Site Ed. Note: …Should dispute be measured in Clarkham’s mass? Fifteen-fifteen, echoing upon the chapel’s ceiling. What meaning does it, within the fast? Dotted Princes of Serendip? Or ready-made? Or fair shin’s rip in Pamplona’s rolling staid? Care gone, out the scroll, leaving all lines behind; shall we sheep it, by its toll, the catch, of Garter’s Palatine? Cause on cause on cause, proximal, One to another, but for woodbine’s Avalon, and Cont Ten in nal: the heart of the reaction, metempirically sensed, that dark and shadowy mendaciloquent fall.

"That is how poets write, the similar sounds. But then Shakespeare has no rhymes: blank verse. The flow of the language it is. The thoughts. Solemn.

HAMLET, I AM THY FATHER'S SPIRIT DOOMED FOR A CERTAIN TIME TO WALK THE EARTH.

--Two apples a penny! Two for a penny!

His gaze passed over the glazed apples serried on her stand. Australians they must be this time of year. Shiny peels: polishes them up with a rag or a handkerchief. Wait.

Those poor birds…"

"--If you want to know what are the events which cast their shadow over the hell of time of KING LEAR, OTHELLO, HAMLET, TROILUS AND CRESSIDA, look to see when and how the shadow lifts. What softens the heart of a man, shipwrecked in storms dire, Tried, like another Ulysses, Pericles, prince of Tyre?"

For the inspiration is often so complex, so lacking of any rational empirical basis on which to explain it, even when the inspired understands ostensibly that which was the inspiration within the tangible, insofar as there is any--which itself may be entirely lacking at times, even within the most abstract, the most deadly Omniscient of all, the Faulconer of all Falcons--, that it takes awhile even for the artist, let alone some idiotic, uninspired, fact-packed fool with half-baked or no facts at all, coming on 50, 100, 200, 300, now 400 years later, with his or her Omniscience and Footnotes to nowhere a-plenty, to discredited texts not properly even consulted in the first place for context—many of which having been discarded long ago by credible and dedicated scholarship by those other than the Royal Vampyra--, to ferret.

--Which is why, we glean, the honest writer preferred to place the "analysis" and "interpretation" of the matter, though never so pompously labeled, within the context of a novel’s conversational dialectic. Not trying to fit it as fact within the confines of a doped-up psycho-pedia, run amuck in the land of Cockaigne. (Did you hear the one about the school-boy, age 24, claiming to be a religion prof. with a PhD, kicking everyone around with it, and hired by Wicked-pedia as one of their "experts" to screen false entries?—until it was discovered recently that he was but a college drop-out who thought "everyone knew" he wasn’t really a PhD, which of course is why he continued the charade. Until the discovery of his bit of identity fraud led to his prompt termination—with extreme prejudice. (Wonder if they will footnote that, or add a reference to the story to their vaunted front-page—where they need a warning label: "Proceed at your own risk; as entries are anonymous, assume that in all cases this encyclopedia is edited exclusively by amateurs, sometimes poseurs, and, at other times, idiots. Double-check your critical information with accredited material before using it for any serious purpose.")

But then the Wicked-pedia, no doubt, has a perfectly sound explanation for Mr. Joyce’s streams and dreams as well, we suppose, one, from séance, setting it just in the right omniscient platitude for us all to follow.

We shall reserve looking at the entry, however, for another day--as time limits us right now.

Thus, we must be brief—"Hamlet" may indeed derive differently from "Hamnet"—just as the Sanford to Mt. Airy train, as well the one from Columbia to Chapel Hill passing through, derived differently from Governor Sanford of North Carolina lore.

But old Will gave the birth name to Hamnet, after all, and chose Hamlet on which, presumptively, to write a play, too.

Thus, it is. For often the coincidences of timing, of name, of related event of one sort or another, even particularly uncommon words in relative proximity within otherwise disconnected text, are the very things which provide the power and structure and spirit of continuity of imagination and creative pluck within this eternal scope of timeless space from which, in turn, after time and scholarship, captures our renewed imagination, to inspire others to same—just as with, perhaps, J. D. Salinger’s naming his vaunted hero of the rye catcher fame.

It may also, conversely, supply the deadly fingerprint from the subconscious mind’s latch of an imagination gone berserk, which then becomes, when used judiciously and not berserkly, the tale-teller after the fact of nefarious acts.

