Bucky Quotes

Your best days are ahead of you. The movie starts when the guy gets sober and puts his life back together; it doesn't end there.

We've been there and come back. When you fall in the pit, people are supposed to help you up. But you have to get up on your own. We'll take your arms, but you have to get your legs underneath you and stand.

Even if a creator made a character to be straight, they put those characters out into the world, right? So those characters are mine now. And I say that Steve and Bucky are gay as hell.

You never change things by fighting the existing reality. To change something, build a new model that makes the existing model obsolete.

Cherchez la femme, Bucky. Remember that.

They got drunk and high on a regular basis, but this is a vestige of youth that you either quit while you're young or you become an addict if you don't die. If you are the Old Guy In The Punk House, move out. You have a substance abuse problem.

Bucky Katt: A bad writer is just a good writer with writer's block.

I won’t be in the history books; that’s for you. But I loved you first. As long as they get that right, I don’t care what they say.

Just as others pray daily, you should think to yourself daily about what you can do to be closer to this Ideal Image. Think: "What can I do today to make my life better?" "What can I do to become more like my Ideal Image?

Three cheers for Sheriff Wilson. - Bucky Dideron

And way across, on the other side, this is crazy, but I thought I saw that hotel you talked about. Then I blinked my eyes—the wind was so strong they were tearing up—and when I looked again, it was gone.” Bucky doesn’t smile. “You’re not the only person who’s seen that. I’m not a superstitious man, but I wouldn’t go anywhere near where the Overlook Hotel used to stand. Bad stuff happened there.

Bucky B. Katt: "I'm not closed minded you're just wrong

Q: What's the difference between a tweaker and an elephant? A: The elephant will eat all your peanut butter.

I asked Joe if he hated Ivy and Bucky. He said, “That would make as much sense as hating a rattlesnake. You don’t hate rattlesnakes; you avoid them.

Q: How do you tell when there's an elephant in the pit? A: Peanut shells on the floor.

Though a smile is little work, its effects are long lasting.

With the utmost care, Bucky reaches for Pablo Eggscobar.

I never saw it before. I see it all now. All of it. It’s never Mickey Mantle that kills you. Never Willie Mays. Never the thing you prepare for. It’s always the little thing you didn’t see coming. The head cold that puts you in your grave. It’s always Bucky Dent.” Ted

Let things sit. Let things sit on your heart. You will learn of them by their weight.

Fuck science for now, he thought, all it has is truth. Poetry has truth and lies and is therefore truer than science, a more encompassing discipline.

It will be in the key of delicious. - Bucky

No, the great thing about selfie sticks is that they send annoying people out into the world with a built-in means with which to thrash them. -Bucky Katt

—Bucky dear, his wife warned, you’re slurring your words. —Slurring is the cursive of speech, I observed.

They lied, you know,” said Cpl. Allan Richmond. He hugged the wall next to Owens. Beside him, PFC Bucky Hatton crouched low, a Browning 1911 semiautomatic gripped tightly in his hand. “Who?” asked Bart, glad to be out of the wind and rain, even if it was only for a short time. “The assholes who said France was beautiful.

He still loved her, loved her more for her wrinkles because they could not defeat his need for her. Or his love. His young lust had turned to love and then his love had aged back into lust. It was a circle. It was a miracle. It was the alchemy of flesh. They ate only what they caught from the sea - wahoo, barracuda, and mahi mahi, and they ate what they picked from the trees - papaya, banana, and coconut. Don't forget cerveza from the bodega. They did not run, they walked. They needed nothing but themselves. This was them: They were.

Sometimes I think if you didn't have me, there wouldn't be a single person in the world who really understood you...

Of course not,” I sputter at Bucky. “Where the fuck would he find one? Hiding in the equipment closet?

He grinned broadly to himself. He’d show Bucky who was productive. Hell, he might even put on pants today.

Summoning a demon was a fairly complicated process, but Bucky knew all too well that summoning a carload of assholes was as simple as lighting a cigarette.

You know what Scarlett O’Hara said, don’t you?” Bucky Hanson grins. “ ‘I’ll think about it tomorrow, for tomorrow is another day.’ 

West Nine were, and Bucky named them off: Colorado, Wyoming, Montana, Utah, Arizona, New Mexico, Idaho, Oregon, and—of course—Nevada.

