he snuffed no candle;
The rats ran in, the rats ran out,
And far and near, the drip of water
  Went whisp’ring about.

The dusk was still, with dew a-falling,
I saw the Dog-star bleak and grim,
I saw a slim brown rat of Norway
  Creep over him.

I spied John Mouldy in his cellar,
Deep down twenty steps of stone;
In the dusk he sat a-smiling
  Smiling there all alone.

          —Walter de la Mare