A Glad Day for Surfing

Here, (right here) the senate transcends the capacities of the human body to locate itself. In the byzantine corridors of these blog posts we are lost in a big hotel, filled with glass elevators and numbered rooms off into infinitum. Where do we go? What do we write? Shall the irksome sound of silence descend upon the intarwebs blog stain we have smeared? What values do we hold here, if any? Power?

"As God as my judge I am not guilty"
"God is not your judge, I am. You get six months."

WTF has happened to senate? Terry Shivo anyone? Do the eyes of our blog follow the doctor's balloon? e-euthanasia? I think we are (here) on this page to learn how to be immortal, or better, learning not to be mortal, to refuse finitude and disavow death's poisonous breath. To desire this immortality is not the mastery of death, but the very limit of philosophical thinking. Or as Plato put it so many years ago, 'To philosophize is to learn how to die.' Together we surf, in postmodernist hyperspace, make a post and a glad day for surfing.

Eternal Spring: On An Old Horse

Grab your gun Johnny to the barricades!

Get power. If you can't get power, get blood. If you can't get blood, get money. If you can't get money, get thinking. If you can't think, get drinking.
Everybody can get drunk.

Grab your bottle Johnny to the barricades!

Get land. If you can't get land, get a job. If you can't get a job, get paid. If you can't get paid, get laid. If you can't get laid, get mad. If you can't get mad, get drinking.
Everyone can get mad and drunk.

Grab your keys Johnny and get outta here!

Get Yours. If you can't get yours, get theirs. If you can't get theirs, take mine. If you can't take it, grab the keys get outta here. Everybody can drive.

Grab your armor, grab your gun-- it's time to get outta here!