JARHEAD THE MOVIE WILL SUCK!! Semper Fi to the USMC!! "Welcome to the Suck" is HOLLYWOOD'S NEW MOTTO!!!
jollyro...@yahoo.com
Suck" is HOLLYWOOD'S NEW MOTTO!!!
From: http://jollyrogerwest.com/showthread.php?p=2195#post2195
Welcome to The Suck--Jarhead the Book & Jarhead the Movie: The MFA
Hollywood
Welcome to the Suck.
That's Hollywood's new motto.
They stole it from the USMC.
Isn't it ironic? Don't you think?
Jarhead the book sucked.
The movie will suck ten times as bad.
I know this because everything Hollywood produces these days sucks.
Everything Hollywood touches sucks because everything NY publishing
feeds them sucks.
Stay sucked. Two for the Money sucked. In Her Shoes sucked.
Autumn Rangers rocks.
http://autumnrangers.com
Hollywood has replaced art with nepotistic bureaucracies and writers
with literary agencies.
They have forgotten story.
Jarhead the book sucked.
The pomo-liberal-MFA connection strikes again.
There’re hundreds of rockin’ books conserning what brave Marines
and SF forces are accomplishing in Iraq and elsewhere. Thousands. And
millions more stories.
But Anthony Swafford attendend the IOWA MFA program, and they taught
him how to denigrate America.
And his novel slid on down the nepotistic MFA network straight into
Hollywood.
Conservatives are losing the culture war, not because they are less
creative, but because they aren’t fighting.
Conservatives need MFA programs and grants to support the arts.
This is why the Liberty Film Festival is so important. A giant step
towards a renaissance.
But we need film schools and MFA programs too–imagine a two year
program that studied the classics of film and literature, with a
healthy dose of cutting-edge technology that’s leveling the playing
field.
Sure, the free market should support the arts, but when hundreds of
millions of tax and tuition dollars are being funneled into the
“liberal” arts, where is the free market?
On a level playing field, conservative values win every time, in
Braveheart, in Lord of the Rings, in The Outlaw Jose Wales.
We need classic American Odysseys with classic American Heros, such as
Autumn Rangers. http://autumnrangers.com .
I had Toni Morrison and Joyce Carol Oates in creative wirting classes
at Princeton, and I learned not one thing. But I saw the future of
Hollywood as I watched my classmates brown-nosing their way on towards
NY publishing and Hollywood instead of earning it by writing.
Liberal MFA programs have tried to professionalize the creative arts by
pretending to teach that which cannot be taught–creativity.
Conservative MFA programs would teach the classics–the only things
worth teaching.
http://jollyrogerwest.com/showthread.php?p=2195#post2195
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/customer-reviews/B0000CAR5Y/ref=cm_rev_sort/104-7634312-6082332?customer-reviews.sort_by=byExactRating_1&x=6&y=2&s=books
I’m so psyched for the conservative Hollywood renaissance on so many
levels.
Jarhead sucked and the movie is going to suck even more.
The Hollywood liberals are on a suicide mission.
Jake Gyllenthal has no future–-neither as a Marine nor in Hollywood.
He is ruining his career by acting in such crap.
Here’re some amazon reviews of the book (which Dave Eggers probably
didn't write):
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/customer-reviews/B0000CAR5Y/ref=cm_rev_sort/104-7634312-6082332?customer-reviews.sort_by=byExactRating_1&x=6&y=2&s=books
Reviewer: F. Allen (California)
Unfortuantly Anthony Swofford joined the Marine Corps with problems.
What you read in his book is his experience dealing with his OWN demons
while serving in the US Marines. I find it hard to believe we served in
the same Marine Corps, around the same time, and both as infantrymen. I
want to make it clear that most Infantry Marines don’t steal, sell
stolen goods, or turn in their own Drill Instructors. Swofford
constantly tries to convince the reader that he is intellectually
superior to his peers by giving you his reading list. I find the whole
book a vain attempt to hide his inadequacies and to do so by promoting
himself and tearing down his peers.
The Marine Corps can be hard, but I am a better man for having served
in the Corps. The so-called peace groups do nothing but attempt to
cheapen our service and sacrifice.
highly disappointed, August 24, 2005
Reviewer: Tigerswell
Seeing how this book is becoming a movie, i was hoping that it would
rank along the lines of Black Hawk Down. I was expecting detailed
insight on the Gulf War/Desert Storm, and true opinions from a soldier,
the eye witness of the war. Instead the book turned out to be a novel
of the soldier’s confusing thoughts spilled on paper. Not only was it
overly perverse, there was no plot and no flow to the story. I’m sure
the perverseness is what some people think as “hard core truth", in
my opinion, it was just a waste of ink. Anthony Swofford’s stories
did not tell me anything of importance other than what messed up
thoughts and going ons were happening to him and his fellow soldiers. I
was completely disappointed. For anyone who’s reading this review,
and thinking of reading Jarhead, i say go and read Black Hawk Down by
Mark Bowden instead, it will be a better use of your time
Find it hard to believe we both served in the same Marine Corp in same
war, July 15, 2005
Reviewer: chris “former USMC”
I have heard of people selling out and seen it first hand - this is
just a shame - I could not get thru more than a few pages without
getting angry - about the lies and tall tales
Self Indulgent & Petulant Writing, June 18, 2005
Reviewer: Mustang Mac - See all my reviews
I find it insane, incomprehensible, and sad that anyone in their right
mind would try and compare Swofford’s overwrought writing and paper
thin observations about life in the Marine Corps with past war classics
written by Eugene Sledge, William Manchester, Jim Webb, etc . . . The
true classics have survived on their own merit. Swofford’s immature
antics reflect pop culture at its worst, and nothing more.
Swofford is the anti-Marine. Everyone who has served in the Corps for
any length of time knows who they are: the barracks sea lawyer, the
Marine who disagrees with everything the chain of command does, the
Marine who bad mouths everything to do with the Corps because he thinks
he’s smarter than everyone around him, etc. Those of us who have
served can point these Marines out immediately. Swofford fits this
mold: The platoon pariah who needs to knock off the churlish attitude,
and start helping get the mission accomplished, rather than smugly sit
back and take pot shots at Marines trying to do their duty.
“Jarhead” is not a “modern classic.” It’s a joke, and an
insult to Marines who are putting their lives on the line in Iraq and
Afghanistan on a daily basis.
My recommendation: go to your local bookstore, buy a latte, pick up
“Jarhead” and hang out in an overstuffed chair thumbing thru the
pages. If you like it, by all means buy it, but all you’re going to
get is boorish writing by a bitter, attention seeking, self-indulgent
former Marine. If you don’t like it, bury it in the self help or
fiction sections where it belongs. Swofford couldn’t cut it in the
Corps, so now he’s fooling everyone with “Jarhead.” The joke is
on you, if you choose to buy this mindless drivel.
sniveling drivel, June 10, 2005
Reviewer: David R. Weaver (Michigan) - See all my reviews
(REAL NAME)
Anthony Swofford’s liberally acclaimed book “Jarhead” bills
itself as the chronicle of a frontline Marine Scout/Sniper during the
first Gulf War. It is hardly that. This is not a book you might give
your son or nephew to help describe your experiences in the Corps. You
won’t give it to your mom or your wife to help her understand your
new post-deployment mindset. It is not technically interesting,
historically aware, nor is it even compelling literature. It is,
rather, obscene, nihilistic, and insulting to every honorable man or
woman who has worn the Marine Corps emblem. In this memoir Mr. Swofford
has done a disservice to the Marine Corps, to infantrymen in general
and to the legacy of Scout/Snipers in particular.
Upon reading the book, one is asked to believe that scout/sniper
platoons are populated with the dregs of the Marine Corps. He doesn’t
see fit to introduce one character without mentioning the criminal
offense that landed that new sniper in his STA platoon. One new indoc
had been busted for lusting after a colonel’s daughter, another for
theft and fraud - throughout the book he describes in depth his own
kleptomaniacal, homicidal, suicidal and adolescently sexual
compulsions. In short, he never grew up, and hates the Marine Corps for
trying to make him do so. His attempts to put his MOS in historical
context take up about a page - he briefly explains the origin of the
word “ghillie", opines that in World War I German snipers shot from
open positions on the battlefield, and that Marines used night vision
technology to kill significant numbers of Japanese in the Battle for
Okinawa. (They did?) He never gets around to describing his training in
much detail, and while he occasionally graces us with a description of
the sniper’s hardware, it is done merely to illustrate the criminal
absurdity of giving great power to simple men.
The author’s references to supposedly accurate memories come off
often as too contrived and on several occasions simply impossible. For
example, he describes the chewing out of an unwilling non-rate by his
platoon sergeant as ending with “because I’m an E-6 and you’re an
E-3!” There is no way that any self-respecting Staff Sergeant in the
Marine Corps would ever refer to himself as an “E-6″ to a Lance
Corporal, especially during an ass-chewing. Never, not even in the
Wing.
Professor Swofford’s contradictions, both practical and literal,
abound. He smugly reflects repeatedly on the elite nature of STA, and
then dismisses almost all of his platoon members as psychological loose
cannons, thieves, beggars, drunkards, lazy, slovenly, untrustworthy
slackers. He describes in haughty, offended detail the obscenities
bellowed at him in boot camp, then proceeds to fill the entire book
with language that one would not at all expect of a professor of
literature. This book is inconsistent and devoid of significance,
especially in a post-9/11 world. It is brimming, however, with
scatological insight, impotent paranoia, decadent navel contemplation.
http://jollyrogerwest.com/showthread.php?p=2195#post2195
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/customer-reviews/B0000CAR5Y/ref=cm_rev_sort/104-7634312-6082332?customer-reviews.sort_by=byExactRating_1&x=6&y=2&s=books
On one thing he was consistent, however. The author urinated on himself
in boot camp while a DI yelled at him, and he did so again while being
shelled in the Gulf War. Obviously, his bladder cannot be trusted under
stress. We should all get down on bended knee and thank God he never
had to actually shoot anyone. In one memorable, though overwrought
anecdote, the author depicts in exquisitely revolting detail his time
on the crapper-burning detail in the desert. All Marines well know that
when in the field, or in a tent city, the least qualified, most
undisciplined platoon members would be selected for this choice
assignment. For this duty he was well chosen indeed, though apparently
he never came to appreciate the lesson in having been given the
assignment.
