BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Considering my predicament a friend writes: 


"I had a cousin who took a cake to her boyfriend when he was in the big house – probably little house, as the family never amounted to that much." 

Thanks for the thought-- 

descriptive words for Suzie

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
this is only a partial list


betrayer

bully 

confabulator

deceiver


denouncer

distorter

exaggerator 

grandiose

liar

paranoid 

prevaricator 

plays the victim

rancorous

vengeful

victimizes

vilifying

vindictive

vituperative

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Que palabra dire

                                                             WHICH WORD SHOULD I USE

Para convencerte

                                                              TO CONVINCE YOU

Que toda mi dicha

                                                               THAT ALL MY HAPPINESS

Esta en quererte.

                                                               IS IN LOVING YOU?

Tuyo, es mi Corazon.

                                                               MY HEART IS YOURS.

El supura del amor

                                                                 HE OOZES OF LOVE

Es amargo como la hiel

                                                                 IT IS BITTER AS GALL

Pero en clertas canciones

                                                                 BUT IN CERTAIN SONGS

Endulza como la miel

                                                                 SWEETENS LIKE HONEY.

Recuerdas  cuando pusiste

                                                                  REMEMBER WHEN YOU PUT

Tus manos sobre las mias

                                                                  YOUR HANDS ON MINE

Y llorandoi me decias

                                                                 AND CRYING YOU WERE SAYING

Que nunco me olividarias.

                                                                THAT YOU’LL NEVER FORGET ME.

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

A few words from Rainer Maria Rilke:

It is also good to love: because love is difficult. For one human being to love another human being: that is perhaps the most difficult task that has been entrusted to us, the ultimate task, the final test and proof, the work for which all other work is merely preparation. That is why young people, who are beginners in everything, are not yet capable of love: it is something they must learn. With their whole being, with all their forces, gathered around their solitary, anxious, upward-beating heart, they must learn to love. But learning-time is always a long, secluded time, and therefore loving, for a long time ahead and far on into life, is: solitude, a heightened and deepened kind of aloneness for the person who loves. Loving does not at first mean merging, surrendering, and uniting with another person (for what would a union be of two people who are unclarified, unfinished, and still incoherent?), it is a high inducement for the individual to ripen, to become something in himself, to become world, to become world in himself for the sake of another person; it is a great, demanding claim on him, something that chooses him and calls him to vast distances. Only in this sense, as the task of working on themselves ("to hearken and to hammer day and night"), may young people use the love that is given to them. Merging and surrendering and every kind of communion is not for them (who must still, for a long, long time, save and gather themselves); it is the ultimate, is perhaps that for which human lives are as yet barely large enough.

And this quote was the epigraph at the beginning of Chapter Five: Personality --

“Love consists in this, that two solitudes protect and touch and greet each other.”

 Rainer Maria Rilke

It's off.

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

It's late, but I just found this:

Hal Randleman ’56, Award-Winning Television

Commercial Director and Producer

Hal Randelman ’56 whose noted career at Grey Advertising

earned him honors in the television commercial industry, passed

away on September 27, 2008 following a long and courageous

battle with cancer.

A graduate of Horace Mann School and the University of Michigan

Randelman began his professional life with the Ed Sullivan Show, then

moved on to Grey Advertising in New York City. In 1983 he formed his

own production company, Hal Randelman Productions. Relocating

to Naples, FL in 2001 and then to Los Angeles in 2005, in Florida he

directed and acted in a number of theater productions as part of the

Naples Players. He was the loving husband of Mary Urrutia Randel

-man, who passed away several weeks later, in November 2008. The

couple is survived by son Craig, daughter Nicole, and beloved dog, Boomer. 

