Kith And Kin Quotes

There's a race of men that don't fit in, A race that can't sit still; So they break the hearts of kith and kin, And they roam the world at will. They range the field and rove the flood, And they climb the mountain's crest; Their's is the curse of the gypsy blood, And they don't know how to rest.

There are some upon this earth of yours who lay claim to know us, and who do their deeds of passion, pride, ill-will, hatred, envy, bigotry, and selfishness in our name; who are as strange to us and all our kith and kin, as if they had never lived. Remember that, and charge their doings on themselves, not us.

From the little reading I had done I had observed that the men who were most in life, who were molding life, who were life itself, ate little, slept little, owned little or nothing. They had no illusions about duty, or the perpetuation of their kith and kin, or the preservation of the State. They were interested in truth and in truth alone. They recognized only one kind of activity - creation.

I had neither kith nor kin in England, and was therefore as free as air -- or as free as an income of eleven shillings and sixpence a day will permit a man to be. Under such circumstances, I naturally gravitated to London, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of the Empire are irresistibly drained.

TEIRESIAS: You have your eyes but see not where you are in sin, nor where you live, nor whom you live with. Do you know who your parents are? Unknowing you are enemy to kith and kin in death, beneath the earth, and in this life.

In your name, the family name is at last because it's the family name that lasts.

Some of us can live without a society but not without a family.

There are some upon this earth of yours,” returned the Spirit, “who lay claim to know us, and who do their deeds of passion, pride, ill-will, hatred, envy, bigotry, and selfishness in our name, who are as strange to us and all our kith and kin, as if they had never lived. Remember that, and charge their doings on themselves, not us.

Like my kith and kin before me, I swagger-staggered in high heels, and I wore a dress and a hat to church. But my fabulous tail often fell below my hemline, and my ears twitched until my hat pitched, at the very least, down over both my eyes, and sometimes clear across the room.

I am convinced that the real remedy is intermarriage. Fusion of blood can alone create the feeling of being kith and kin, and unless this feeling of kinship, of being kindred, becomes paramount, the separatist feeling—the feeling of being aliens—created by caste will not vanish.

There are some upon this earth of yours,” returned the Spirit, “who claim to know us, and who do their deeds of passion, pride, ill will, hatred, envy, bigotry, and selfishness in our name, who are as strange to us, and all our kith and kin, as if they had never lived. Remember that, and charge their doings on themselves, not us.

The boys were going to a place that none had ever been before, to serve an order that had been the enemy of their kith and kin for thousands of years, yet Jon saw no tears, heard no wailing mothers. These are winter's people, [...] tears freeze upon your cheeks where they come from.

In fact, honour, duty and love of one's own kith and kin and country might often compel us to disregard non-violence and to use force.

The morning was one peculiar to that coast. Everything was mute and calm; everything gray. The sea, though undulated into long roods of swells, seemed fixed, and was sleeked at the surface like waved lead that has cooled and set in the smelter's mould. The sky seemed a gray surtout. Flights of troubled gray fowl, kith and kin with flights of troubled gray vapors among which they were mixed, skimmed low and fitfully over the waters, as swallows over meadows before storms. Shadows present, foreshadowing deeper shadows to come.

When ego trumps fidelity, the end result is inevitably betrayal—betrayal of country, of kith or kin, or of self.

In united families, they might sleep with half filled stomach but no one sleeps with empty stomach.

My kith and kin have long since vanished into time—

I call them my kith and kin: earth is in my body, air moves my breath and stirs my intellect, fire is the spark of energy within me and my passion, and water is in my bodily liquids and my emotions.

kith or kin lust for power as others do.

It's hard to fight a monster beloved by all.

There's a race of men that don't fit in, A race that can't stay still; So they break the hearts of kith and kin, And they roam the world at will. They range the field and they rove the flood, And they climb the mountain's crest; Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood, And they don't know how to rest. If they just went straight they might go far; They are strong and brave and true; But they're always tired of the things that are, And they want the strange and new. They say: "Could I find my proper groove, What a deep mark I would make!" So they chop and change, and each fresh move Is only a fresh mistake. And each forgets, as he strips and runs With a brilliant, fitful pace, It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones Who win in the lifelong race. And each forgets that his youth has fled, Forgets that his prime is past, Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead, In the glare of the truth at last. He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance; He has just done things by half. Life's been a jolly good joke on him, And now is the time to laugh. Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost; He was never meant to win; He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone; He's a man who won't fit in.