A final word for those who wish to learn more about the Marine Corps
Scout/Sniper MOS by reading this book - don’t. There isn’t enough
information about the craft, the service, or the hardware to make it
worthwhile. This is not a grunt’s eye view of the brutality of
battle, like Eugene Sledge’s “With the Old Breed at Peleilu and
Okinawa” and it is certainly not a rich but readable historical work
like Robert Leckie’s “Strong Men Armed". He is not Winston
Churchill, nor is he William Manchester, and he is obviously not Carlos
Hathcock. The author appears to simply be a whiny, self-indulgent child
of the 90’s who now contaminates the heads of college students in a
sheltered university setting, which is probably right where he belongs.
Real Jarheads should be happy to carry on the fight without him.
http://jollyrogerwest.com/showthread.php?p=2195#post2195
MORE AMAZON REVIEWS FOR JARHEAD THAT DAVE EGGERS DID NOT WRITE:
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/customer-reviews/B0000CAR5Y/ref=cm_rev_sort/104-7634312-6082332?customer-reviews.sort_by=byExactRating_1&x=6&y=2&s=books
Overblown, self-indulgent account by a sick individual!, May 17, 2005
Reviewer: David Forehand (
One of my main hobbies is studying military history and I have hundreds
of books on the subject. This has got to be the very worst so-called
“combat” memoir I’ve ever read. At least 2/3 of the book is
nothing but Anthony Swofford complaining about how awful the Marine
Corps was and how much he hated it. Why did the loser even volunteer
for it, because according to his own account he was anything but a
model soldier. Stealing from fellow soldiers, wetting his pants
frequently, and complaining were just about all Swofford was capable
of. Throughout the book he writes things like “To be a marine…you
must kill.” yet he never fired a shot in combat in the Gulf War.
Hmm…
On one of the last pages, Swofford states “I have gone to war and now
I can issue my complaint. I can sit on my porch and complain all day.
And you must listen.” Well, my reaction to Swofford’s book was to
throw it in the trash, because I DON’T have to listen to his endless
whining. In case you’re wanting to know if this is an actual combat
memoir, be warned that it is not. Most of the book focuses on
Swofford’s troubled personal life and his training experiences which
he can’t seem to get over. Thank God Swofford isn’t an accurate
example of the typical soldier in the U.S. armed forces, otherwise I
think our country would be in serious trouble. Avoid at all costs!!!
16 of 25 people found the following review helpful:
DISGRACE TO ALL CURRENT AND FORMER STA/SSP MEMBERS, May 14, 2005
I have served 2 combat deployments in Iraq and ran across this book as
one of my Marines was polluting his mind with Swofford’s nonsense. In
OIF 1, I happened to be serving with a former platoon mate of his and
he wanted to have nothing to do with it. Swofford is a dirty PIG and I
am glad that I can wear my tooth with pride without having to tell tall
tales. Does the Corps have its faults? Yes it does. Like those of us
that serve past , present, and future, Swofford signed the contract and
probably bitched the entire 4 that he was on the USMC welfare system.
Infidelity in the Corps? Yes, he was spot on. But then again it is
rampant just about everywhere these days. I refuse to let any of my
guys read this book. It is by far the worst book about or relating to
the art of snipers or sniping. I have seen him on tv being interviewed
as some sort of expert regarding the middle east. That’s
tragic…talk to the real heroes that took Baghdad or Fallujah. It
might be hard as anyone who is anyone in the community would know that
it is not or place to speak up and feed b.s. to the public. Not to
mention the fact that our war experiences are best shared among our
own, for unfortunately those who have never been there can’t grasp
what truly goes on physically and mentally. Humility is one of the many
attributes of a good Marine, especially one serving in a STA or Scout
Sniper platoon. I guess old “swoff” never got that memo. I am
ashamed that this is being made into a movie. Save your money on the
book and the movie. If I ever meet this man I have only two words to
say to him….BEAR CRAWL!
An uninteresting whinefest, April 12, 2005
Reviewer: audiobooker - See all my reviews
I had the displeasure of listening to this “story” via Audio CD.
Please do not make the same mistake I did. If you are looking for an
interesting story about desert storm look elsewhere. If you are looking
to hear non-stop bitching, complaining and someone pissed that they
JOINED the military…this is your book. I feel like the author should
pay me for listening to his dribble…reads more like a therapy session
than anything.
Just not what I had expected. 95% Bitching…5%(if that) battle
Somebody needs a whaambulance., February 25, 2005
Reviewer: M. Fitzgerald (Dallas, TX) - See all my reviews
(REAL NAME)
I’m glad I picked up the audio version of this for a couple of
dollars in the bargain bin, I still feel cheated though. This is NOT
the Corps I knew at the time he tells of.
Swofford whines like there’s no tomorrow, he takes some truths and
then writes complete BS around the truths. About 98% of this story is
either completely untrue, urban legend or his skewed view of things.
This guy’s got a serious chip on his shoulder and thinks the world
owes him everything, utterly self-centered without a semblence of honor
in his being.
Read this book if you hate the military, it’s all the untruths you
want to hear. If you want a real account of war and the Marine Corps,
warts and all I’d recommend Generation Kill.
Was this review helpful to you? YesNo (Report this)
JarHead Is The Story Of A Marine Who Sold Out, February 15, 2005
I wrote an earlier review, but it got pulled. Hmmm, I wonder why?
Anyway, I’ll sum up what I said before. Other Marines and armed
forces reviewers pretty much backed up what I wrote. Many of the tales
in this book are urban legends. Although one reviewer said the tales of
whoring are 100% true, I wonder if some of his encounters were. I found
it odd that one of the girls he shacked up with happened to be a
virgin, and that there was so much drama over it. His actions as a
scout sniper, as others have said, are grossly misrepresentative of the
real deal. As I’ve said before, Swofford is a liar; you don’t have
to be in the Marines to see that. He’s a real embarassment to anyone
he’s ever worked for, even McDonald’s. He’d sell out anything to
make a buck.
For a book with a classic American hero, check out Autumn Rangers.
It’s a great time to be alive. There’s a war to be won. We’re
outnumbered in Hollywood & NY Publishing ten-thousand-to-one, but Truth
is our Ace in the hole.
We’re calling their bluff.
Dave Eggers, Jake Gyllenthal, Anthony Swofford, Sam Mendes, and the
Iowa MFAs have killed Hollywood, NY Publishing, and American Culture.
They thought they could get away with deconstructing the Greats and
replacing them with pomo-liberal-hype.
Their business plan is to seize tax and tution dollars to promote their
insipid, dumbed-down, obscene lit, ramrod it through the Hollywood
assembly line, and get their MFA friends at the LAT and NYT to hype it.
They’re business plan is failing.
This movie is DOA.
John Stewart sneers on late-night, ten metrosexuals tune in, and they
think they’re eternal artists.
But all that they have created will so soon disappear.
The time is here to take these American shores as our own.
A small, but prominent, minority of the inner-beltway conservative
nobility will laugh at us, distance themselves from us, and then try to
take credit for the renaissance when it blossoms.
We forgive them, as they’re missing out on all the fun.
Jake Gyllenthal--our generation's worst actor?
The pomo hipster libs have totally redefined irony.
Once upon a time irony meant just that–irony.
Today it means lie.
They write plotless, characterless books and hype them as genius, as
irony allows them to do this.
Irony dictates that classical, straight-up storytelling must be
disparaged, deconstructed, and banned from NY publishing, Hollywood,
and elite MFA programs to make way for plotless, characterless pomo
hipster lit.
This is how Jarhead came to be:
1) Penned in a liberal MFA program.
2) Published and lavishly praised by liberal NY publishing.
3) Purchased and produced by liberal Hollywood.
4) Watched by nobody.
Read the amazon reviews for Jarhead not written by Dave Eggers (the
NYT’s reported on how Eggers & friends write their own glowing
reviews to bolster sales of their MFA crap), but written by Marines:
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/cu...x=6&y=2&s=books
Swofford is a cowardly liar - not a Marine by any stretch!
Pure crap., October 10, 2005
No wonder he can’t show his face on the cover, September 23, 2005
highly disappointed, August 24, 2005
Find it hard to believe we both served in the same Marine Corp in same
war, July 15, 2005
Self Indulgent & Petulant Writing, June 18, 2005
sniveling drivel, June 10, 2005
Overblown, self-indulgent account by a sick individual!, May 17, 2005
DISGRACE TO ALL CURRENT AND FORMER STA/SSP MEMBERS, May 14, 2005
An uninteresting whinefest, April 12, 2005
JarHead Is The Story Of A Marine Who Sold Out, February 15, 2005
Flaming Liberal Jarhead, October 7, 2004
A great disapointment!, August 23, 2004
I can hardly wait to read AO Scott’s review of the movie.
It will be hilarious.
But the thing is, less and less people are going to the movies.
And you can’t name a single memorable character ever created by
Swofford, Eggers, AO Scott, or Kunkel. It’s because they don’t
believe. In anything. Anything greater than themslves. They lack
character and cannot endow the printed page with it. With millions upon
millions of corporate vanity dollars, with elite, tenured MFA friends,
with the NYT’s bully pulpit and Hollywood’s major studios, they
can’t pull off a single character.
Isn’t it Ironic? Don’t you think?
http://jollyrogerwest.com/showthread.php?p=2195#post2195
When men were men:
John Wayne, Steve McQueen, Clint Eastwood, Harrison Ford, Mel Gibson,
Russell Crowe
When men are women:
Orlando Bloom, Colin Farrell, Elijah Wood, Ben Affleck
Bravheart vs. Kingdom of Heaven
The Outlaw Jose Wales vs. Gigli
Gladiator vs. Troy
The Searchers vs. Alexander
The renaissance vs. AO Scott & Eggers
ouroboros rex
More ridiculous commercial spam from liars. lol
<jollyro...@yahoo.com> wrote in message
news:1130302318.8...@z14g2000cwz.googlegroups.com...