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

A few words from Herman Melville

The Lee Shore, from Moby Dick

Some chapters back, one Bulkington was spoken of, a tall, new-landed mariner, encountered in New Bedford at the inn. When on that shivering winter's night, the Pequod thrust her vindictive bows into the cold malicious waves, who should I see standing at her helm but Bulkington! I looked with sympathetic awe and fearfulness upon the man, who in mid-winter just landed from a four years' dangerous voyage, could so unrestingly push off again for still another tempestuous term. The land seemed scorching to his feet. Wonderfullest things are ever the unmentionable; deep memories yield no epitaphs; this six-inch chapter is the stoneless grave of Bulkington. Let me only say that it fared with him as with the storm-tossed ship, that miserably drives along the leeward land. The port would fain give succor; the port is pitiful; in the port is safety, comfort, hearthstone, supper, warm blankets, friends, all that's kind to our mortalities. But in that gale, the port, the land, is that ship's direst jeopardy; she must fly all hospitality; one touch of land, though it but graze the keel, would make her shudder through and through. With all her might she crowds all sail off shore; in so doing, fights 'gainst the very winds that fain would blow her homeward; seeks all the lashed sea's landlessness again; for refuge's sake forlornly rushing into peril; her only friend her bitterest foe! Know ye, now, Bulkington? Glimpses do ye seem to see of that mortally intolerable truth; that all deep, earnest thinking is but the intrepid effort of the soul to keep the open independence of her sea; while the wildest winds of heaven and earth conspire to cast her on the treacherous, slavish shore? But as in landlessness alone resides the highest truth, shoreless, indefinite as God --so, better is it to perish in that howling infinite, than be ingloriously dashed upon the lee, even if that were safety! For worm-like, then, oh! who would craven crawl to land! Terrors of the terrible! is all this agony so vain? Take heart, take heart, O Bulkington! Bear thee grimly, demigod! Up from the spray of thy ocean-perishing --straight up, leaps thy apotheosis!

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

The Lee Shore, from Moby Dick

Some chapters back, one Bulkington was spoken of, a tall, new-landed mariner, encountered in New Bedford at the inn. When on that shivering winter's night, the Pequod thrust her vindictive bows into the cold malicious waves, who should I see standing at her helm but Bulkington! I looked with sympathetic awe and fearfulness upon the man, who in mid-winter just landed from a four years' dangerous voyage, could so unrestingly push off again for still another tempestuous term. The land seemed scorching to his feet. Wonderfullest things are ever the unmentionable; deep memories yield no epitaphs; this six-inch chapter is the stoneless grave of Bulkington. Let me only say that it fared with him as with the storm-tossed ship, that miserably drives along the leeward land. The port would fain give succor; the port is pitiful; in the port is safety, comfort, hearthstone, supper, warm blankets, friends, all that's kind to our mortalities. But in that gale, the port, the land, is that ship's direst jeopardy; she must fly all hospitality; one touch of land, though it but graze the keel, would make her shudder through and through. With all her might she crowds all sail off shore; in so doing, fights 'gainst the very winds that fain would blow her homeward; seeks all the lashed sea's landlessness again; for refuge's sake forlornly rushing into peril; her only friend her bitterest foe! Know ye, now, Bulkington? Glimpses do ye seem to see of that mortally intolerable truth; that all deep, earnest thinking is but the intrepid effort of the soul to keep the open independence of her sea; while the wildest winds of heaven and earth conspire to cast her on the treacherous, slavish shore? But as in landlessness alone resides the highest truth, shoreless, indefinite as God --so, better is it to perish in that howling infinite, than be ingloriously dashed upon the lee, even if that were safety! For worm-like, then, oh! who would craven crawl to land! Terrors of the terrible! is all this agony so vain? Take heart, take heart, O Bulkington! Bear thee grimly, demigod! Up from the spray of thy ocean-perishing --straight up, leaps thy apotheosis!

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

gee i like to think of dead
by e e cummings

gee i like to think of dead it means nearer because deeper
firmer since darker than little round water at one end of
the well       it's too cool to be crooked and it's too firm
to be hard but it's sharp and it's thick and it loves,      every
old thing falls in rosebugs and jackknives and kittens and
pennies they all sit there looking at each other having the
fastest time because they've never met before

dead's more even than how many ways of sitting on
your head your unnatural hair has in the morning

dead's clever too like POF goes the alarm off and the
little striker having the best time tickling away every-
body's brain so everybody just puts out their finger
and they stuff the poor thing all full of fingers

dead has a smile like the nicest man you've never met
who maybe winks at you in a streetcar and you pretend
you don't but really you do see and you are My how
glad he winked and hope he'll do it again

or if it talks about you somewhere behind your back it
makes your neck feel all pleasant and stoopid      and if
dead says may i have this one and was never intro-
duced you say Yes because you know you want it to
dance with you and it wants to and it can dance and
Whocares

dead's fine like hands do you see that water flowerpots
in windows but they live higher in their house than
you so that's all you see but you don't want to

dead's happy like the way underclothes All so differ-
ently solemn and inti and sitting on one string

dead never says my dear,Time for your musiclesson
and you like music and to have somebody play who
can but you know you never can and why have to?