Scarlett O’Hara said, don’t you?” Bucky Hanson grins. “ ‘I’ll think about it tomorrow, for tomorrow is another day.

The young girl was named Christina, and she was dying. She knew that. Bone cancer. Leukemia. They called it first names like that, but she knew its last name was death.

His son Peter Bucky happily spent time driving Einstein around, and he later wrote down some of his recollections in extensive notebooks. They provide a delightful picture of the mildly eccentric but deeply un-affected Einstein in his later years. Peter tells, for example, of driving in his convertible with Einstein when it suddenly started to rain. Einstein pulled off his hat and put it under his coat. When Peter looked quizzical, Einstein explained: “You see, my hair has withstood water many times before, but I don’t know how many times my hat can.

Bucky did the things I couldn’t. I was the icon. I wore the flag… But while I gave speeches to troops in the trenches… He was doing what he’d been trained to do… and he was highly trained.

Bucky's garage was a two-bay cinder block structure that sat like an island in a sea of cars. New cars, old cars, smashed cars, rusted cars, cars that had signed on for the vital organ program,

He wanted to argue like this forever. This was better than nothing. There was no exhausting his anger at his father, and every word, however well intentioned or intentionally barbed, was a pull at a scab on his bloody heart. It was too late for any of this. There could ultimately be no healing. Marty had terminal cancer, and so did the two men have a cancer between them. They were terminal together, as father and son. They remained, momentarily exhausted, but it was really only that quiet between lightning and thunder as sound lags behind speed. The lightning had cracked the ground already, you just hadn't heard it yet.

Bucky raises his eyebrows. 'Did he now? I want to hear all about it. In fact, I want to hear everything. Especially what went wrong.' Billy considers this carefully. 'Everything but Alice,' he says, and starts laughing. He can't help it.

And Patrice thought another thing her mother said was definitely true—you never really knew a man until you told him you didn’t love him. That’s when his true ugliness, submerged to charm you, might surface. After all, it had happened with Bucky.

Fighting beside Bucky was a bit like guarding the back of a rampaging bear, but it was a role Tobias had played a hundred times back in school. For all his mild manners, Buckingham Penner was a full-steam-ahead kind of fighter with little regard for sneak attacks from behind.

What if I don't love you?" "I'll wait till you do." "You might have to wait a long time." They both got quiet. They both listened to the other breathe. They stood in different places on the exact same spot. "What are you doing?" she asked. There was a long pause, and then Ted said, "Waiting . . .

At many meetings, you will be able to sit there with a cup of coffee and a handful of cookies. How much better do you want your life? You haven't been treated this well since kindergarten. Cookies, coffee, and the story of The Little Junkie That Could. The only thing better would be if it came with a nap.

If only there wasn’t the war, and rationing! Meat, butter, and sugar were becoming so scarce. Bucky knew it wasn’t Norma Jeane’s fault but in a childlike way he seemed to blame her: men blamed women for meals that weren’t fully satisfying as they blamed women for sex that wasn’t fully satisfying; that’s the way the world is and Norma Jeane Glazer, a bride of less than a year, knew this fact by instinct. But when Bucky liked a meal, he exuded enthusiasm and it was thrilling to her to watch him eat, as a long time ago (it seemed: in fact, not many months ago) she’d been thrilled watching her high school teacher Mr. Haring read her poems, aloud or even silently.

He was impressed with his father's fiction and noticed certain stylistic tics that he shared, and figured it was genetic. Why would genes determine only physical traits, eye color and left-handedness? Why not other, more subtle, bodiless proclivities such as a love of the semicolon and a propensity to string modifying clauses ad infinitum?

Maximum Rocknroll didn't have a map section. How was I supposed to know that Berkeley was not a neighborhood of San Francisco?

...this one, hoarding, heartbreaking expression of love that would have only made Marty's self-inflicted wounds deeper, was enough. This is how love kills.

Your thoughts don't make you who you are, your actions do. Be better than your thoughts.

Ted hated that moment when they saw that it was only him. Like it was just a terrible mistake, like he himself was a mistake. It

Go to bed, Ted." "Okay." "Wake up angry.

Ted's old single bed had weird dreams in it.

He liked how sometimes science helped him to know and hate himself more thoroughly.

Oh, to see what they did to you. It would break your Captain’s heart.