From: http://jollyrogerwest.com/showthread.php?p=2195#post2195
Jarhead the book sucked.
They have forgotten story.
Jarhead the book sucked.
But we need film schools and MFA programs too-imagine a two year
program that studied the classics of film and literature, with a
healthy dose of cutting-edge technology that's leveling the playing
field.
Sure, the free market should support the arts, but when hundreds of
millions of tax and tuition dollars are being funneled into the
"liberal" arts, where is the free market?
On a level playing field, conservative values win every time, in
Braveheart, in Lord of the Rings, in The Outlaw Jose Wales.
We need classic American Odysseys with classic American Heros, such as
Autumn Rangers. http://autumnrangers.com .
I had Toni Morrison and Joyce Carol Oates in creative wirting classes
at Princeton, and I learned not one thing. But I saw the future of
Hollywood as I watched my classmates brown-nosing their way on towards
NY publishing and Hollywood instead of earning it by writing.
Liberal MFA programs have tried to professionalize the creative arts by
pretending to teach that which cannot be taught-creativity.
Conservative MFA programs would teach the classics-the only things
worth teaching.
http://jollyrogerwest.com/showthread.php?p=2195#post2195
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/customer-reviews/B0000CAR5Y/ref=cm_rev_sort/104-7634312-6082332?customer-reviews.sort_by=byExactRating_1&x=6&y=2&s=books
I'm so psyched for the conservative Hollywood renaissance on so many
levels.
Jarhead sucked and the movie is going to suck even more.
The Hollywood liberals are on a suicide mission.
Jake Gyllenthal has no future--neither as a Marine nor in Hollywood.
Marine Corps would ever refer to himself as an "E-6? to a Lance
http://jollyrogerwest.com/showthread.php?p=2195#post2195
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/customer-reviews/B0000CAR5Y/ref=cm_rev_sort/104-7634312-6082332?customer-reviews.sort_by=byExactRating_1&x=6&y=2&s=books
http://jollyrogerwest.com/showthread.php?p=2195#post2195
of. Throughout the book he writes things like "To be a marine.you
must kill." yet he never fired a shot in combat in the Gulf War.
Hmm.
tragic.talk to the real heroes that took Baghdad or Fallujah. It
might be hard as anyone who is anyone in the community would know that
it is not or place to speak up and feed b.s. to the public. Not to
mention the fact that our war experiences are best shared among our
own, for unfortunately those who have never been there can't grasp
what truly goes on physically and mentally. Humility is one of the many
attributes of a good Marine, especially one serving in a STA or Scout
Sniper platoon. I guess old "swoff" never got that memo. I am
ashamed that this is being made into a movie. Save your money on the
book and the movie. If I ever meet this man I have only two words to
say to him..BEAR CRAWL!
An uninteresting whinefest, April 12, 2005
Reviewer: audiobooker - See all my reviews
I had the displeasure of listening to this "story" via Audio CD.
Please do not make the same mistake I did. If you are looking for an
interesting story about desert storm look elsewhere. If you are looking
to hear non-stop bitching, complaining and someone pissed that they
JOINED the military.this is your book. I feel like the author should
pay me for listening to his dribble.reads more like a therapy session
than anything.
Just not what I had expected. 95% Bitching.5%(if that) battle
This movie is DOA.
Once upon a time irony meant just that-irony.
jollyro...@yahoo.com
Semper Fi!!
http://autumnrangers.com
http://jollyrogerwest.com
In The Name of Freedom
by Drake Raft
July 4th, 1998
The night fell fast, I found myself alone,
A DC summer storm was blowing in,
I stood at the tomb, these soldiers unknown,
and knelt and prayed for the rain to begin.
Not for the monuments nor any money,
nor pomp, circumstance, nor the pedant's pride,
the politician's smile, nor lawyer's fee,
for these present treasures, none of them died.
I ran to Jefferson to read the wall,
to make sure that God was still written there,
then to Washington, and across the Mall,
where Lincoln invoked his immortal prayer,
Winded and ragged, lightning everywhere,
I slowed to a walk, pondered what would be,
if God's great Enlightenment weren't there,
we could still be brave but never be free.
I found comfort in the Mall's mud and rain,
without mines nor cannons nor raining shells,
so free from fear, iniquity, and pain,
because thousands had endured a thousand hells.
And I found myself back before the tomb,
humbled by the humbled, with naught for name,
shivering, though they had the colder room,
sans light, nor sound, nor tomorrow, nor fame.
I thought for a moment, what it could be,
the center and circumference of their dreaming,
it must have been the prophet's poetry,
that granted their souls eternal meaning.
So judges and Congressmen, please don't forget,
the reason these patriots picked up swords,
not for perks nor power were their deaths met,
but for honor and duty-- for mere words.
So do take pause before telling a lie,
for there's one more thing I saw on that night,
as the wind and the rain began to die,
I walked away, turned, and beheld a light.
Wil'O'wisp, reddish light, sailor's delight,
It hovered there-- just above the tomb's stone,
As fading thunder whispered to the night,
"Freedom's the name of all soldiers unknown."
http://jollyrogerwest.com
http://autumnrangers.com
JOIN THE RENAISSANCE!!!
cjmo...@adelphia.net
But apparently some of you think you know literature or good writing.
Apparently, none of you understand that the point of this book is not
to detail a battle gone wrong, i.e Black Hawk Down nor was the intent
of the book to illustrate "everything great about being a marine."
This book, in short, dealt with the tragic affect that war has on
everyone involved. The author at no point, was simply undermining his
peers, as he bore as much insult and mockery as any of them. Secondly,
the so-called mindless dribble, in fact illustrates the confusion and
psychological impact that war has on all of those grunts unfortunate
enough to serve. Its disgusting how some people will attack anything
that does not follow their "party line" no matter how intelligent,
insightful or truthful it may be. Honestly, grow up. And please, stop
trying to pass yourself off as righteous and patriotic. If you were
truly thus, you would realize that a good soldier and a good citizen is
able to think on their own, and formualte their own opinions and ideas
without having to resort to brash name calling and ignorant rambling.
c-bee1
<cjmo...@adelphia.net> wrote in message
news:1131174084.9...@g43g2000cwa.googlegroups.com...
> Excuse me,
> But apparently some of you think you know literature or good writing.
> Apparently, none of you understand that the point of this book is not
> to detail a battle gone wrong, i.e Black Hawk Down nor was the intent
> of the book to illustrate "everything great about being a marine."
> This book, in short, dealt with the tragic affect that war has on
> everyone involved. The author at no point, was simply undermining his
> peers, as he bore as much insult and mockery as any of them. Secondly,
> the so-called mindless dribble, in fact illustrates the confusion and
> psychological impact that war has on all of those grunts unfortunate
> enough to serve. Its disgusting how some people will attack anything
> that does not follow their "party line" no matter how intelligent,
> insightful or truthful it may be. Honestly, grow up. And please, stop
> trying to pass yourself off as righteous and patriotic. If you were
> truly thus, you would realize that a good soldier and a good citizen is
> able to think on their own, and formualte their own opinions and ideas
> without having to resort to brash name calling and ignorant rambling.
You're responding to lying republican spammers who only post this
ridiculous crap to get people to their lying website so they can earn a
little cash.
Ask them how post-modernism created Bin Laden, it's a hoot.
range...@gmail.com
What keeps a well-made film from achieving greatness? How does a motion
picture with impressive parts end up a less than compelling whole? When
the film is as strong in its elements as "Jarhead," no single factor is
strong enough to do the fatal damage. Rather, an intricate web of
interlocking reasons undermines the structure from within without
anyone noticing what is happening.
Certainly few projects in recent memory have had a more impressive
pedigree than "Jarhead," starting with Anthony Swofford's memoir,
subtitled "A Marine's Chronicle of the Gulf War and Other Battles,"
that was greeted with unapologetically rapturous reviews when it was
published in 2003.
The movie team that tackled the story of a young man's wartime coming
of age started with screenwriter William Broyles Jr., himself a former
Marine, who unobtrusively expanded characters and dramatized incidents.
Oscar winner Sam Mendes ("American Beauty") was brought in to direct,
hot young actor Jake Gyllenhaal to star, with the much-admired Peter
Sarsgaard and Jamie Foxx providing support. Editor Walter Murch,
cinematographer Roger Deakins and production designer Dennis Gassner
are as good as it gets, and music supervisor Randall Poster adroitly
integrates ironic tunes like Bobby McFerrin's "Don't Worry, Be Happy"
into the mix.
jollyro...@yahoo.com
http://autumnrangers.com
http://jollyrogerwest.com
"I love your photography." Autumn said, sitting at Ranger's
Linux laptop. "You're good."
"I just stand behind the camera-that's the easy part. It's all
you."
"It's not just me-it's all those girls in Charleston. And the
classical architecture. Pretty, pretty girls. You shot
thousands-you're good-damned good."
"That'd be fun to start a modeling site-charlestonmodels.com."
"And a fashion line. I want to start a fashion line. Could you
help?"
"You're talkin' to the wrong guy-all I wear is t-shirts."
"We'll make t-shirts-Autumn Rangers t-shirts."
Autumn whipped out a pen and got to work-she drew two crossed swords,
and worked in an A and an R at the cross.
"Cool." Ranger said.
"The A is for Autumn," Autumn explained, filling out the drawing.