dead's nice like a dance where you danced simple hours
and you take all your prickley-clothes off and squeeze-
into-largeness without one word      and you lie still as
anything      in largeness and this largeness begins to
give you,the dance all over again and you,feel all again
all over the way men you liked made you feel when they
touched you(but that's not all)because largeness tells
you so you can feel what you made,men feel when,you
touched,them

dead's sorry like a thistlefluff-thing which goes land-
ing away all by himself on somebody's roof or some-
thing where who-ever-heard-of-growing and nobody
expects you to anyway

dead says come with me he says(and why ever not)into
the round well and see the kitten and the penny and
the jackknife and the rosebug
                                and you say Sure you
say  (like that)  sure i'll come with you you say for i
like kittens i do and jackknives i do and pennies i do
and rosebugs i do 

e.e.cummings 

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

The House Was Quiet And The World Was Calm

The house was quiet and the world was calm.
The reader became the book; and summer night

Was like the conscious being of the book.
The house was quiet and the world was calm.

The words were spoken as if there was no book,
Except that the reader leaned above the page,

Wanted to lean, wanted much to be
The scholar to whom his book is true, to whom

The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
The house was quiet because it had to be.

The quiet was part of the meaning, part of the mind:
The access of perfection to the page.

And the world was calm. The truth in a calm world,
In which there is no other meaning, itself

Is calm, itself is summer and night, itself
Is the reader leaning late and reading there.
 

Wallace Stevens

 

Sent to me by John Schupf 

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

John Schupf

The House Was Quiet And The World Was Calm.

The house was quiet and the world was calm.

The reader became the book; and summer night Was like the conscious being of the book.

The house was quiet and the world was calm.

The words were spoken as if there was no book,

Except that the reader leaned above the page,

Wanted to lean, wanted much to be The scholar to whom his book is true,

to whom The summer night is like a perfection of thought.

The house was quiet because it had to be.

The quiet was part of the meaning,

part of the mind: The access of perfection to the page.

And the world was calm. The truth in a calm world.

In which there is no other meaning,

itself Is calm, itself is summer and night,

itself Is the reader leaning late and reading there.

Wallace Stevens"

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Obituaries

Obituary: Count Gottfried von Bismarck

The public may be willing to forgive us for mistakes in judgment but it will not forgive us for mistakes in motive.

- Robert W Haack

Count Gottfried von Bismarck, who was found dead on Monday aged 44, was a louche German aristocrat with a multi-faceted history as a pleasure-seeking heroin addict, hell-raising alcoholic, flamboyant waster and a reckless and extravagant host of homosexual orgies.  The great-great-grandson of Prince Otto, Germany's Iron Chancellor and architect of the modern German state, the young von Bismarck showed early promise as a brilliant scholar, but led an exotic life of gilded aimlessness that attracted the attention of the gossip columns from the moment he arrived in Oxford in 1983 and hosted a dinner at which the severed heads of two pigs were placed at either end of the table.

When not clad in the lederhosen of his homeland, he cultivated an air of sophisticated complexity by appearing in women's clothes, set off by lipstick and fishnet stockings.  This aura of dangerous "glamour" charmed a large circle of friends and acquaintances drawn from the jeunesse dorée of the age; many of them knew him at Oxford, where he made friends such as Darius Guppy and Viscount Althorp and became an enthusiastic, rubber-clad member of the Piers Gaveston Society and the drink-fuelled Bullingdon and Loders clubs.

Perhaps unsurprisingly he managed only a Third in Politics, Philosophy and Economics.