That is, judiciously with recognition that it is only, perhaps, deliberate, perhaps, subconscious; but perhaps, not even read, just incidental, coincidental, transcendental, as, for instance, any reading from Ulysses into words or phraseology employed in our notes you might, until this one anyway, for we ourselves until just the last couple of days, since the last note, had never before so much as peeked into Ulysses. You may beg to differ should you have discovered the hatrack coincidence, but ‘tis so nonetheless. (We actually thought it was Julienne fries when we were struck by the line, but became refuseniks and failed to include that point, though something said to do so.) In fact, that silly little thing, the hatrack that is, from two sources came, fused, both having to do with the same idea, and both related to these editorials and Cash, at least tangentially. But we'll let you research that on your own; suffice to say, as you will understand after the dedicated research, that it had nothing to do with our having read anything in Ulysses, at least not per se, though this day’s editorials we had already read and dictated, together with the others of April, in order, prior to taking down the ensuing days' notes for April, though not usually our method. Our higher faculties, the falcon in the cemetery, so to speak, told us to do it that way this ride around, and, in that instance, so compellingly was it, we followed. (And, now we realize that indeed it must have been a Julienne fry—or maybe a curly. Anyway, certainly a friar.)

Much did we, too, and in short, from our quick and spotty gander of Ulysses. Not by Wicked-pedia, not by someone else’s interpretation, or footnoted omniscience, or by the White Cliffs of Dover on the Board, even. Rather, from a simple pick on the old strings. (Don’t tell anyone, but we heard once of a man who killed a man with a guitar string: some say beneath his coat he had wings. Yet, whether of the raven aside the beefeaters at the Tower, or of the falcon, we know not.)

But, Hamnet may also be, and we must admit of same or be condemned to be labeled close-minded idiots, quite worthy of Private Carr’s running soliloquy—O banish us for the utterance, O Wise One--, the source of the inspiration which gave to the eye of old Will the unfettered restoration to produce, reconstructed through the poetic eye of the play--for it be the thing--, that of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark--through which the Nazis had just run amuck here, in this time of 1940.

So, we were reading, just this day, from Oranjestad, (Orange City), Aruba, the Dutch isle, that Aruba, Bonaire, and Curacao got blasted Sunday and Monday by another furious hurricane in the Gulf, the second category 5 hurricane within a week, though not yet hotting land with that force. They say should this one, Felix, pick up force again as a category 5, with winds that is in excess of 155 mph, and then strike again, then it will be an historical first in one season, two category 5 hurricanes making landfall. So far, Felix has done little damage and no deaths are reported. Let us hope it continues that way as it whorls toward Belize and Mexico. (Downdate from the Gulfstream: Since writing this yesterday, we discover that Felix did make landfall today in Nicaragua at 160 mph, thus setting that record. Now slowed by the friction of land to category 3, at a mere 120 mph, flood and devastation appear to be the descriptors being employed; we hope they stay safe. In 1998, a similarly powerful hurricane killed 11,000 in this same region of Central America. If the hurricane had any sense or sensibility, it would attack only the oil industry and wipe it from the planet; not harmless peasants who have barely a shelter over their heads to start.)

We were also reading here from an old Life, an issue from November 1, 1963, with "Sunny" on the cover—all about some things. About the solid Gold, the Cadillac, which we still see playing regularly today on the news.

Mr. Goldwater, said the opening Editorial, adhered to the following platform: abolish all farm subsidies; cease enlarging Social Security; abolish the graduated income tax, (so that all would pay an equal percentage, that is the poor the same relative to the rich); depart from the U.N.; abolish all foreign aid, reserving only that of the Peace Corps, vigorous volunteers, and like technical assistance; employ the Dulles style of "brinksmanship" to win the Cold War; recognize and arm a government in exile for Cuba, (meaning to provide a direct signal to Castro that another Bay of Pigs could be imminent, despite America’s pledge, after the missile crisis a year earlier, not to invade Cuba--and, then, possibly, ka-boom!); opposed the Nuclear Test Ban Treaty, (meaning a potential policy of rebus sic stantibus, Nazi-style--and, then, possibly, ka-boom!); cease to provide recognition to Russia, (meaning no further negotiations or peace tenders--and, then, possibly, ka-boom!); concomitantly, opposition to the Russian-U.S. wheat deal, (then a much debated issue as to whether it was bread for peace and domestic economic nurture for our farmers, or bread to nurture the foreign hungry to war on us); minimally, if implemented at all, to demand a promise in exchange for these concessions of continued recognition and sale of wheat, the tearing down of the Berlin wall (all sounding well and good on paper, but nurturing only more shoe-banging on the table in relative reality): overall--a "new nationalism" in trade and law, as opposed to international trade and the World Court; incentives for free enterprise, more fiscal responsibility, less Federal spending.