"The beauty of the fall. But she would be lost without Ranger. She
would be lost without some rugged spirit to witness her pretty ways, to
desire the burning beauty of her fall, to yet see her innocence at the
center and circumference of original sin, and to pen poetry in honor of
the burning leaves-the raging inferno just behind her immaculate
beauty's façade, flickering forth from her eyes. She would be lost
without brave poetry to rescue her fleeting beauty from nature's
ephemerality and render it immortal. She wants to be wanted. She
wants to be rendered. For in being rendered, she is really rendering
the poet. Ranger's Autumn is really Autumn's Ranger. And the R is
for Ranger. The rugged, rambling spirit. The renderer. The lone poet
who would be lost without the autumn, utterly lost without the fall's
bittersweet splendor, who could never know his immortal soul were it
not for the end of summer, were it not for his mortal body's lust,
longing, and love to range through autumn, to venture up virgin
mountains where no paths have been blazed, to voyage forth where none
have walked before, to win her heart, to win her soul, to have her, to
hold her, to know her, to describe her, to render her spirit, her soul,
her semblance, to render her as she would want to be rendered and
remembered by all those romantics yet to be born who will read of her
in his piercing, prevailing, poetry-poetry which will spark their
passions from the very embers of that long-ago burning fall that so
inspired that long-ago rugged ranger-poetry which will reach back
through the generations, on back to Shakespeare and the Bible, and then
about face and reach forward through the generations, trumping every
politician and pomo poseur, becoming an unbreakable bridge to the
classical Truths, igniting the spirits of tomorrow's lone poets,
fusing and forging them in the renaissance of eternal souls, bolstering
natural convictions and granting courage to every lone reader to join
eternity's army in seeking the sacred ideals-classical ideals which
so many temporal men are scared of, which so many little people-in
their contemporary, fleeting majorities-scoff at, deride with irony,
belittle, castigate, and impugn, because they are made to feel small
beside the classics' grandeur. Tomorrow's poets shall know the
renaissance. They shall read of Autumn's Ranger and Ranger's
Autumn, and seek the classical ideals for themselves, as the ideals are
free and true, and like God's freedom, they naturally belong to all
those born into this rough world. And those who seek them shall find
the scared romance in the pretty faces of their own Autumns.
Separated, as they are in pomo society, Autumn and Ranger are lost.
But united as Autumn Rangers, they walk this lonely earth as God
intended. That's it. Autumn Rangers equals American Renaissance."
She'd finished the design.
"That'd be one helluva shirt." Ranger said.
"Reckon so." She sighed. "Maybe we could do lingerie too."
jollyro...@yahoo.com
http://autumnrangers.com
http://highplainswriters.com
http://jollyrogerwest.com
Ha ha ha ha ha!!!
http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2005/11/06/PKGHTFF6CE1.DTL&type=movies
"The book spoke to me," Gyllenhaal says. "Tony Swofford has a certain
style, in the same way that Dave Eggers has defined a certain
generation of writers, so that when I read 'Jarhead' I really responded
to it. I was the right age as all the guys who were going to the Iraq
war now, and who were in Desert Storm back in 1990. And there was just
something about the aggression, and having a part where you don't have
to do hair, no wardrobe or anything. It's just basically you."
THE GENERATION OF WRITERS EGGERS DEFINED ARE A BUNCH OF MFAS INCAPABLE
OF PLOT, CHARACTER, AND MEANING. JUST LIKE JARHEAD & POMO-HIPSTER
HOLLYWOOD. HA HA AHAA HA!
Once Mendes relented, Gyllenhaal swam, ran, biked, lifted weights and
did 500 push-ups daily. He got his head shaved, spent five months in
the deserts of Southern California and Mexico, and danced nearly naked
wearing a strategically placed Santa hat.
Ha ha ha ha ha!!! Yeah--that'll make a MARINE out of you.
http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2005/11/06/PKGHTFF6CE1.DTL&type=movies
join the renaissance:
http://autumnrangers.com
http://highplainswriters.com
http://jollyrogerwest.com
jollyro...@yahoo.com
http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2005/11/06/PKGHTFF6CE1.DTL&type=movies
"The book spoke to me," Gyllenhaal says. "Tony Swofford has a
certain style, in the same way that Dave Eggers has defined a certain
generation of writers, so that when I read 'Jarhead' I really
responded to it. I was the right age as all the guys who were going to
the Iraq war now, and who were in Desert Storm back in 1990. And there
was just something about the aggression, and having a part where you
don't have to do hair, no wardrobe or anything. It's just basically
you."
THE GENERATION OF WRITERS EGGERS DEFINED ARE A BUNCH OF TAX, TUITION, &
CORPORATE-VANITY FUNDED MFAS INCAPABLE OF PLOT, CHARACTER, AND MEANING.
JUST LIKE JARHEAD & POMO-HIPSTER HOLLYWOOD. HA HA AHAA HA!
Once Mendes relented, Gyllenhaal swam, ran, biked, lifted weights and
did 500 push-ups daily. He got his head shaved, spent five months in
the deserts of Southern California and Mexico, and danced nearly naked
wearing a strategically placed Santa hat.
Ha ha ha ha ha!!! Yeah-that'll make a MARINE out of a girly man.
http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2005/11/06/PKGHTFF6CE1.DTL&type=movies
THE GENERATION OF WRITERS EGGERS DEFINED ARE A BUNCH OF MFAS INCAPABLE
OF PLOT, CHARACTER, AND MEANING. JUST LIKE JARHEAD & POMO-HIPSTER
HOLLYWOOD. HA HA AHAA HA! AND THAT'S WHY LIBERAL POMO HIPSTERS HAVE TO
LIFT FROM OTHER BOOKS WITHOUT REFERENCE:
http://www.libertyfilmfestival.com/libertas/index.php?p=1101#comments
Jake's wayyyyyyyy too girly.
Also, as is par for the liberal course, the NYT is reporting that parts
of the script may have been plagiarized:
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/11/09/movies/09jarred.html
"Jarhead" was directed by Sam Mendes and is based on Anthony
Swofford's memoir of the first gulf war. The commercial showed
marines in the desert hurrying to don their chemical protection gear.
One of the characters, Troy, played by Peter Sarsgaard, put on his hood
and turned to another, Swoff, played by Jake Gyllenhaal, and in his
best Darth Vader voice invited him to "come to the dark side."
Mr. Turnipseed said he was shocked. "I turned to my wife and said,
'Honey, there is something funny about that,' " he said in a
phone interview. "That scene is in my book, not Tony's," he
added, referring to Mr. Swofford.
Ha! ha! hee ho! ha! ha! ha!
A little later on in the game there was another commercial for the
film, this one depicting a scene in which a marine colonel gives a
motivational speech to soldiers under his command. Much of the scene
and some of the dialogue, Mr. Turnipseed recalled, seemed to come
directly from the opening pages of "Baghdad Express."
The next day, Mr. Turnipseed went to see an advance screening of the
movie. He says he saw enough to convince him that his book had been
used for at least part of the movie without credit.
"I turned to my friend during the movie and said, 'I have always
wanted to see my book on the big screen and there it is; I just
didn't get credit for it,' " said Mr. Turnipseed, who served as a
truck driver with the Marine Corps for about 90 days in 1991.
Ha ha ha! Hee ho! Ha! Those liberals sure know how to write a good
script.
"I don't have any conscious memory of using anything out of his
book," Mr. Broyles said. "I can remember reading it and thinking,
this guy really has it down. It was one of those unintentional
coincidences that is frustrating for him, but there has been no effort
to take anything from him."
Stephen Sheppard, a lawyer retained by Mr. Turnipseed to look into the
matter, said, "We have been engaged by Joel, and it is a case that we
are taking sufficiently seriously to explore alternative approaches to
resolving this."
Ha ha ha ho ho hee ha !!!!
THE FUNNIEST THING ABOUT THIS ALL IS THAT WHEN LIBERALS ADAPT AN
AWARD-WINNING LIBERAL NOVEL (JARHEAD) PENNED IN AN AWARD-WINNING
LIBERAL MFA (IWOA) PROGRAM, THEY HAVE TO LIFT FROM OTHER BOOKS WITHOUT
REFERENCE (BAGHDAD EXPRESS).
Wikipedia states:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plagiarism
Plagiarism refers to the use of another's information, language, or
writing, when done without proper acknowledgment of the original
source. Essential to an act of plagiarism is an element of dishonesty
in attempting to pass off the plagiarised work as original. Plagiarism
is not necessarily the same as copyright infringement, which occurs
when one violates copyright law. Like most terms from the area of
intellectual property, plagiarism is a concept of the modern age and
not really applicable to medieval or ancient works. An example of
plagiarism would be copying this definition and pasting straight into a
report. (without reference)
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plagiarism
http://www.libertyfilmfestival.com/libertas/index.php?p=1101#comments
JOIN THE F'IN RENAISSANCE ALREADY!!!!
range...@gmail.com
http://jollyroger.com/american/greatbooksrenaissance.html
http://jollyrogerwest.com
post tenebras lux
He saw the townlands
And learned the minds of many distant men
And weathered many bitter nights and days
In his deep heart at sea, while he fought only
To save his life, to bring his shipmates home.
-Book I, The Odyssey
cover
Purchase Jollyroger.com: Navigating An American Renaissance
Introduction
Ahoy there mates! Contained herein are the captain's logs of The
Jolly Roger, flagship of Classicals & jollyroger.com LLC. The words
were set down during a five year voyage of fantastic romance, peril,
and adventure, as the Good Ship sailed the WWW on towards an American
Renaissance. Beyond the fogs of cynicism we've navigated, and at the
breaking edge of postmodern liberalism, we've sighted the dawning of
a classical revival that shall be known by the rising generation, as
well as by all who count themselves members of the community of eternal
souls.
It's good to be back on shore for the moment, as we always shall be
whenever a fellow seafarer reads this introduction. Perhaps ye'll
meet us out tonight at The Jolly Roger Piano & Poetry Pub or our Great
Books Brewery, before we arise at the crack of dawn to ferry ye on out
towards the greatest treasure of this silicon revolution-the eternity
in a grain of sand. We have seen the future away out there, in yer
hearts and spirits, and it belongs to the honest, while the poetry
belongs to the profound.
