B. Royce

Right on target post, Ifat. Thank You.

Here are a few more ideas for signs. You Raised Our Tax You Broke Our Backs You Get The Sacks! Bailing Out Failure By Taxing Success Aborts The Savior Of Happiness. Drink and Drive; or Think and Keep Alive. Shirk, Whine and Lose, or Work Hard and Cruise. I Am Right To Love My life; Are You A Right One Too? If You Lead, Who Will You Follow? No More Time In Self-pity To Wallow. You Are An Individual, You Are Reading This. Love Your Effort, Love Your Focus, Love You Mind.

I think Kaight is right about a focus on reason, but I wouldn't exclude more emotional means. Variety can be very effective and, as not everyone is at the same level of development, what may not strike a chord with one person may with another. I know that when I was younger and was writing letters to the editor I would sometiimes not send one in because I thought it was _not the perfect way_ to present Objectivism. But that kind of self-regulation can kill one's enthusiasm and inhibit creative thinking. The thing is--to fight for your values the best you can whenever you can, not to wait for the moment when you've got it all right.

A few more. Evil Is Initiation Of Force Honesty Is Work Work Is Honesty Taxes Are? Life: Don't Give It Away; Don't Give It Up; Don't Give. Live Thinkers Think And Do; Wishers Screw you. Bailing Failure Drowns Success Bail A Fool's Children And Drown Your Own Fascizing The Banks? Fascizing America? Nationalizing Fascist Bastards.

Or, to make a great bumper sticker: Individual rights? Yes. Group rights? No! No one has the right to take your money from you. Government, get back! Get Back! Get Back! or, My life is mine, not yours, brother! or, No one has the right to make you give or do. Trade is the only moral action to pursue. Government must leave your living up to you. or, My right to my life---Yo! My right to my property---Yo! Those who would take it are evil---So!

Ed, you might cut down the verbiage of I Believe to: Individual rights? Yes. Group rights? No. A man's right to his life---so! His right to his property---so! Those who would take it are evil---true! No one has a right of power over other men---true! No one has the right to make you act or do. Trade is the only moral transaction to pursue. Government must leave your living up to you.

Very High Midas Day Oh, Very High Midas Day, Now you are here, Clothed in prosperity, Best of the year. Armfuls of laughter, Lipfuls of light, Eyes in affirmance Of everything bright. Ribbons are spreading and Trees are a-glow; Splendid the setting Of Midas-Time show. Down every avenue Silver bells chime, While choirs of drink-songs Clink them in time. Dollar-signs stand on Rooftops for glee--- Red, green and gold ones, And many swing free! And Santas are shooting From chimney to chim (Helpers called Backpack, Vigor and Vim). Here, a piano Rolls to a door; There, a mink stole Lets hands go explore. Here, a convertabile, Flashy and fast, While lust-dust of diamonds Everywhere's cast. Peacefully beautiful, Wholesome and rare, Very High Midas Day Men made you fair. Happy and satisfied, Filled to the top, All you could ever be Never will stop. Oh, all over town There's a soft glowing fire Of joys made real For human desire. Oh Very High Midas Day, Face of our worth--- Proud of Prosperity, Merchants of earth! ___________________________ Brian Faulkner

I like Midas Day. Merry Midas, everyone!

A certain kind of life (of your own choosing) can be a point----but only if you are alive. What would be the point of being dead? To whom? No one is there.

Born Again O Happy Town, that leaps to life again, With cars and trucks and people on the go, You have no need of base complaining men Who hold your triumph but a hollow show. Nay, vile they say it is, your tow'ring course, And must be stricken down for wolves and bears, And mindless acts of Mother Nature's force; Yea, mindless---bent design of all their prayers. Run forward, leap, and higher, stronger, grow; Exult with pride that you're the best on earth! Roar out your motors, sing along each street, Disdain the pits that dare to pull you low And climb above the clouds with all your worth. The weekend's past and 'born again" is sweet! ___________________________________________ Brian Faulkner

When All Seems Hopeless When all seems hopeless as a down-set sun And future days are grey with shadow-mites Of some bad man our President become; While many countrymen are blind to see How they are lead away from human heights Down into foreasts dark with savages Who scream with glee the rights of savages To scream, but not live, and men not be; When this seems overwhelming in my mind I turn about and take your book in hand, Then turn the pages till man's hope I find. It is not made of feathers or of sand, But truth's hard-builded walls that bind--- The vallied vault of the golden Rand. ________________________________________ Brian Faulkner

It's Nice To Be Here Here, above the land, I take your hand; Here, where all is open, lit with sun, Upon a peak of rock we looking stand. Together we have climbed and reached and won, And now the earth rolls outward from our feet, Or does it gather up to us, complete? Your hands are scraped and scratched like mine; Your cheeks are very roughly brushed up too, Yet you are more than beautiful to see And all the hills about must climb to you. "It's nice to be here" are the words divine, And I am here with you, and you with me, Where far-off mountains gleam and shine And twitterings of birds sail out so free, While on a peak of rock we looking stand. _________________________________________ Brian Faulkner

O Holy Pig I went to Hell And felt the flames Of all those whirling, Swirling dames. I played at cards And threw the dice--- No more snake eyes, That was nice. I filled my belly Full with meat, Ate every cake And every sweet, But when I slaked My last desire, The Devil threw me In the fire. "Ouch!" I cried, And "Oh, it's hot! Why must i Be in this pot?" "Do be still," The Devil said, "You've had your fun And you're well-fed. "God needs smell Your sacrifice, Smell it once And smell it twice. "He must thrill To hear you cry When you ever Almost die. "Die, or fry, He cannot tell; Only loves To smell the smell. "Piggy He, And piggy blind; Gluttony Is God designed. "That is why Your fall is sweet--- Kicked to Hell By God's pig feet." "Ouch!" I cried, And "Oh, the pain! Who can save me From the slain?" Jesus came, Filled with teeth, Sharpened them On my belief; Ate me whole, Devoured all; All my bits Too small to fall. Jesus loves me, THis I know, For the mindless Tell me so. Little bits To him are big; And I'm a bit--- O Holy Pig!