In short, when carried to its logical requirements for practical implementation: trickle-down economics; increasing dramatically the defense budget to bursting proportions, creating in its wake a corporate welfare system within the defense industry and related support industries, the expense for which would be borne by the poor, not the wealthy, with the new overhaul of the tax structure, letting the farmers and the elderly starve and hang themselves with no wheat to sell any Commie; no subsidy, little retirement security, inspired by Red Socialism, work by the sweat of your brow like Barry on his Horse tooling the Range; protectionism, nationalism, return to the Gay 90’s.

And of course, nowhere was there any mention of civil rights, a distinctly loud silence in the hall for that one. It's all, after all, economics, not social programs, which the government offers. Leave the socialization to the private clubs on the frontier prairie to administer as they will.

Sound like any Party's platform we know about since 1964, finally hitting it Big in the 1980’s?

In our view, Sunny could have been named Silver Foot, just as well.

But in your heart, you know they were Right.

In the same issue, ironically, we read about the largest single airlift in our history from domestic territory to an overseas destination, accomplished in a mere three days’ time, to prove a point. One to West Berlin. To prove a point. Ticking the telegraphers’ keys. To prove a point. A new language of international diplomacy, to conquer the language barrier, to prove a point.

Fail-Safe in the shop window. To prove a point.

--What if they perceive it that way rather than this? Airlift. Mobile. Guns of August. Dead by the millions. To prove a point. Crazy, man, crazy. To prove a point.

--Better than being nuked, in your daisy-chain, don’t you think, at the Wall, over some Shoe-booted thing? Besides, can't you read? You don't think they can? Just practice. Lyman’s gone, Lemay's in the rear, now, after all.

--Crazy, man. Don’t know what it means. Weakness means War. Need the man with the Horse. Sunny’s his name—the facts from A to Z, neatly framed. Encyclopedic, Britannic. No nonsense. Speaks music to the ears. Love that game.

--No. Better than that. It means, eye on the ball. Forward pass. Catch it, before too late, a sin, by next fall. Plans on the Aisles in play. Don’t you see? Just a touch, no touchdown. Else, we’re history.

--Crazy, man, crazy. Bible reading, Faith, the salute and Pledge in schools-- All the Warrens' games got by in the Notch, the Cart, all you need, to prove a point. Smart. Gives the feel that the man on the Horse. He’s the Deal.

--Don’t you see? Not him. Dry as the desert air, smooth as sands’ hourglass, Dead as the last of it passing through the sifter’s funnel. Crazy, man, crazy, Dee. Dee, de-ee. The Big One.

So then, three weeks later, Styles Bridges came from the grave, in the cloak of the Partisan, and shot in the Presidential range, the bull-moose felled on the map, the map, the map, the map, again.

--Spit it out, little trollop. It’s all on TV. Come and see. For…

Then all? In the Hunting Lodge in view. You know who's to blame.

Jackson Hole. Jackson Hole.

We’ll train you, little Spit. Love--all the good for your support, it's true. Secret Plan. Just aim and shoot, little orphan Fan, he's the Man--

But not quite.

What was it he said? that is, Sun Tzu?

Finicky Man Has Little To Choose In Pa. Primary

Politics in Pennsylvania is a three-way proposition. The dominant party is the rock-ribbed Republican organization which takes its orders, and a good part of its funds, from Joseph Pew of the Sun Oil Co.

The Democratic opposition had never amounted to much until the advent of the New Deal in Washington handed over to it the Negro and Labor vote. These together with the national landslides of 1932 and 1936 were enough to give the Democrats the State Administration, which soon enough they lost, plus one U.S. Senator in the heavy-set person of Joe Guffey--the same Joe Guffey of Alien Property ill fame.

Senatorial primaries in Pennsylvania forestalled the exodus of this charlatan in national affairs: a man who has greased himself and his constituency with pork while prating all the time of High Idealism and Humanity. The Hon. Joe is going to be renominated, all right, but by no more than a 60-40 vote. The minority represents both a severe schism in the Democratic Party and a protest, we take it, against the particular candidate.

But that is more or less beside the point of the election in November. For the Republicans in Pennsylvania are holding a primary too, and the size of their vote is running well ahead of the Democratic vote. Moreover, Jay Cooke, who wears Joseph Pew's colors, is so far out in front that there hasn't been any doubt who the Republican nominee would be since the first precinct reported.

Pennsylvania looks safe this Fall for Republicanism and old Joseph Pew. For Joe Guffey it looks like the gate.

Mr. Dewey Indulges In A Very Large Promise

In one of his late speeches, Thomas E. Dewey told an audience that Roosevelt or anybody he approved as President cannot be trusted to keep the United States out of war, and that what was wanted was a man (obviously he meant Thomas Dewey) who would absolutely guarantee to keep us out of war.