In 1995 Jollyroger.com set sail from Hatteras as a labor of love, and
now, by the Grace of God and the loyalty of all our intrepid readers,
the Good Ship has evolved into a profitable venture that allows us to
do that which we were born to do-write. Unlike most dot-com startups
originating from MBA homework assignments, jollyroger.com was not
launched to line the pockets of venture capitalists, but rather she set
sail to serve the eternal popular culture with a renaissance-an
entity which the bankers could not afford to invest in, as enduring
literature must be funded by the courage of poetic passion. Very few
MBAs ever comprehend the business of eternity-the subtleties of how a
world may be born from a grain of sand-and thus it is left up to CEO
Statesmen and Poets to captain literary ships. Business ventures tend
to be considered in terms of monetary risks and rewards, whereas words
of eternity must be written, come hell or high water. It was not mere
information that the Good Ship sought to deliver over the internet, but
poetry, and so instead heading West to Silicon Valley and raising VC,
we raised The Jolly Roger to strike fear into the hearts of Truth's
opponents, and we sailed forth from Hatteras one pristine September
day, beneath a Carolina-blue sky. And we never looked back.
In an era where cool has been commodified and postmodernism has
triumphed in the literary, cultural, and financial arenas, where
inherent worth is oft dismissed and new-age hype rules the day,
jollyroger.com has stuck by the guns of fundamental principle. She has
sailed steadily along her foreordained course, signing aboard loyal
crew members one by one, firing broadsides from the Western Canon to
defend the embattled Great Books, and laying the foundations of the
world's classical portal with the most valuable kind of seed
capital-heartfelt poetry.
In the postmodern culture's pervasive gray, it's often difficult to
perceive the Permanent Things; and thus on the foggier nights over the
past five years, faith in the ancient's words came in handy upon this
deck. In the deepest darkness of the most ironic ironies, where the fog
itself is concealed, there yet exists an inner light in the form of a
classical yearning for Truths greater than ourselves-many know her as
Faith. And like the wind and waves of an approaching hurricane, the
Bible, Plato, Shakespeare, the Founding Fathers, and Melville reminded
us of her-the Words of the Greats let us know that something
all-powerful and great existed just beyond our mortal sight. And by
Faith's inner light and the steady winds of immortal words, we were
able to navigate beyond the postmodern fog, through the popular
culture's sound and fury, on towards the center of our souls-the
placid eye of existence's storm-on towards the eternal peace of
immutable words written and read in the solitude and splendor of
Truth's Freedom. Thus we know firsthand that the greatest literature
serves a higher purpose than the bottom line or the advancement of
political causes-words exist not only to entertain, advertise,
exhort, and explain, but also to light Faith's beacons and fill the
sails of God's Grace. From Words we have fashioned the Jolly
Roger's Oak planks of reason, riveted them with rhyme, and designed a
ship to voyage across all of time.
All generations are united by the classical elements, and the poets and
prophets of each age are those who perform the timeless truths in the
living language, adding to and enriching the context of the eternal
popular culture heralded by the Great Books. Joining in this venture
has always been a risky endeavor, and thus few prudent parents have
ever encouraged their children to become poets. But in this era
especially, ambitious proponents of the postmodern ideology actively
seek to scuttle the souls of young poets embarking on eternity's
favorite venture. The postmodern blockade serves to protect the
degraded trade of the liberal industrial cultural complex, while their
fog shrouds the beacons of timeless truth, thereby rendering the
context for contemporary classical literature all but impossible to
navigate, while endangering the very hulls of morality and Western
Civilization.
Postmodernism is the corruption of democracy, just as deconstruction is
the violence of the weak-both cultural movements owe their popularity
to their ability to empower anyone harboring intellectual or artistic
ambitions overshadowing their talents. Postmodern culture is like an
internet pyramid scheme, wherein cultural creations possessing no
inherent worth are given vast valuations by the insider critics and
cliques who subsist upon and profit from the ephemeral hype, which is
often tax, tuition, and smut subsidized. But eventually all true art,
like all true companies, must create real and lasting benefits for the
public, or fade away, like communism. "One cannot pray a lie," noted
Huckleberry Finn, but without faith in God's Invisible Hand,
postmodernists believe that it's possible, as long as the requisite
mob is assembled and promised a cut. And while the insiders benefit in
the short-term when worthless companies, fallacious systems of
government, and meaningless art are hyped and sold to a duped public,
the public is oft left holding the bag, with their investments
diminished, their classical religions tarnished, their armies
demoralized, the sacred institution of marriage defiled, and the
curriculums of their children's schools gutted.
When the higher ideals and fundamental precepts are forsaken, the
entire democratic ship of state may drift along happily through the
fog, navigating by polls reminiscent of the one given by Pontius
Pilate, not aware of the nature nor consequences of the errant
direction. And when a few in the rising generation begin to seek the
fixed stars above, which they've read about in antiquity's forsaken
myths and felt deep within their souls, they will be branded crazy. And
when the classical rebels see the stars through the breaking fog, and
seek to navigate a straighter course by the Permanent Things, they will
encounter violent opposition from the postmodern culture czars who
benefit from the lack of higher standards, who prefer their arbitrary
will to the rule of Law in cultural entities ranging from politics, to
architecture, to education, to poetry. The relativistic oligarchy shall
view the rising poets' loyalty to God as insolent rebellion, and the
postmodern media shall be commanded to destroy them. And on that day,
the postmodern critics' souls shall be tested, as they choose to be
loyal to tyrants or Truths greater than themselves, as they choose to
remain upon postmodern liberalism's sinking ship or sign aboard a
fighting frigate bound for eternity.
One could spend several volumes chronicling the nature of
postmodernism's adherents and their predilection for bureaucracy, and
the dark character of their political, cultural, and literary ponzi
schemes, but that is not jollyroger.com's destination. We all know
what the fog looks like-too many know nothing else-and the nobler
and more pertinent task becomes taking us beyond it. To criticize
nihilism is to exalt it to undeserved heights, and rather than studying
the ephemeral, poets would be wise to devoted themselves to penning the
eternal.
Whether it's inevitable as fate or it hinges upon perseverance and
free will, we do not know, but jollyroger.com must gain a popular
culture worthy of the Great Books' context. And the only way to do
that is to navigate by the same timeless beacon that yesterday's
poets navigated by-honesty's courage.
The contemporary poet's task is not only to pen the eternal verities
in the era's language, but it is also to resurrect the context in
which those timeless truths may freely navigate and gain the home ports
of the children's souls. And that is where the WWW has played an
invaluable role, for it has allowed us to establish a universe
perpendicular to the contemporary popular culture-a universe wherein
words mean things and the classical context thrives, but which also
intersects with the popular culture. For Great Books growing dusty upon
shelves are of little use, and the classical sentiments must be
continually performed in the living language. While the majority of
contemporary editors, agents, critics and literary officials yet remain
loyal to the degraded postmodern-MFA mentality and the fleeting
insta-classic literary fashions, the greater spirits of the rising
generation are classical in nature, as children's souls always are.
And by allowing The Jolly Roger to circumvent the literary
middleman's cynical vortex, the WWW has allowed a renaissance to set
sail.
Although all enduring truth must by definition be robust, history has
shown that its messengers have often been castigated and impugned. But
upon these American shores, it has ever been our right, as it has been
our duty, to continually foster and defend the classical context
wherein the foundational documents serve the people, come hell or high
water. The Greats have all agreed upon this-liberty demands eternal
vigilance. The pursuit of smaller government, less taxes, rhyming
poetry, and more freedom is as long and arduous a voyage as it is a
noble one.
As a beacon in history's darker contexts, America was founded as a
haven for truth's messengers, thereby becoming the world's
wellspring for science, religion, and freedom. The Declaration of
Independence and Constitution, which may be found at the end of this
book, were penned in tribute to higher principles superior to all
politics and time. Even though the Founding Fathers believed in the
existence of higher laws, they were humble about their ability to
discern them, and thus they presented us with a Constitution which
could be amended. They had as much faith in their children as they had
in the timeless truths, and thus they bestowed us with the tools to
pursue justice and happiness in a free marketplace of ideas, which they
perceived to be ultimately governed by Nature and Nature's God. The
eloquent words of America's founding documents provide for the civil
structure that protects and promotes the acknowledgement of higher
principles by which natural rights are defined, thereby preserving the
sacred freedom of all individuals who are humble before the higher
ideals. And thus upon these shores the honest have always been promised
the freedom to pursue the exalted American dream.
But when the language is degraded until the poetry no longer rhymes
except in vulgar rap, when sacred customs are honored more in the
breach than in the observance, when words and their meanings part on
their separate ways, when the bottom line is placed above the higher
ideals, when the base bass beats over the melody in the music we listen
to, in the clubs we frequent, and in our hearts and souls; when
innocence is lost before it is known, when cynicism is loaded upon hope
and hope is ballasted with irony, and we're exhorted by tax, tuition,
and smut-subsidized cultural officials to carry this pyramid's load
down the road to serfdom, shall we still be free to dream those greater
dreams? When under this burden America is then cut free from her
religious anchors in the name of secular economic freedom, and women
are sent off to raise the Dow Jones to pay taxes rather than raise
moral children, can America long survive and prosper as the flagship of
free republics, even if all the postmodern pyramid schemes never
collapse? Science and history have suggested otherwise-that where
God's morality is eroded, the eternal Bureaucracy marches forth to
become the stolid regulator of human interaction. When people cease to
govern themselves according to higher principles, they lose the ability
to be guarantors of their own wellness and happiness, and they soon
find themselves subject to a political order determined by other
mortals-the rule of Law gives way to the rule by men.
Where the Word-the sacred vessel of all poetry and politics-was
diminished or deconstructed, bullets and slogans oft became the new
brushes with which humanity painted upon history's canvas. And as the
past is prologue, any optimist of human affairs would be wise to aspire
to the wisdom of those who gave us not the gift of freedom, but the
documents which define and defend the freedom that they perceived as
being a gift from God.
In asking what is best for the future of a democratic republic, we are
really contemplating the best way in which to pass along freedom's
traditions. How might we rebuild the classical context wherein children
learn to love reading the Greats, and teachers are given the necessary
authority to teach them? How do we reinstall the killer-app open-source
software of the soul-the classics-which teach not by dictating how
to think, but by inspiring free thought in a rational context?
