Harley goes fishing...
...diversified with boggles
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Published essays:
At Lew Rockwell
A Libertarian in China • September 15, 2005
Enjoying the Bourgeois Western • November 4, 2005
Literacy As a State Commodity • December 1, 2005
Chairman Mao: The Success of Myth • April 25, 2007
Quo vadis, domine? • February 25, 2008
Your Congressman, Shaper of Souls • March 6, 2010
What Is To Be Done? • October 30, 2010
Ron Paul, After the Convention • March 24, 2012
Instituting Meritocracy After the Collapse of Democracy in America • September 28, 2012
Elsewhere
How the Libertarian Party Will Come to Power • September 3, 2009
The Sentiment We Breathe • August 26, 2010
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. Marx Was Right • April 4, 2011 [at defunct Untimely Meditations] Heaven: Careful What You Wish For • April 29, 2011 [at defunct Untimely Meditations] Unpublished essays: For the New Chinese Intellectual An Amendment to Save the Republic The 28th Amendment Catholic Architectonics Review of Twelve Delusions of Our Time The Sunlit World of Dr. Schoeck George Washington, Meet Jay Leno The Roots of PC on Campus Kannitverstan: Gefisch 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 |
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 The Art of Dying |