Thus, the Fifth Patriarch of Zen, Hui Neng, said twelve centuries before Bucky Fuller, "From the beginning there has never been a thing." This is easy to see, if you are thinking in Chinese, but very difficult if you are thinking in Indo-European. Einstein only got to that mode of apprehension by thinking in mathematics (and in pictures, as he once confessed).

was the bad, easy, faux-tough-guy type of racist stuff his father loved to say just to piss people off. Ted hated that shit, found it offensive. But sometimes, against his better judgment, Ted felt something like a ventriloquist’s dummy, involuntarily speaking his father’s words. He might adopt an attitude or phrase out of the blue, like some sort of paternal Tourette’s.

I heard the missing in her voice. Knew she dreaded me leaving, but even more, Bucky. He'd been in all of my AP classes, quietly earning grades almost as good as mine. He was only headed two hours down the highway to Virginia Tech, but Roni knew there were more than miles between here and there, more than hours between now and what might come. Bucky was way too smart to stay in Dale and pump gas so other people could go places.

They drove farther north like that. In perfect loving antagonism. It occurred to Ted that maybe Marty was like all the red and gold leaves he saw burning on the trees. In nature, it seems, things reached their most vibrant and beautiful right at the point of death, flaming out with all they had—why not natural man? His father was red, green, yellow, and gold, like a beautiful bird falling from the sky. Parodoxical undressing again.

A culpa em alguém como Bucky pode parecer absurda, porém é, de fato, inevitável. Uma pessoa como ele está condenada. Jamais irá corresponder ao ideal que carrega dentro de si. Nunca sabe onde termina sua responsabilidade. Jamais aceita seus limites porque, sobrecarregado com uma severa bondade natural que não lhe permite resignar-se ao sofrimento dos outros, nunca admitirá , sem se sentir culpado, que possa estar sujeito a alguma limitação

Bucky,” Lester said. “The other night I started to explain to someone your philosophy on Southern accents, but all I could remember was that it defied logic.” “Southern accents are hillbilly,” Bucky said with petulance. “Anyone with a proper education, I don’t care if he’s never stepped foot out of the South, doesn’t go around sounding like Jubilation T. Cornpone. If he does, it’s a put-on. And please, I’m in no mood to rehash the obvious.

When Ted opened the door to find Mariana there, his first thought was, "I don't know what I'm wearing." And he didn't look down; he had a bad feeling and didn't want to face it, he kept his eyes on the girl, who said, "Hello, Theodore.

Ted remained seated at the kitchen table, marveling at how big the emptiness inside him felt, and how the smallest thing, a sideways word from his father, could tear it open, and how the smallest thing, a kiss from his father, stitched it up in light.

No, war would’ve been good for you if you didn’t get killed, would’ve given you a subject, a fucking plot. Think of Hemingway and Mailer. Without WW Two, Mailer is nothing but a genius momma’s boy who wants to hang with made guys and boxers, and poor Hemingway, even with the war, he’s really only known as another wannabe tough-guy boxer bullfighter backstage Johnny with a smoking-hot granddaughter in a soon-to-be-released Woody Allen film. But war is good for art. War is good for industry and fiction.

Love is metaphysical gravity.” By Gary Zukav GUEST COMMENTATOR Bucky said, “Love is metaphysical gravity.” I agree. What else could it be? Without gravity you would float like an astronaut in a spacecraft. Up and down would mean nothing to you. Your slightest motion would send you tumbling head over feet or rolling uncontrollably. If you pushed hard against a wall, you would shoot backward fast until you hit another wall. If the lights in the spacecraft went out, you would have no way at all of orienting yourself. Without love the same thing happens. Every experience of anger, jealousy, resentment, and fear sends you spinning out of control. You have no way of knowing up from down except what your anger shows you, and it always shows you that you are right and someone else is wrong, that you are a victim and someone else is a villain. The more you act in anger, jealousy, resentment, or fear, the more painful consequences you create. You careen helplessly, spinning, rolling, hitting walls you can’t avoid and colliding with others. Love grounds you. It orients you. Love brings your awareness to others and yourself. Love opens your mind and heart to others and yourself. Love settles you and gives you balance. When you choose to become sensitive and caring instead of frightened and selfish, your anger turns to appreciation, your jealousy to gratitude, and your resentment to caring. You cannot loose your orientation: When your deeds harm others, you are in fear, and when you create harmony, cooperation, sharing, and reverence for Life, you are in love. The ground beneath you is always solid.