Today, too many of our peers reside in a superficial context of image
and sound, wherein the popular art, movies, music, and literature make
circular references to the same superficial brands in a self-contained
cultural whirlpool in history's greater context, where ephemeral
lusts, common degradation, and wayward feelings overrule rational
thought and the higher ideals. So how shall we introduce our friends to
a far more profound culture in the context of the Great Books? How
shall we revive the center and circumference of civilization, the crux
of conscience, the jury of justice, the romance of marriage, the honor
of honor, and the device by which we mark the pinnacles of our
aspirations-the written Word? We're not sure of the exact mechanism
nor means to accomplish this, but the crew here believes the answer
lies more in art than in scholarship, more in poetry than in politics.
For intellectuals study yesterday's renaissances far more often than
they inspire today's, and politicians follow the popular culture far
more often than they lead it.
At the dawn of the internet in 1995, the three sonneteers set out upon
a fleet frigate, seeking to pirate the profound and establish a brave
new website where the eternal optimism of the literary classics would
prevail-where the news of the day would always be that the world's
grown honest and Hamlet's gone mad. We saw the chance to marry the
greatest that has ever been written and spoken to the greatest
publishing medium ever known to the individual, and to create a
classical context wherein the glory of words would resound. We saw the
opportunity to circumnavigate the postmodern nonbelievers and cynics,
to appeal to the nobler aspects of humanity's conscience, and prove
that the world yet loves common sense embroidered in eloquence. We saw
the opportunity for a renaissance wherein dignity and honor would be
restored to public office, and the poetry would rhyme once again.
And with a little bit of that Midwest humor which walks hand-in-hand
with Midwest honor, we decided we'd have fun following the dream that
Providence had enabled. We would salute the passing postmodern era from
the decks of a pirate ship, acknowledging postmodernism's vast
success in pervading all aspects of contemporary culture; and with
broadsides of truth fired from the Western Canon, we'd let them know
we considered it good sport to play along with their irony-the irony
that a lover of the Great Books could be considered a barbarous
buccaneer upon Princeton's ivied campus. We were ruthless rebels
because we sought Truth's Traditions.
Postmodern liberalism had won the day, but as a fundamentally
secular-materialist philosophy, that was all that it had ever sought,
and tomorrow shall belong to the classics. For however fun the
postmodern era was, I don't think we'll be making a tradition out
of it. Political rhetoric is soon forgotten, while poetry is that which
endures.
We figured the best way to communicate our exalted vision would be to
combine the cutting-edge technology with the exact same literary
devices used by the sages of all ages. We'd use the common language
and the colloquial to sign sailors aboard, and we'd endow the poetry
at jollyroger.com with rhyme and meter. Whispering reason is far louder
than pompous pedantry, just as poetry is far more adept at winning a
girl's heart than polemics. The greatest writers had adorned their
works not with thesauruses, but with wit. If a preacher knows something
of poetry, then we'll listen, for they must know that deeper meaning
behind the sacred scripture-that law and order exist to protect
beauty's fundamental freedom.
A contemporary literary renaissance presents itself as a formidable
task-one cannot do it alone. For the fashionable relativists are
right in that truth and custom must have an appropriate societal
context within which to exist. And the concurrent relativistic societal
context, fortified with the entrenched prejudices of a maturing,
tenured generation that ushered in a Dionysian revolution via the
pre-internet electronic media, along with a plethora of ideological
"isms" to replace God's simple grace, coupled with a fading popular
culture centered about the printed word and an enforced cynicism
amongst a generation who for the most part only know of the Greats in
their deconstructed, corrupted form, makes the Apollonian renaissance
that jollyroger.com's sailing towards seem all but unreachable.
But then again, as the ancients noted, "post tenebras lux." After
darkness light. Just as God and the Greats originally sprang forth in
tradition's void, so it is that they might be born again in the midst
of a deconstructed culture. For poetry, religion, and romance are
sought by the immortal parts of all souls, and they never have greater
cause to be than when they are not. In the long run, without Truth men
cannot have those possessions most coveted by all deeper
souls-meaning and freedom. With this bold vision and humble hope,
jollyroger.com has set out to resurrect a classical context.
Though jollyroger.com's destination is pristine, the voyage has not
always been and will not always be so. It is a wonderful time to be
alive for the author and entrepreneur, with abundant wealth and
opportunity being fostered by the internet revolution, but even so, it
is a sobering mission to be called upon to serve poetry. For there are
those powerful elite today, and their ambitious disciples, who so
vehemently oppose the first Two Amendments of the United States
Constitution, who have it as their mission to prevent the honest from
lifting those pens which are mightier than the sword.
Neither Wall Street nor the postmodern academy nor publishing
industry-the iron triangle-will invest time nor money nor faith in
a renaissance, but that is OK, as a renaissance has little use for
money, and eternity's time will do just fine. Wall Street prudently
considers the poetry of a cultural renaissance a financial risk in
today's cultural conditions, while the academic MFA postmodernists
consider it a dire threat, and the corporate conglomerates of the
publishing industry have one foot in either camp. But we foresee the
dawn of a new era, wherein those who join in serving and enlightening
the public with the classical sentiments will profit immensely, both
spiritually and monetarily. It is time for a sea change, matey, and
time for the poetry to rhyme once again.
There have been and there are yet to be cruel nights out there in the
postmodern fog, where the Good Ship will seem all but lost, and where
the winds of elite and popular opinion will rage and blow in
opposition, while the critic's cannons blaze away with all the fury
of an MFA scorned. But such is the rugged nature of all greater
adventures, and as of late the seaward signs suggest that the wind is
shifting towards a more favorable direction.
Where men are yet free, they must have poetry equal to that freedom,
and where men yet have poetry, they must be free. Thus exalted poetry
is worth fighting for, and too, these are the reasons why those who
serve the darker powers shall always oppose pristine poetry. The
relativist's favorite tactic in cultural warfare is to redefine
sacred institutions as degraded, corrupted, political entities, from
poetry to the Presidency, until it appears that there is nothing to
defend, until only the dishonorable seem fit to slouch towards office.
Thus they win the war by convincing the common man that there is no war
to be fought, by deconstructing honor and chivalry, by proclaiming
poetry to be no more than politics, by teaching that Presidents were
always corrupt and will always be corrupt, and then enforcing their
dismal science throughout the culture. They deconstruct God and appoint
their friends to all the newly-minted bureaucracies which seek to
overrule His Decree, and which exacerbate the problems they seek to
solve, thereby providing coveted opportunities for more taxation, more
government programs, and more bureaucracy. With a snide smile they call
it irony and cynicism as they benefit in the shadows of the postmodern
fog, but we see it as something much darker than that, as their methods
rebel against God's Will.
Jefferson once stated that from time to time freedom's fields must be
fertilized with the blood of Tyrants and Patriots, and thus in order to
defend the profound prose of this renaissance, treacherous battles
shall be waged against the ferocious prejudices of pedants and
postmodernists for the right to write, publish, and disseminate poetry
written with words that rhyme and mean things. Postmodernists consider
the rhyming truth's shining light a violent assault upon their fogged
territory, and they will fight back viciously according to their
fundamental rules, which state that there are none but for what they
feel. A tyranny of liberal thought exists in the contemporary
publishing and academic industries, which is equal parts ignorance and
resentment, and which may best be defeated by light and truth rendered
with poetry and humor. God's Patriots must learn these gentle ways of
war.
Though these words will not be directly censored, pristine poetry may
be effectively banned by the erosion of the context which supports
it-when pornography is published, the sacred is censored. The Great
Books have been banned far more often by ignorance than by law. Many in
my generation shall never hear this melody as it's drowned out in the
base pounding bass of this week's corporate rock'n'roll, but it
shall be their loss, and not the words'. While we feel sympathy for
the cultural conformists lost in the apathy and cynicism of the
swirling fog, we nevertheless believe that as individuals it is
ultimately their choice, and may God help them find the Better Way. To
those who have, more shall be given, and to those who have not, even
that shall be taken away. May God inspire their moral imaginations to
dream beyond the gray on gray that has come to define their indifferent
universe, wherein spurious definitions of irony have become their
bigoted religion.
Postmodernists know that in order to defend their arbitrary power
structure, where exalted critics wield influence by hyping the value of
degraded literary works, they must defend to the death their
deconstructed context. They have learned that as long as the common
water source is poisoned with their politics, nothing will be allowed
to grow upon the private property of our souls but for barren cynicism.
They know that were the fog to break, the ideals of fidelity, honor,
and lasting romance would begin to blossom in the rising generation's
spirits. As the powerful architects of contemporary corruption, they
must disparage and destroy all who do not ultimately agree that black
is white and white is black, and thus noble romance and honest
innocence are their dire enemies.
The greatest postmodernists have never been the most beautiful nor
talented nor honest-they have ever been those with the least to lose
in the absence of beauty's truth and truth's beauty. Having little
in the way of the fundamental decencies and Natural private property,
as relativist critics they seek to gain by deconstructing others'
private property. And eventually there comes a time when there is
nothing left to deconstruct, but for the true living poets, who shall
be invincibly wicked in seeking vengeance for the razing of their
spiritual heritage and the cold-blooded murders of their cultural
fathers. So it is that the entire postmodern army of deans, agents,
editors, critics, and publishers today fear a lone poet by the name of
Drake Raft. For last night I saw his ghost in midtown Manhattan,
crossing Madison Avenue in cowboy boots, with his hat's brim hiding
his eyes.
Convoluted ironies and swirling vortexes will be encountered on the
high seas of postmodern culture, wherein it will yet once more be
observed that institutions which purport to cherish and transmit the
truth can easily be turned right around in the fog and become those
entities which most oppose it. As it must take an honest stand before
reality, some of the poetry and prose contained herein details the more
macabre customs particular to this generation, raised in the jaded wake
of free love, a declining reverence for the eternal soul, the
crassification of the popular cultural and political arena, and the
spiritual casualties of abortion.
