Moché > Recent Status Updates

Can’t finish yet horror fans. Gotta sleep. Dead tired.

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause

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The bane of existence for any tall person is a short bed with a footboard.

~ unknown ~

The mind of the assassin:

“My own morality doesn’t matter. It is determined solely according to the Torah itself,” Amir would eventually explain. To Amir, as to other Jewish fundamentalists, the Old Testament was literal, word-for-word truth. “The Torah is the brain. If the Torah tells you to do something that runs counter to your emotions, you do what runs counter to your emotions.”

Amir watched the televised handshake between Rabin and Arafat. He decided that the Oslo deal was an act of treason by Rabin, the land he would be handing over to the Palestinians having been promised by God to the Jews.

Hamas issued a statement calling the Oslo deal a disgrace and a sellout and urging Palestinians to oppose it. The group would devote itself in the coming years to scuttling the reconciliation.

The signing itself [between Rabin and Arafat] took place around a long wooden table dragged out from one of the White House offices—the same table Israeli and Egyptian leaders had used to seal their peace treaty in 1979.

Two of the more progressive Israeli leaders, imo, have been Ehud Barak and Yitzhak Rabin who truly sought to bring peace between Israel and her enemies. I give credit to Menachem Begin for helping secure peace with Egypt.

I want to understand who worked against Rabin. Amir was the trigger man. He wasn’t the whole movement. I agree with Rabin’s widow at this point and assign blame to right wing politicians.

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Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.
-RUMI

This is the pick of HGRH🔥👩🏻👹

Critics compare it to LOTFlies which is one of my favorite books. Though I’ve never thought of Flies as horror but as realism.

We shall see 🌒 🌑

Had to get this second hand in hc but it’s immaculate. And a better cover than the current edition. Cuz covers matter cuz art matters. I know it will be a fierce read but I also know my Deutsche friend has a lot to offer. He did not bow the knee to the Nazis. They wanted to use his WW1 memoir for propaganda and Sajer refused.

Funniest reading line to wake up to:

"My God, Debris, too much garlic."

"There can never be too much garlic."

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Early in the morning I hear coyotes singing again, calling up the sun.

☀️☀️☀️

Don't the hours grow shorter as the days go by?
You never get to stop and open your eyes
One day you're waiting for the sky to fall
The next you're dazzled by the beauty of it all
When you're lovers in a dangerous time
Lovers in a dangerous time

These fragile bodies of touch and taste
This vibrant skin, this hair like lace
Spirits open to the thrust of grace
Never a breath you can afford to waste

A bear does not pick berries with a little tin pail; the bear grasps an entire blackberry branch between its paws, bends it down and into the mouth, and strips it clean of berries, thorns, leaves, bugs, spiders, everything. The bear rolls this mix around for a while in its mouth, looking thoughtful, like a wine lover sampling a new wine, makes distinctions, spits out the leaves and thorns, and grabs another branch.

"The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough."

🦋

Rabindranath Tagore

Walking up the trail to my lookout tower last night, I saw the new moon emerge from a shoal of clouds and hang for a time beyond the black silhouette of a shaggy, giant Douglas fir. What I saw was the moon - the moon itself, nothing else; and the tree, alive and conscious in its own spiral of time; and my hands, palms upward, raised toward the sky. We are. And each such moment holds all that we could possibly need.

For my friends who read epic fantasy, medieval romantasy and ancient historical fiction:

"When you meet a swordsman, draw your sword:
Do not recite poetry to one who is not a poet."
- Robert Greene

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Day 5 Story 1

Two young men, Cimone and Lisimaco, fall in love with a pair of women who are committed to others in arranged marriages. On the wedding day, the men slay the brides’ husbands and steal away with them.

“They arrived in Crete and were given a warm welcome by their friends and relations. They married their ladies, held a grand wedding feast and happily enjoyed the spoils they had taken.”

Mesquite burns with a slow hot flame.

Fire is magic, a purifying and sanctifying magic, and most especially a mesquite fire on a sand dune at evening under desert skies, on the shore of a pool that gleams like polished agate, like garnet, like a tiger’s eye.

The sun goes down. A few stray clouds catch fire, burn gold, vermillion, and driftwood blue in the unfathomed sea of space.

Looking out on this panorama of light, space, rock and silence I am inclined to congratulate the dead man. I envy him the manner of his going: to die alone, on rock under sun at the brink of the unknown, like a wolf, like a great bird. To die in the open, under the sky, before this desert vastness opening like a window onto eternity—that surely was an overwhelming stroke of rare good luck.

Do we care to match the reality of America to its ideals? If so, do we really believe that our notions of self-government and individual freedom, equality of opportunity and equality before the law, apply to everybody? Or are we instead committed, in practice if not in statute, to reserving those things for a privileged few?
I recognize that there are those who believe that it's time to discard the myth.

The wife of a doctor assumes that a lover of hers is dead and puts him in a chest, which two usurers carry off to their house with the man still inside. When he comes to, he is arrested as a thief, but the lady's maid tells the Signoria that she was the one who stuck him in the chest, thus enabling the lover to escape the gallows, while the moneylenders are condemned to pay a fine for having taken the chest.

And low in the sky above the cross was the full moon. She was low and ghostly pale, and as the sun rose she faded even more, but as the ten punts drifted down the river I stared at her and said a silent prayer to Hoder because the moon is his woman and it was she who must give us victory. Because, for the first time since Guthrum had struck in a winter’s dawn, the Saxons were fighting back.

The first ravens came 🐦‍⬛ I have often wondered if ravens smell blood, for the sky can be clear of them all day, but when a man dies they come from nowhere on their shining black wings. Perhaps Odin sends them, for the ravens are his birds, and now they flapped down to start feasting on eyes and lips, the first course of every raven feast. The dogs and foxes would soon follow.