Even though he collapsed against the wall of the boxcar and felt his throat go raw, even though he felt his hands scraping at the floor, he knew that he was also curiously unreal; flickering. In that moment he could do anything. He could have leapt out after him; he could have shot himself in the foot; he could have flown. He gasped and laughed, but Buck wasn't there to hear it, so he knew the noise he made wasn't real. He saw the inside of himself then - who he was without Bucky - and what he found was terribly simple. He was nothing at all.

And the bowling average? The obsession with statistics, the purity and power of the numbers worked to the seventh decimal place, as if some truth were hidden in the golden mean. He could feel his young self grasping for solidity in those numbers, keys to himself - I am this concrete, numerical thing. I am 134.7538658.

Virgil reached into the wool cap that contained his dreads, stuffed so full as to give him the appearance, Ted thought, of the Great Kazoo on the latter years of The Flintstones or a Jiffy Pop container expanded to its max. (Ted made a mental note that these are not bad similes and hoped he could find them on a rainy day.)

They could barely see each other. It was safe to love each other in the dark, Ted thought. They couldn't see how badly they loved each other, how they always botched it, didn't have to own that chasm of need. Ted felt his father's soul open up to the kiss like one of those plants that only grow at night, he thought, without any irony. A nightshade. My father the nightshade.

Like many who are unable to play the game Ted had great insight into it. Perhaps being barred from success in a thing makes you overly perceptive of what makes success or failure in that thing, causes you to obsess on its technicalities and mysteries; whereas the gifted do not learn, they merely do, the less gifted stew, and ponder, and worry; they learn it the hard way and then they can teach it. The gifted can't teach what they never learned.

Bucky was very clear that he felt there were two major areas of human endeavor that needed this prosperity understanding: politics and big business. Both of these fields are guilty in his mind of doing what is best for their personal goals rather than what is best for the well-being of all. I’m sure he would have acknowledged exceptions to this thought, but in general he felt human progress depended on these two areas changing their views on how to prosper. The welfare of others must become the driving motivation behind their efforts. Can you imagine politicians who always voted according to their inner guidance without any concern about what would get them reelected, or corporations that depended on the value of their product to boost sales without trying to sell people on why they have to buy it? There are many other selfmotivating problems that go with modern politics and big business. In

Barnaby Fanning was the lone offspring of a marriage between two of New Orleans’ finest families. Growing up in a Garden District mansion so iconic it was a stop on all the tours, the future heir to sugar and cotton fortunes both, his adolescence spent at debutante balls during the season and trips abroad during the summer: it was the stuff of true Southern gentlemen. But Bucky always refused the first table at a restaurant. He carried a pocket calculator so he could tip a strict twelve percent. When his father nudged him out of the nest after graduating Vanderbilt (straight Cs), Bucky fluttered only as far as the carriage house because no other address would suit. He sported head-to-toe Prada bought on quarterly pilgrimages to Neiman Marcus in Dallas, paid for by Granny Charbonneau. At the slightest perceived insult, Bucky would fly into rages, becoming so red-faced and spitty in the process that even those on the receiving end of his invective grew concerned for his health. During the holidays, Bucky would stand over the trash and drop in Christmas cards unopened while keeping mental score of who’d sent them. He never accepted a dinner invitation without first asking who else would be there. Bucky Fanning had never been known to write a thank-you note.

No matter what the humans do on this earth, the earth still spins. That’s what matters to the space-time continuum. Not whether your parents meet or not, not this home run, not any of the fucking wars or anything you think really matters on earth. Not even if humans ever evolved. The earth forms, and there’s this tiny chance over billions of years that humans end up happening, so if you think that some poem you write or some baby you make matters one way or another to the way the planet spins, you’re fucking out of your god damned mind. The planet doesn’t give a shit whether or not you’re on it. Neither does the solar system, the galaxy, or anything else in fucking space. Got it?