At times aboard the decks of jollyroger.com, we peered a bit too deeply
into the fog's void, and as it looked back into us, we learned
firsthand how postmodern cynicism may breed the most powerful
enemy-one's very own conscience. For even when a man has slain all
the external demons, often the battle is only beginning, and never has
the enemy within known a better ally than postmodern relativism. We
kind of know where a lot of the postmodern priests are coming from. We
were in a grunge band and all that-we saw what the theories sung from
the secular pulpits on high could do to the souls of one's friends,
and we lost more than a few friends at the edge-to the classic
clichés of drinking and drugs, to the all-out pursuit of the material
high, to a few too many girls, and to the
Freudian-Darwinian-Nietzschean cynicism that God is no more than a
myth, and that we're no more than random chemical reactions, sans
intrinsic nor extrinsic meaning. Alas, without faith they joined the
living dead. Raised in the gray void sans tradition nor religion, they
never could discern the very grayness of the void, and so certain of
postmodern indifference, they were convinced that the eternal soul did
not exist, and they sold out for nothing at all. Such is the arrogance
of the small mind which never knows a context greater than itself, and
though conscious, never apprehends conscience.
We'd tasted that pseudo-scientific-secular atheism as physics majors
at Princeton, and we'll tell you that it was a natural faith in
something greater that saved us-wherefrom we also learned that virtue
is not to be found within revenge, but rather it is to be gained by
forgiving one's enemies. Never shall one prevail against the darkness
by answering with darkness, but only by lighting a light. We bear the
postmodern oligarchy and army-the deans, editors, professors,
lifetime politicians, cultural czars, MFA officials, professional
administrators, and all their eager students of decline-no malice,
but we only wish to inspire a literary movement that will grant the
children something greater than was given our generation.
This renaissance is by no means a generational war, but rather it's a
generational peace, as classics are written for all generations. It is
a recent marketing myth which ordains that every fifteen minutes the
new generation must be different (consume different things) from the
preceding one, for there is no difference in the continuum of eternal
souls. Justice is justice is justice, as it has always been, and as it
shall always be. By no means are the boomers in general to be held
responsible for postmodernism's obligatory cynicism, for I sense that
most of them are on our side, such as my mother and father, and the
high school teachers back in Ohio, who were humble before Shakespeare
and taught him by setting his words free within our souls.
And never forget-no matter what postmodernism's fading oligarchy
ordains, they cannot keep young poets from enjoying aesthetic freedom.
They can degrade the romantic to no end, assaulting the ideals of
pristine femininity and noble masculinity in the greater culture, but
young lovers' hearts belong to God alone, and the poetry of this
renaissance shall blossom in their souls. For I saw it in her deep
brown eyes just last night, walking the streets of Davidson, North
Carolina. If ye manage to keep objectivity's even keel-as our
conscientious teachers and parents did-knowing that the Greats are
yer crew members and God is the captain, then the eternal treasures at
jollyroger.com shall be yers for the keeping.
Poets are the fundamental leaders of all cultural transitions, and all
noble leaders must begin by voyaging beyond the contemporary in their
dreams, on towards the higher ideals; and from these spiritual
pinnacles they can hope to appeal to the better angels of human nature.
Fortune and chance play a decisive role in setting the stage, but once
set, all those who follow the call to set the truth down in words
proceed by creative endeavor and luck, on towards the same immutable,
classical elements that all poets and prophets have ever sought. Though
ye might sometimes feel yer walking the straight and narrow alone, know
ye that this voyage is eternity's most popular journey amongst the
Greats, and thus yer always in good company.
We were fortunate in that we began harboring dreams of a literary
renaissance at the dawn of the internet revolution, and too, we were
fortunate to be living in beautiful North Carolina, where we could meld
the natural romance emanating from places like Kill Devil Hill and
Chapel Hill and Boone, and the majestic lighthouses and mountains-all
reaching for the Carolina blue skies-into the jollyroger.com aura.
And the power and fury of September's hurricanes always served to
remind us of beauty's fundamental fragility.
Back in 1994, rejection slips were piling up for our more traditional
and refined literature, when suddenly a channel out towards a popular
renaissance opened upon the internet. We took advantage of the Linux
knowledge which becomes second nature to all physicists, and we set
about creating a classical context in the popular culture. And out upon
the web, we found that greatest treasure of all-a live global
audience to serve. Upon the open seas, all yer appreciative emails
combined to form the favorable winds that filled jollyroger.com's
sails in its formative years. And never for a moment do we
forget-were it not for all of ye out there, we might've made it out
beyond the postmodern fog, but we would've never made it back to
shore. For writing is the voyage out, and being read is the voyage back
on home.
While the revolutions in online commerce have been trumpeted far and
wide, and while jollyroger.com has certainly benefited from them, we
see a spiritual revolution in the culture as a nobler opportunity. As
the ecommerce infrastructure solidifies, with the thousands of
high-tech pyramid schemes collapsing, and the useful websites achieving
global dominance, the renaissance beyond the postmodern fog shall take
a bit longer to realize, as it is easier to change how people shop for
books rather than change the books they shop for, and the context they
read books in. It is perhaps impossible to change an aging
generations' heart, and thus the culture must wait for the rising
generation to resurrect those permanent beacons which endow life with
its richer meanings. Have faith we will, mate, for God springs eternal.
Before the internet, it was difficult to imagine a locale upon this
globe where people from all walks of life could gather to discuss the
Great Books, but now such a timeless, ubiquitous entity exists, an
equidistant one-click away from everywhere in the world. And though the
conversations range in quality and tenor, the Great Books don't seem
to mind, as they have changed not one word, nor their unyielding,
eternal context of Freedom's Truths. And now and then we receive the
email that makes it all worthwhile: "Thanks for inspiring me to read
Moby Dick. . ."
Some critics contend that literature serves no moral purpose and that
words should be read for mere enjoyment, and we hope that they enjoy
these words. And too, we hope jollyroger.com serves as a map that helps
the reader find a safe passage out towards their dreams. Always
remember this-even though our greater dreams are sometimes
unobtainable, there is yet vast beauty left in the wake of their
pursuit. For although Einstein, Socrates, and Captain Ahab never
apprehended the white whales they originally set sail seeking, they yet
left behind immortal art and science within the records of their
pursuit of the Truth.
It hasn't always been smooth sailing away out here, but it would have
been far more perilous had we not had the vast inheritance of the
priceless maps created by all the poets and philosophers who have
sailed before us. If ye haven't read the Greats, let jollyroger.com
be the portal out to great adventures, and if ye have read them, may
these words accompany ye on yer next voyage; for the Great Books are
the ones worth returning to time and again. From Hamlet, to the
Declaration of Independence, to the Bible-those were the charts by
which we navigated the Good Ship, and ye'll find many of the same
prominent markers throughout the words which follow.
Contained herein are essays, articles, and poetry written during the
five years we've spent before the mast of jollyroger.com-many of
the passages and poems were composed close to land's end, in places
like Ocracoke, Kill Devil Hills, Hatteras, and Nantucket, and perhaps
the words would best be read in close proximity to the wind and waves.
The final chapter was written as our band was being evacuated from the
Outer Banks during Hurricane Floyd-the last major hurricane of the
millennium-and though there's no need to duplicate those extreme
conditions while perusing this prose, there's certainly a
poetry-enhancing magic to be found a stone's-throw from the ocean.
The vastness of eternity becalms the spirit, and the ocean's expanse
reflects the eternal dimensions of our souls, reminding us that our
spirits are far greater than the daily trifles and worries which so
often obscure life's grander picture.
Some of the passages are a bit more angst-ridden or satirical than we
would write now, but at the same time, many of the youthful sentiments
we could never quite express again, so we have left them mostly intact.
For that which seems trite or naïve to the more experienced conscience
is often beautiful to those just setting sail-and after all, what is
angst but vital hope that yet perseveres in the midst of overarching
irony and corruption? At any rate, passion did most of the work for us,
and thus we should be grateful to her and not overstep our bounds in
editing someone else's work. We have faith that with the great
diversity of readers out there, of all ages and from all continents,
the words which follow shall find appropriate minds and spirits to
reside within.
Although jollyroger.com is a profitable business, the words which
follow constitute the most valuable treasures ever transported within
the Good Ship's holds. They are the intangible, eternal, ungraspable
part-we set out not to make money, but to publish these verities
which we felt would be of use to others also harboring dreams of a
cultural resurgence. Each chapter views an aspect of contemporary
society from the deeper context of the classics; and as relationships,
art, the environment, poetry, ghost stories, business, music,
philosophy, science, the classics, publishing, politics, breweries,
piano pubs, and God are all inextricably woven into the quilt of
existence, the chapters share many common elements.
The chief aim of science and literature are to unify and explain the
mysterious without denying it-to make everything as simple as
possible, but not more so. And in its simplest form this renaissance
must be a collection of renaissances-literary, political,
technological, architectural, and spiritual-within the poet and the
reader alike. For we only know the definition of a word within the
context of others. Hence our new domain: renaissances.com.
Once upon a time, when we would have sent this manuscript out to agents
and publishers, our journey on out towards yer deeper souls would have
ended at the blockade of their reluctance to believe in the prospects
or possibility of this renaissance. But today the revolutions in
electronic publishing are rendering the postmodern literary bureaucrats
insignificant. Neither Plato nor Shakespeare nor Thoreau nor Jefferson
nor Melville ever had to work through MFA agents and editors who must
relentlessly publish and hype temporal books so as to earn their keep.
The contemporary abundance of literary middlemen and general literary
decline is in part a symptom of the plethora of creative writing
workshops, which mass produce marketers and critics who are sympathetic
to the postmodern cause. Sensing the threat to their elite culture
clubs and lumbering bureaucracies, which are as close to eternity as
they'll ever come, the literary elite must try to convince themselves
that these words shall be unable to find a market within the hearts and
souls of the public-that is their job. By devaluing Truth and the
Word, they were able to temporarily enhance the relative worth of their
liberal politics. As uncreative administrators and redistributors of
literary wealth, they are of course sympathetic to relativistic and
communistic causes, as these are the ideologies by which the untalented
ambitious can band together and share the spoils of others' labor and
craftsmanship, or spoil others' labor and craftsmanship, and hype
vulgar nihilism. The postmodern era has been the golden era of
middlemen critics and politicians, but it is foolish for them to
believe that it can last forever, especially when they failed in their
central task of deconstructing the Permanent Things, which are now
again beginning to blossom.