Von Bismarck's university career ended in catastrophe in June 1986, when his friend Olivia Channon was found dead on his bed, the victim of a drink and drugs overdose.  Von Bismarck admitted that his role in the affair had brought disgrace on the family name; 5 years later he told friends that there were still people who would not speak to his parents on account of it, and who told his mother that she had "a rotten son".

In the reunified Germany, von Bismarck managed several telecoms businesses and, armed with a doctoral thesis on the East German telephone system, oversaw the sale of companies formerly owned by Communist East Germany to the private sector.  By the late 1990s von Bismarck was working for Telemonde, Kevin Maxwell's troubled telecoms firm based in America, with responsibility for developing the business in Germany; the company collapsed in 2002 with debts of £105 million.  Von Bismarck eventually returned to London, where he became chairman of the investment company AIM Partners, dabbled in film production and promoted holidays to Uzbekistan.

Never concealing his homosexuality, von Bismarck continued to appear in public in various eccentric items of attire, including tall hats atop his bald Mekon-like head.  At parties he would appear in exotic designer frock coats with matching trousers and emblazoned with enormous logos.  Flitting from table to table at fashionable London nightclubs, he was said to be as comfortable among wealthy Eurotrash as he was on formal occasions calling for black tie.

 Although described personally as quiet and impeccably mannered, von Bismarck continued to live high on the hog, hosting riotous all-night parties for his (chiefly gay) friends at his £5 million flat off Sloane Square.  It was at one such event, in August last year, that von Bismarck encountered tragedy for a second time when one of his male guests fell 60 ft to his death from the roof garden.  While von Bismarck was not arrested, he was questioned as a witness and there were those who wondered - not, perhaps, without cause - whether he might be the victim of a family curse.

Sorry, Photo Missing

Sorry, Photo Missing

 Gottfried Alexander Leopold Graf von Bismarck-Schonhausen was born on 19 September 1962 in Brussels, the second son of Ferdinand, the 4th Prince Bismarck, whose own father had served in the German embassy in pre-war London until a feud with the ambassador, von Ribbentrop, ended his career.  As a talented young scholar, Gottfried had studied at what he described as "an aristocratic Borstal" in Switzerland and worked at the New York stock exchange before going up to Christ Church, Oxford.  Von Bismarck never fully recovered from the death of his friend Olivia, the striking 22-year-old daughter of Paul Channon (later Lord Kelvedon), then one of Margaret Thatcher's cabinet ministers.  To celebrate the end of their finals, von Bismarck and Olivia had taken part in a drinking bout involving excessive amounts of champagne, Black Velvet and sherry before she overdosed on heroin.  At the inquest her cousin, Sebastian Guinness, described how he and other revellers had repaired to von Bismarck's bottle-strewn rooms, where Olivia was found dead the following morning.  Von Bismarck himself was charged with possessing cocaine and amphetamine sulphate and was later treated at a £770-a-week addiction clinic in Surrey.  Following Olivia Channon's funeral, at which he was said to have "wept like a child", von Bismarck was ordered home to the family castle near Hamburg by his father.

His removal from Oxford was so abrupt that he was not given time to settle his bills; Prince Ferdinand sent a servant who did the rounds of von Bismarck's favoured watering-holes, restaurants and his tailor bearing a chequebook.  The tabloids quoted words of repentance from von Bismarck himself - "My days of living it up are all over.  This past week has just been too much" - but although he was reported to be leaving to finish his studies at a German university and eventually to enter German politics, in the event he was treated again for alcoholism at a German clinic.  He returned briefly to Oxford, where local magistrates fined him £80 for drug possession; he wiped away tears as his lawyer offered mitigation, pointing out that since the Channon affair von Bismarck had received a bad press in Germany.

Doubting whether he would be able to find work in his own country, von Bismarck was said to be planning to study at a university in Los Angeles while continuing to receive treatment for his drink problem.  Olivia Channon's death, his barrister said, would prove to be a shadow over von Bismarck's head "probably for the rest of his life".  So it proved.

He never married.

 

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

A variation on a Poem by Louise Gluck

My Detachment

When I become a child again

And look at my own future life,

The one now past,

You know what I think? I think

Heartbreaking.  But also insane.  Also

Very funny.

November 2012