I sought to accomplish whatever was to be accomplished for anyone in such a manner that the advantage attained for anyone would never be served at the cost of another or others.” This speaks to the integrity of Bucky’s intentions and his desire to put principle before self-gain. “I sought to cope with all humanly unfavorable conditions, customs and afflictions by searching for the family of relevant physical principles involved, and therewith through invention and technological development to solve all problems by physical data and devices that were so much more effective as to be spontaneously adopted by humans and thereby to result in producing more desirable life-styles and thus emancipate humans from the previously unfavorable circumstances. I must always ‘reduce’ my inventions to physically working models and must never talk about the inventions until physically proven— or disproven. The new favorable-to-humans environment constituted by the technological inventions and information must demonstrate that new inanimate technology could now accomplish what heretofore could not be accomplished by social reforms. I sought to reform the environment, not the humans. I determined never to try to persuade humanity to alter its customs and viewpoints.” In this declaration, we find Bucky’s thought that one way to help and change people for the better is not to try to change their thinking, but to change their environment for the better. The change will do the work of allowing others to find their own betterment of thought. He was suggesting that social reform does not always help people because their physical environment is so unimproved.

The big fat yellow cat comes to wind around Bucky's ankles. It says, “Meow.” It pronounces it very distinctly, like maybe it speaks Cat as a second language and doesn't know how to use contractions.

He's nothing but a pile of sand. Everything he ever was. Everything he would ever be is blowing away in the wind. Poff, just like that.

He's nothing but a pile of sand. Everything he ever was. Everything he would ever be is blowing away in the wind. Poof, just like that.

If Duncan were little, they would ignore us, but a teenager having a tantrum like this is not a common sight. Bucky Dwayne’s security guard doesn’t know what to do. We’re now the Saturday entertainment.

And please stop calling him Bucky. That's so disrespectful." She looked sternly at Nick for a moment. "Anyway, Ranger Bill said it's a sign of a really healthy lake if loons are living on it." "As mayor I vote that Jackie stop treating me like my mother," said Nick.

You've been through a lot, Natasha. Are you sure you want to go back?" "Yes." "I could take you anywhere, you know. We could-- you could go away for a while. The world hasn't been kind to you and maybe you need to just--" "No, Bucky. I have to go back." "Thank you for coming for me." "Of course, Nat. You know I'm always here for you. And not just me." "I know, Bucky. I know.

Steenie, Marcia and I tried to think of a suitable outrage to celebrate the event, and eventually decided on a six-dollar loving cup, splitting the cost three ways. We had “Father of the Year—Buckminster Swenson” engraved on it at Manx’s Jewelry Store, and slipped it into the trophy case alongside Bucky’s other awards for basketball, football and track. Ratoncito

Hugh wished for something to happen. Some release. Someone to kill. Bucky raised his tail and shit on the road. “You gonna clean that up?” a male voice challenged. Thank you. Thank you so much for volunteering.

someone was asking me something. It was Bucky. —What’s that? I asked. —Have you ever been hunting down south, Katey? —I’ve never been hunting in any direction. —It’s good sport. You should join us next year. I turned to Wallace. —Do you shoot there every year? —Most years. A few weekends in the . . . fall and spring. —Then why do the ducks come back? Everyone laughed but Wyss. She clarified on my behalf. —They grow a field of corn and flood it. That’s what attracts the birds. So in that sense, it’s actually not that “sporting.” —Well, isn’t that the way that Bucky attracted you? For a moment, everyone laughed but Wyss. Then Wyss started laughing and everyone laughed but Bucky.

Bucky loved the woods. The stallion kept trying to bounce and prance, his tail straight up in the air. Hugh held him in check. He didn’t feel like prancing.

A lone figure stood on the battlements, her dress bright white against the darkness. She’d waited for him. He jerked himself back from that thought before he read too much into it. A horn sounded in the castle, triumphant. The gates swung open. Bucky raised his head and pranced. “What are you doing, you fool?” Hugh growled. The stallion doubled down. They pranced to the gate. A huge cistern was set by the gate, with a shower rigged to it. The air smelled of fresh bread and roasted meat. “Oh my god,” Stoyan groaned behind him.

Norma Jeane could understand: men had to have rewards for being men, for risking their lives as men, and these rewards were women. Women at home, waiting for their men. You couldn’t have women fighting alongside men in the war, you couldn’t have women-men. Women-men were freaks. Women-men were obscene. Women-men were lesbians, “lezzies.” A normal man wanted to strangle a lezzie or fuck her till her brains spilled out and her cunt leaked blood. Norma Jeane had heard Bucky and his friends ranting about lezzies, who were worse, almost, than fairies, fags, “preverts.” There was something about these sick, sorry freaks that made a normal healthy man want to lay hands on them and administer punishment.