The internet, by providing a clear passage out towards a classical
renaissance, has exposed their arrogant uselessness in eternal matters
better than any words ever could have. They had ample chance to sign
aboard, or even set up renaissance sites of their own, and they'll
always be welcome aboard as deckhands, but for now jollyroger.com sails
on towards eternity without them. All artists must make choices, to
serve the fleeting fashions or the thundering eternities felt deep
within their souls, and it are those rarer spirits, who have the
courage and strength to follow eternity's calling rather than the
critic's ephemeral editorials and the banker's temporal lusts, who
end up penning the poetry for eternity's popular culture. It's
nothing more than fate, matey, and it would be hubris to fight it.
We've hung out in New York enough to know how the future is presented
in the slackademic MFA/MBA marketing departments' PowerPoint
presentations, but from high atop the crow's nest, we've glimpsed
the dawn beyond the breaking fog. Literature in its most sublime form
has never been about following markets, but it has ever been about
creating them. The hundreds of thousands of visitors to jollyroger.com
may receive these words immediately with a simple click, and these
words of optimism may be forwarded and downloaded endlessly about the
watery globe, spreading like wildfire throughout the contemporary
conscience. So it is that in the internet age we no longer approach
publishers so much as to ask to have a book published, but instead we
invite them to join us aboard an entire context-for this ship has
left port.
We know it's just a small ship, and its contribution towards any
renaissance will be far smaller than the daily contributions of all the
hard-working, innovative people who make this country work. Machiavelli
once stated that a man's intelligence can be assessed by the quality
of men he surrounds himself with, and in that regard, the three
sonneteers have been very fortunate. And if we can be of any assistance
in helping parents inspire their children to read, or entertaining and
exalting a cynical college student with a few words of contemporary
wisdom from their peers, then all the better. If jollyroger.com serves
to introduce a couple of people to the beauty of the classics, then
I'll know the Good Ship is headed in the right direction. If the
rising generations seek to engage in the Apollonian arts and once again
return to rhyming, metered verse; and narratives with plots, and heroes
with moral dreams and flawed natures rather than anti-heroes with
perfect cynicism; and if a new scholarship arises, wherein words once
again mean things, promises are made to be kept, and professors
illuminate the greater moral truths in the Great Books; and if politics
follows the poetry's lead, and just beauty is again found in
eternity's higher order, and tomorrow's statesmen are again
schooled amongst the Greats, then jollyroger.com shall be well on her
way. And we think she is.
There's a poem which scrolls across the bottom of the jollyroger.com
pages, which has scrolled hundreds of thousands of times over the past
five years. Now a lot of sailors have expressed admiration for it, and
many have requested printouts, so we would like to conclude this
introduction with the poem, which also opens our first volume of
collected jollyroger.com poetry entitled Eternity in a Grain of Sand:
The Most Perfect Silence of Jollyroger.com Poetry. Neither this
manuscript nor the volume of poetry were ever even sent off to the
traditional publishers for consideration, but instead they were both
sent directly to you, via a myriad of new technologies ranging from
HTML to XML to PDF to print-on-demand. The lumbering conglomerate
fleet, anchored by postmodern prejudices and loaded with thousands of
faceless middlemen hypesters, has proven too dilatory and demented to
navigate a renaissance upon the high seas of the WWW. They had their
chance to get in on the ground floor, but now it's going to cost them
millions, and even then, maybe something that you just can't buy.
Again, poetry's profound peril and glory, and literature's wondrous
risks and rewards, are left to the rugged individual-the rugged
individual who one day awakens to realize that they have no choice but
to follow God's Will.
Not only were we the first to pen these sentiments, but we were also
the first to publish them, which of course will be viewed as a
liability by our critics. But we contend that if yer man enough to
write a book yerself, ye might as well be man enough to publish it
yerself.
In lecturing about the purpose and beauty of poetry, in defending the
rational foundations of noble civility and exalted existence, we pledge
to never forget the most perfect silence which resides at the center
and circumference of jollyroger.com's reason to be-eternal poetry
for all the stalwart sailors. In war, one must never forget the peace
one is fighting for. Welcome aboard an American Renaissance, mate.
-At yer service, Captain Becket Knottingham
Standing on Hatteras, North Carolina
The Most Perfect Silence
I know where the most perfect silence is,
Seen it in the wild blue off Hatteras,
A mile out, rainbowed sails in silent bliss,
Looked like they'd collide, but they safely passed.
I know when the most perfect silence is,
Down a dusty Ohio road, high noon,
No shirt on, being burned by the sun's kiss,
Sixteen, takin' my time-it was still June.
I know what the most perfect silence is,
It's what we say when falling out of love,
It roars and thunders right through the kiss,
Says all that no words can ever speak of.
I know why the most perfect silence is,
It is there for the whisper to be born,
The whisper in her ear became the kiss,
Just a dream in DC early one morn.
I know who the perfect silence is for,
It is for the ones whom we love the best,
It is there to protect them from our core,
By the silent trust we all seek to rest.
And I know how rare that silence can be,
With everyone talkin', it's hard to hear,
But I know I felt it, on the streets of DC,
The sound in her eyes-it was crystal clear.
And it brought back to mind the rainbowed sails,
And the way it looked like they would collide,
Like two souls set upon fate's iron rails,
But the most perfect silence never died.
http://jollyroger.com/american/greatbooksrenaissance.html
http://jollyrogerwest.com
jollyro...@yahoo.com
http://bibleforums.com
http://classicstorytelling.com
Rugged Christians: Truth Through Storytelling
What most men are lacking today is story in their lives.
Rugged stories. Classic American stories. Biblical stories of sacred
romance.
Look at our movies--all the men, from Oranlando Bloom, to Colin
Farrell, to Owen Wilson, to Toby McGuire, are women. And our
women---Uma Thurman, Kierra Knightly, Jennifer Garner, and Charlize
Theron are best known for playing masculine murders.
Where're our John Waynes, our Clint Eastwoods, our Steve McQueens?
Where're our Elizabeth Taylors and Betty Davis's?
I'll tell you where.
They're in Autumn Rangers.
Ranger Mccoy and Autumn Wests.
Autumn Rangers is where NASCAR meets Moby Dick, where the Founding
Fathers hang with Kid Rock, where poetry collides with physics, and
where Classic-American-Country-Hiphop-Lit burns through the pomo fog to
exalt America's heart and soul. Autumn Rangers is the American
Renaissance that's been a long time coming, where the Man with No Name
rides again with John Wayne. The Great American Novel roars 'cross the
Rugged American Terrain in a Jeep and thunders down Dante's Lost
Highway in Autumn's Corvette, with Ranger riding shotgun, packing the
Constitution and Declaration of Independence, chasing down that classic
American Dream that makes Outlaws out of Romantics these days.
Autumn Rangers is a book, movie, video game, magazine, and philosophy
for packing up and heading west, for hiding out and laying low on the
run, for taking a chance with that one life you've been given--taking a
chance on living it from the inside out for those higher ideals,
standing up for what's right, defending eternity against all odds,
facing down irony's evil Sheriff and his Deputies at high noon with a
couple Colt .45 Peacemakers loaded with poetry, and becoming an Autumn
Ranger. But first and foremost, from the Alpha to the Omega, Autumn
Rangers is a story. . .
U.S. Marine Ranger McCoy, an F-22 Raptor fighter pilot, is the Classic
American Hero. After defending the US Constitution from enemies
without, getting shot down and escaping on home, he finds himself on
the run, defending the US Constitution from enemies within. Folk rocker
Autumn West is the All-American Girl. After living for things greater
than herself, she finds herself on the run from a failed marriage, with
a broken heart and jaded soul.
Ranger tried to trade his guns for a camera and a pen, and Autumn tried
to trade a life on the road for a farm and a family, but life (the pomo
context) fell short of their dreams.
Ranger invented APRIL--an AI biocomputer which was stolen by Silicon
Virtue Inc. and turned against him while he was flying missions over
Afghanistan. Silicon Virtue is using APRIL to serve the bottom line
instead of the higher ideals, building WMDs and sending
ever-more-sinister RoboClones to hunt Ranger and Autumn down. Ranger
wears the Ring that can save APRIL by unlocking an encrypted moral
operating system named Beatrice, named after Ranger's first summer love
who passed away when they were fourteen.
Together Autumn and Ranger have to make it from Charleston to LA on
backroads before the bombs APRIL built for terrorists detonate in NY
and LA, and before APRIL's RoboClones kill them.
And so it is that two Romantics find themselves on the run from
RoboClone agents and Sheriffs of Irony who enforce a context of decline
and persecute the honest and true. Autumn and Ranger become partners in
crime and partners in rhyme. They become Classic American Outlaws
running west in a '69 Stingray Corvette, building the Renaissance
against all odds. They become Autumn Rangers. And by the time Ranger
discovers Autumn's deep secret, it's too late--he's in love.
But he's in love.
And most men these days have forgotten what it means to love.
To fight.
To believe.
Oh ye of little faith.
Men are lacking something greater than themselves to fight for.
They're lacking romance. Rugged Ranger romance.
It's OK to be a man. It's your God-given right and duty. It's what
women want--a strong, decisive man.
Not too long ago I was dating a psychologist. Psychology is an attempt
to make a science of the soul, but it fails miserably because it cannot
explaing the majesty nor myster of the spirit--the piece of us that is
closest to God.
Then I ran into someone else who was dating a psychologist, and he said
the same thing.
Postmodern pyschology has inverted the world. It has made every virtue
a vice and every vice a virtue. Once upon a time absitence and
discipline were virtues, but now they are cast as repressions and
opressions. Once upon a time love lived within the immortal soul,
before science could find no proof of the soul.
But the soul is there--just because science cannot see it, does not
mean it doesn't exist.
Science can't explain the feeling of beauty I get when watching the
sunrise, but it is real--far more real than science, and I am a
physicist.
The Three Classics: The Sacred Romance, Journey of Desire and Wild at
Heart
And AUTUMN RANGERS: http://autumnrangers.com
http://jollyrogerwest.com
http://bibleforums.com
http://classicstorytelling.com