Hypocrisy is a vicious ogre and it comes back eventually to consume its owner.


A Hausa proverb sent by Rev. Martin Dama, Nigeria

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“I believe it was the great ogre philosopher Gary who observed that complexity is, generally speaking, an illusion of conscious desire. All things exist in as simple a form as necessity dictates. When a thing is labeled ‘complex,’ that’s just a roundabout way of saying you’re not observant enough to understand it.”

― A. Lee Martinez, In the Company of Ogres

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August 1968

The Ogre does what ogres can,
Deeds quite impossible for Man,
But one prize is beyond his reach:
The Ogre cannot master speech.

About a subjugated plain,
Among it’s desperate and slain,
The Ogre stalks with hands on hips,
While drivel gushes from his lips.

– W.H.Auden

“Isn’t it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet? ― L.M. Montgomery

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around the corner of the house
out of the wind
flowers grow

she has not nurtured them
only the leaking roof
provided water

butterflies gather daily
their wings mixing colour
with the blooms

we spy around the corner
both holding our breath
holding our wind





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Queensland Times (Ipswich) (Qld. : 1909 – 1954), Monday 22 November 1954,

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 Queensland Times (Ipswich) (Qld. - 1909 - 1954), Monday 22 November 1954,

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Sustained Exertion

The great Way involves the highest form of exertion, 
which goes on unceasingly in cycles 
from the first dawning of religious truth, 
through the test of discipline and practice, 
to awakening and nirvana. 
It is sustained exertion proceeding without lapse from cycle to cycle. 
Accordingly, it is exertion that is neither self-imposed, nor imposed by others, 
but free and uncoerced. 
The truth is that the benefits of one’s own struggles and sustained exertions 
are shared by all beings in the ten directions. 
Others may not be aware of this, but it is so …

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The tiger takes the leap, the eagle spreads its wings.

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‘the cloud skin’ of ‘the oldest wedgetail in the world’ with a ‘string of men … resting on the eagles wing’


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Colonial Times (Hobart, Tas. : 1828 – 1857), Friday 22 November 1850

1 1 1 1  1 11 Colonial Times (Hobart, Tas. - 1828 - 1857), Friday 22 November 1850

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The time will soon be here when my grandchild will long for the cry of a loon, the flash of a salmon, the whisper of spruce needles, or the screech of an eagle.

But he will not make friends with any of these creatures and when his heart aches with longing, he will curse me.

Have I done all to keep the air fresh?

Have I cared enough about the water?

Have I left the eagle to soar in freedom?

Have I done everything I could to earn my grandchild’s fondness?

– Chief Dan George, Tsleil-Waututh (1899 – 1981)


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Vision without action is a daydream. Action without vision is a nightmare. Japan.

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“There are many who don’t wish to sleep for fear of nightmares. Sadly, there are many who don’t wish to wake for the same fear.”

― Richelle E. Goodrich, Dandelions: The Disappearance of Annabelle Fancher

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Children don’t say his name or try to find him.

Dad is not a word they use. His absence is a thin

Erratic line through the years. At five, his own

Father left, and never returned. Call it a pattern.

The Welfare Of My Enemy by Anthony Lawrence,

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Old Joe the shearer had been phoned to catch the train next day.
He had a job at Mungindi, an early start for May.
So he packed his port and rolled his swag and hurried off to bed.
But sleep he couldn’t steal a wink to soothe his aching head.

He heard the missus snoring hard, he beard the ticking clock.
He heard the midnight train blow in, he heard the crowing cock.
At last Joe in a stupor lay, a dreaming now was he
Of sheep, and pens, and belly wool, he shore in number three.

He grabbed the missus in his sleep and shore her like a ewe.
The first performance soon was done as up the neck he flew.
And then he turned to longblow her, down the whipping side he tore,
With his mighty knee upon her and his grip around her jaw.

And then he rolled her over, like a demon now he shore.
She dare not kick or struggle; she had seen him shear before.
He was leading Jack the ringer, he was catching Mick the Brute.
When he called for tar and dumped her, like a hogget down the chute.

Then he reached to stop the shear machine, excited and out of gear.
And the electric light was shining, and all was bright and clear.
He gazed now out the window, half awakened from his sleep,
And down there on the footpath lay the missus in a heap.

“Gawd Blimey, I’ve had nightmares after boozin’ up a treat.
And I’ve walked without me trousers to the pub across the street,
But this one here takes lickin’ and its one I’ll have to keep,
I dare not tell the cobbers I shore the missus in me sleep.



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Cut not the wings of your dreams,
for they are the heartbeat and the freedom of your soul.


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