My answer to Bucky’s challenge to “Build a new model” came to me in the form of a slightly tongue-in-cheek metaphor: “If you want to create a new culture, throw a better party!” It seemed to me that our current way of being together is rooted in joyless competition and mechanistic separation, which is not our true nature. What’s needed is a more convivial, cooperative, creative, and compassionate way to organize ourselves on planet Earth. The metaphor of a “Better Party” speaks

When you’re twenty-two and you pass out at a friend’s house, it’s totally normal. When you do it at forty-two, you’re never invited back.

The other very important element in this quote and our ability as individuals to make a difference is a single word that most people gloss over. It’s not divine or design principles or Universe or integrity. The pivotal word that is extremely important at this juncture in human evolution is “qualify.” The question Bucky asked himself and his audiences throughout his “56 Year Experiment” is “are humans a worthwhile to Universe experiment?” In other words, do our actions create results that qualify us for our universal mission?

What he found was the geometry of the universe. Looking at the bubbles made by the Wego’s propellers, he recalled his boarding school math teachers, who had taught him to measure a sphere’s volume in terms of pi. He also remembered that pi was an irrational number, a decimal that never ended. He asked himself how nature could ever make bubbles in such circumstances. Did nature approximate? The rules his teachers had taught him must be mistaken. Spheres ought to be understood in terms of the forces that made them. At the age of twenty-one, Bucky determined that the universe had no objects. Geometry described forces. It was an insight bound to shape Bucky’s entire worldview—informing every future invention—but

Bucky was unfailingly logical and he used that logic to recognize that this universe exists only because of a Universal Intelligence, which in this culture we call God. I love his reference to the use of the word “God.” “It is mathematically hypothesizable that all of the truths are potentially integratable and that the resulting integral truth constitutes the cosmic integrity that humans intuitively sense to be in governance of Universe and speak of to one another with the inadequate sound-word god.”(1) This

Bucky lived and worked to help the world. He didn’t live to pay his bills, to plan for retirement, to make sure he had enough at any time, to make sure he could afford the next project, or to do anything. He felt that if he were doing the things that he was inspired to do to help the world, all those things would be taken care of by the One that commissioned him to do the work. I know that most people on hearing this are prone to think, of course it works fine when you are a Buckminster Fuller, but Bucky knew that it works for everyone. The individual may not have Bucky’s talents to bring them world prominence, but they can do what is theirs to do and not have to think of earning a living if they want to make a pact with God as Bucky did. That sounds as if God is in to bargaining, but it is not that, it is simply the way it is, a spiritual principle. We were created to be channels for God and when we assume that role and expect to be prospered in so doing, it will be that way for us—for anyone! That is why Bucky’s life and message have to be heard, because the answer to the world’s need for prosperity is to stop living to make a living and start living to give the gift of your unique self to the world. Bucky affirmed this: “Yes I am quite confident there is nothing that I have undertaken to do that others couldn’t do equally well or better under the same economic circumstances. I was supported only by my faith in God and my vigorously pursued working assumption that it is God’s intent to make humans an economic success so that they can and may in due course fulfill an essential—and only mind-renderable—functioning in Universe....This would terminate humanity’s need to ‘earn a living,’ i.e., doing what others wanted done only for others’ ultimately selfish reasons. This attending only to what needs to be done for all humanity in turn would allow humanity, the time to effectively attend to the Universe-functioning task for the spontaneous performance of which God—the eternal, comprehensive, intellectual integrity usually referred to as ‘nature’ or as ‘evolution’—had included humans in the grand design of eternally regenerative Universe.(1) In

She was beautiful in a neutral way, emitting no light, defining herself in terms of attrition, a skinny thing, near blond, far beyond recall from the hard-edged rhythms of her life, Southwestern woman, hard to remember and forget. She went on tour with the band and we lived together in houses, motels and apartments, Bucky and Opel, rarely minus an entourage, the beds piled high with androgynous debris. There was never a moment between us that did not measure the extent of our true connection. To go harder, take more, die first. But before it could happen, Opel began her travel to timeless lands.