That is a strange sound to come from Mr. Dewey, who only a few months ago was reporting that he was in essential agreement with the Roosevelt foreign policy.

And it is a good deal less than an honest promise--has to be, when you examine it.

The only sane promise any man can eventually give to the American people is that he will keep the country out of war so long as it is not, in his best judgment and God helping him, incompatible with the fundamental best interests of the nation. Else he is pretending to know the future, or announcing that he will sacrifice everything to keeping us out of war.

Actually, such a promise as Dewey holds out is the very best guarantee that he would eventually get into war, on highly disadvantageous terms. If he went into office with it hanging over him, all the bandit nations, Japan, Nazi Germany, Russia, and Italy, would certainly and joyfully take it as a signal that they were now at liberty to grab whatever they liked, regardless of our protests, and to walk over our rights as they pleased, to make greater and more arrogant demands on us. And the people of the United States do not really take kindly to that kind of treatment, would be hankerin' before long to fight.

Even small boys know that the surest way to get smacked is to announce that you won't fight under any circumstances, because Mama will whip. A Presidential candidate who doesn't know it is unfit for the office. A Presidential candidate who does know it and is so uncandid as to try to make people think otherwise is even more unfit for the office.

The Guild Spirit Comes To Little Ed's Aid

Little Ed Rivers may be washed up so far as the people of Georgia are concerned, but it appears that he need not worry about his personal future. The solid old guild spirit of the politicoes will have more of him, and his attempt at being the dictator in Georgia may yet result in a nice soft berth for the rest of his days.

The Southeastern Governors Conference has decided to promote him for the vacant job on the Interstate Commerce Commission.

Little Ed's sole qualification for the job seems to be that he yelled very loudly for revision of Southern freight rates after it became popular to do so.

For the rest, it is manifest that Little Ed is not exactly the temperament needed for the post. The job calls for the judicial attitude in a high degree, for the patience necessary to plough through a great mass of detailed facts before jumping to conclusions, and for a nice regard for both the legalities and the interest of everybody concerned.

Little Ed, on the other hand, has shown himself to be a brash fellow who hasn't patience to wait for established process nor the inclination to abide by its decisions when they run against him.

That must be plain even to the Southeastern Governors Conference. But some of it, of course, counts as against the necessity of standing by a wounded lodge brother. Maybe Little Ed won't get his job, though in view of his steadfast, if manifestly opportunist, adherence to the New Deal, he has a far better chance than his qualifications ought to make possible. But in any case, he may be at peace: he will be taken care of.

Site Ed. Note: To expand Cash’s point regarding the description by Tacitus of the Germania of 1,850 years earlier, as a society, lazy by nature, essentially built on piracy, he says more fully:

But The Facts Bear Out View Of Duff Cooper

The speech by Alfred Duff Cooper yesterday perhaps heralds the final abandonment by the English of the attempt to draw a distinction between the Nazis and the German people. Duff Cooper does not belong to the Government, of course, but he is still a mouthpiece for the ruling group in England and his relations with the Government seem to be much closer than the formal situation suggests.

The instinct of the English people has never taken kindly to this view that only Hitler and a few Nazis were responsible for the war. And with reason. Three times in the last 70 years the Germans have made major wars in Europe, always to the simple purpose of extending their rule over other peoples by force. It makes no difference that they have often had effective aid in making these wars from suckers like Napoleon III, Poincaré and Izvolski, Laval and Hoare and Baldwin and Chamberlain: the essential and primary guilt is still certain.

Truth about the Germans is that they have never got civilized in certain important regards, despite their remarkable achievements in the arts and sciences and in metaphysics, and despite their charming development on their softer side.

Tacitus said of the German tribes, in 97 A. D., that a German considered it shameful to work for what he could get by war and rapine. It remains fundamentally true.

In 1914 Germany was the most prosperous and rapidly rising nation in Europe. And there is ample evidence that if she had settled down to work after 1918 instead of eternally nursing her wounds and her hatred she could have today been one of the most prosperous again--could and certainly would have been the dominant industrial and commercial power in the Balkans and Asia Minor.

Instead, she has chosen to cling to a kind of pride which belongs to the barbarian stage of society and which the other nations of Europe have outgrown--the itch to go out and demonstrate German superiority by the simple barbarian devices of murdering and enslaving her neighbors.

Under those circumstances, therefore, Duff Cooper and the instinct of the English people, as of the French, are justified. Hitler says that he is an incarnation of the German will, and it is plainly so. The only reasonable hope for peace in the future is to put this nation so thoroughly out of commission that it will not be able to do it again.