Morning Touch is so fresh and innocent. Thank you, Sophia.

Independence Do it yourself, depend on no other; No one's your slave, nor brother nor mother. Work out a plan, stand up a man; Earn what you get and never forget Depend is a vice, Depend is not nice, Depend is the source of downward course To dark and empty night. Independence is the only way of light. Independence will flick your switch to bright. If you'd be wholly free Then self-sufficient be; If you'd live unafraid Then work and earn and trade; If you'd not waste your time Then thinking is no crime; If you'd not fall to fate Then make your reason great. If you would top a hill, If you would cross a stream, Then climb with your own will And build on your own scheme. If you would lag at ease Till all comes "somehow" true, You're lying with the fleas Till some cross dog bites you. So, depend on no other, do it yourself; Stand up a man and work out a plan; Earn what you get----don't ever forget! Then sing free, "Independence!" _______________________________________ Brian Faulkner

Excuse me, Jennifer.

Just beautiful! Sophia. Thank you very much for posting.

Life The foolish hand but air doth hold, The reckless, blood and scars; The sure one pockets all the gold And steers the man to the stars. Brian Faulkner

That's great. Thanks.

Thanks, Myrhaf. Grand Hotel has long been one of my favorite movies.

A "god" is a supernatural (thus, nonexistent) being. To arbitrarily capitalize the "g" and make it "G" does not create a unique thing in reality. This simpleton attempt to create something out of nothing "works" for those who wish the wishes (gods) of their minds to be regarded as real and having power over existence. The man who has surrendered, or never developed, his reason, has no power over his life---its meaning, its happiness---and sets up this all-powerful being, this God, as something to worship, but never to reach.

Thank you, Sophia. What a feast for the eyes!

Thank you, Sophia. I especially like Autumn Leaves---so light, so happily sleepy.

Sacredized The rain came playing down the gray sky And dancing lashed each passerby. Some, voices joined to the boisterous noise And laughed and danced and ran like little boys. The rain came swaying through the great trees, Branch on branch was dashed with ease, And each wet leaf was set a-sway With silvery tips a-lit so gay. The rain lay chaste on the naked ground, Its panting past cast not a sound. The young sun sprung way high o'er mounts, Which tumbled some in bubbling founts. The lake is razor-rate, sharp and great, A sheer clean mirror in keen clear state. The dark tall trees around that are Frame beauty in this storm-built star. It waits the face of brave bright maid, And manly hands all unafraid, To be baptized by meaning much And sacredized by human touch. __________________________________ Brian Faulkner

Here are three poems which I've written in the past week. Old-Time Fighting Song (with a debt to Ayn Rand for the last line) That man whose grasp of spear Holds not one ounce of fear, But reddest pounds of right For hurling into flight The fact that he is good To fight the fight he should Against man's evil foe--- The lowest of the low--- Oh, may his aim be keen, And may his throw be clean To strike between the eyes The men of hateful lies, That they may parted be From all we hear and see, And standing, spirits strong, The men whose eyes are song, Whose laughter lights the earth With solemn, gladdest worth, Yea, standing up, I say, Like shouldering month of May, When all the hills up high Thrust buds into the sky, And storms, they envy not This flowery, happy lot, And planets almost dance To see lost man advance, For where the hero goes Ebb back the old-time woes, As God is set aflame And faith goes down in shame, And chains of brotherhood Are stricken off for good. Now only this is clear--- I am, I think, I steer. _________________________________ Gone For A Week Ah, you are not here, my diamond darling, My ever shooting, radiating star, My rose-petaled sun, My swaying, dancing song, My ship come into shore, My many pounds of gold, My one unique flower, My highest hill, My soul. Ah, you are not here, And the new year seems so far, So sere, so still, so very cold. Oh, but the light of you lingers, And the minutes run on up to you, And I am ready now to leap, But the hours creep, Am ready to fly, But can only sigh, Could sing, But I cannot sing. Your name is on my lips, Waiting your breath To burn it to a burning brand, And the storming of your hands Is in my hands. Ah! You are not here! ____________________________ The Gift of Cyrano For her whose mind is set aglow By reading hero Cyrano, May all her dreams come shining true Whatever paths she seeks them through, And may her courage never fail, How strong each storm, how stiff each gale, And by the light of reason's glow Find her own living Cyrano. But may the end that's in the play--- Of lovers wholly cut away Before sun Joy has showered bliss--- In life turn into lasting kiss, And Cyran's spirit shine so bright That farthest stars seem hers by right. And so may reading prove its worth By granting heaven more on earth, Inspiring her to hands-on deeds For all she wants and all she needs. Rostand the master a great play made; She'll grasp its law---Live unafraid. _____________________________________ Brian Faulkner