As the old man ushered Myron through the crowd, several men in green blazers—another look sported mostly at golf courses, perhaps to camouflage oneself against the grass—greeted him with whispered, “How do, Bucky,” or “Looking good, Buckster,” or “Fine day for golf, Buckaroo.” They all had the accent of the rich and preppy, the kind of inflection where mommy is pronounced “mummy” and summer and winter are verbs. Myron was about to comment on a grown man being called Bucky, but when your name is Myron, well, glass houses and stones and all that. Like

Why do you keep asking about Win?” “I actually came to the club to find him,” Bucky said. “But I think it’s better this way.” “What way?” “Talking to you first. Maybe after … well, we’ll see. Shouldn’t hope for too much.” Myron nodded. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Bucky

Myron was about to ask another follow-up question, but her posture made him rethink his words. Linda took advantage of his indecisiveness. She walked to the kitchen with an upright, fluid grace. Myron followed. Bucky seemed to snap out of a trance and trailed.

I’m driving home to change,” Win said. “Then I’m dining at Merion.” Mainliners never ate; they dined. “Care to join me?” “Sounds good,” Myron said. “Wait a second.” “What?” “Are you properly attired?” “I don’t clash,” Myron said. “Will they still let me in?” “My, my, that was very funny, Myron. I must write that one down. As soon as I stop laughing, I plan on locating a pen. However, I am so filled with mirth that I may wrap my precious Jag around an upcoming telephone pole. Alas, at least I will die with jocularity in my heart.” Win. “We have a case,” Myron said. Silence. Win made this so easy. “I’ll tell you about it at dinner.” “Until then,” Win said, “it’ll be all I can do to douse my mounting excitement and anticipation with a snifter of cognac.” Click. Gotta love that Win. Myron hadn’t driven a mile when the cellular phone rang. Myron switched it on. It was Bucky. “The kidnapper called again.

For Bucky the problem of humanity’s survival was one of design, and he thought the “artist-scientist” could solve it: If man is to continue as a successful pattern-complex function in universal evolution, it will be because the next decades will have witnessed the artist-scientist’s seizure of the prime design responsibility and his successful conversion of tool-augmented man from killingry to advanced livingry—adequate for all humanity.

Perhaps there are resources of courage, creativity and higher intelligence latent in each of us. Perhaps a sociological chain reaction can still be set in action if enough people learn how to transcend fashionable self-pity and make an effort to become happier and more efficient. Perhaps we are not dead yet, but only hypnotized by morbid and moribund philosophies. Perhaps the powers of the human brain have never fully been released in the paleolithic, neolithic, feudal, capitalist or socialist games. Perhaps the limits that seem to restrict us are only bad habits and we can transcend all of them. And – this is the major theme of the pages to follow – perhaps the human brain can be used for fun and profit; perhaps the brain is not designed for failure, as current intellectual dogma holds, but for “total success in Universe” as Bucky Fuller claimed.

You should breathe through your mouth as often as you eat through your nose! * * * Consequences of chronic mouth breathing: - Face distortion because mouth breathing affects the facial profile. John Mew who pioneered the field of Orthotropics found that the face becomes long and teeth become bucky over time in habitual mouth breathers. - Dental crowding - Tooth decay: This is because mouth becomes very dry overnight from mouth breathing. After 3-4 hours of mouth breathing, the mouth pH becomes more acidic. When teeth are acidic (< pH 5.4 ) they start to deteriorate and tend towards decay. - Anxiety, because when breathing through the mouth, the sympathetic nervous system is activated. The vagus nerve connects the brain to the gut and regulates our stress response. Engaging in relaxation and nose-breathing can help with vagal toning and regulation of the parasympathetic and sympathetic nervous systems. - Gut dysbiosis because of the sympathetic activation making parasympathetic digestion less effective. - Brain fog - Learning difficulties - Night time bedwetting in children

Jack Kidd, John Bennett, and Tom Jeffrey showed us how to win a war. Bucky Cleven and Bucky Egan gave the 100th its personality. Bob Rosenthal helped us want to win the war.

Deep in the scheme dives Rogers, most unlucky, In conflict with the Winter Soldier, Bucky.

Consider the child's riddle, "Where does your fist go when you open your hand?" This can be answered by thinking like Einstein, although on a less cosmic scale. That is, the child must first realize that the "fist" is not a thing but a relationship (a "coherent synergy" Bucky Fuller would say). It is not a mere etymological felicity to say that thinking of relations is the first step to thinking Relativistically.