May your deeds redound upon you!

We must all be judged by our deeds.  As the saying goes, “You’ve made your bed- now sit on it!”

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New year, new trax

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Seasons Gratings

The time is coming when I will be Home For The Holidays.  And they are Holidays of Reflection.

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Urbane in the Vein

To say that winter is a time for reflection, is to state a cliche.  However, I nonetheless feel more reflective than ever this holiday season.

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Meat Eaters

Apparently, in an early book, Philip K. Dick said,

“Every time I see a picture of Stalin I look him square in the eye and I say: You’re a meat eater, Joseph.”

I don’t even know what he’s talking about.

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I Smell Greatness…

I just set up a pro website at .  Well maybe you think I was a idiot.  But the truth is, I got a whiff of greatness.  And as the saying goes, “He who smelt it, dealt it.”

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I Can’t Stop Thinking About Him.

Boys my age are supposed to be thinking about girls.  All I can think about these days is Joseph Vissarionovich Stalin.  From his first encounter with Marx in a secret banned books club in seminary school, to his ascension in 1922 to the position of General Secretary of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, to his death in 1953, Stalin was the man with the plan, Stan.  That plan involved killing an awful lot of people.  But when he died, there was genuine lamentation throughout the Soviet Union.  People looked to Stalin as a father figure, the leader who had guided the nation when the double-crossing Nazis landed at their doorstep and threatened the Russian people with genocide.  It was a nation with Stalin at the helm that stormed Berlin and ended World War 2.  And it was Stalin who initiated a program of massive industrial and agricultural collectivization that would change the Russian way of life forever.

In his final novel*, “The Western Lands,” Burroughs writes of a dream encounter with Stalin.  Stalin is eating some sort of meat pie, but it is difficult to make out the dish, and it is difficult to make much out about Stalin.  He seems perfectly ordinary, says Burroughs, except for some slight aura, which he describes as the look of “somebody who used to be somebody.”

Stalin, you hurt an awful lot of people.  And I know you had lofty ideals.  But people looked up to you.  And you let a lot of those people down.  You were always smart, Joe.  You were always tough.  To do some of that stuff that you did, I can’t believe that you had a heart inside you.  But there’s one thing I really wanna know.  Did you get off on it?  Did you view it all as some dismal duty, your own fateful cross to bear for a greater cause?  Or was there part of you- maybe more than just one part- that got a little thrill every time you caused hurt?  How did you feel about it, Joe?  Did you feel at all?  Because to us, looking back on history, it isn’t obvious what was going on inside you.  And I don’t think we’ll ever know.

Can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout him.

*(edit- actually Burroughs wrote 1 other “novel,” a book about his dreams.  I haven’t read it, could be good…)

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