There are some upon this earth of yours," returned the Spirit, "who lay claim to know us, and who do their deeds of passion, pride, ill-will, hatred, envy, bigotry, and selfishness in our name, who are as strange to us and all our kith and kin, as if they had never lived. Remember that, and charge their doings on themselves, not us.

She understood the wilds, while he thrived in city streets and their accompanying shadows.

You can take the Indian out of the family, but you cannot take the family out of the Indian.

Vex shook her head when the man picked up his bow and, whistling a jaunty tune, started making his way down.

A stillness came from the forest that she could find nowhere else.

Kindness isn't a luxury, Vex.

kith and kin,

I looked around the barroom. Someone else might have seen nothing more than a random crowd of drinkers, but I saw my people. Kith and kin. Every sort of person was there – stockbrokers and safecrackers, athletes and invalids, mothers and supermodels – but we were as one. We’d all been hurt by something, or somebody, and so we’d all come to Publicans, because misery loves company, but what it really craves is a crowd.

What is it that in the Albino man so peculiarly repels and often shocks the eye, as that sometimes he is loathed by his own kith and kin! It is that whiteness which invests him, a thing expressed by the name he bears.

Nature does in fact teem with subjectivities — call them spirits if you like — other than our own; it is only the human ego, with its imagined monopoly on subjectivity, that keeps us from recognizing them all, our kith and kin.

Nationality is a social feeling. It is a feeling of a corporate sentiment of oneness which makes those who are charged with it feel that they are kith and kin. This national feeling is a double edged feeling. It is at once a feeling of fellowship for one’s own kith and kin and an anti-fellowship feeling for those who are not one’s own kith and kin. It is a feeling of “consciousness of kind” which on the one hand binds together those who have it, so strongly that it over-rides all differences arising out of economic conflicts or social gradations and, on the other, severs them from those who are not of their kind. It is a longing not to belong to any other group. This is the essence of what is called a nationality and national feeling.

He didn't care for the books their tutors gave them, but he did care for the shadowed alleyways, the exquisitely carved arched passageways, the dancing lights in the trees. He wanted to know and taste the parts of the city that never make it into a history book.

There are some upon this earth of yours,” returned the Spirit, “who lay claim to know us, and who do their deeds of passion, pride, ill-will, hatred, envy, bigotry, and selfishness in our name, who are as strange to us and all our kith and kin, as if they had never lived.

From the little reading I had done I had observed that the men who were most in life, who were moulding life, who were life itself, ate little, slept little, owned little or nothing. They had no illusions about duty, or the perpetuation of their kith and kin, or the preservation of the State. They were interested in truth and in truth alone. They recognized only one kind of activity—creation. Nobody could command their services because they had of their own pledged themselves to give all. They gave gratuitously, because that is the only way to give.

One such time I left town and on my way back, at a point where the land was high and I could see the sea to my left and down the road a long ways, I suddenly felt I was in heaven. The spot was in fact no different from when I had passed it not long before, but my way of seeing it had changed. The feeling, a paradoxical mix of pulsing energy and profound peace, was intense and blissful. Whereas before the road, the sea, the trees, the air, the sun all spoke differently to me, now they spoke one language of unity. Tree took account of road, which was aware of air, which was mindful of sea, which shared things with sun. Every element lived in harmonious relation with its neighbor, and all was kith and kin. I knelt a mortal; I rose an immortal. I felt like the center of a small circle coinciding with the center of a much larger one.

There are some upon this earth of yours,”returned the Spirit, “who lay claim to know us, and who do their deeds of passion, pride, ill-will, hatred, envy, bigotry, and selfishness in our name, who are as strange to us and all our kith and kin, as if they had never lived. Remember that, and charge their doings on themselves, not us.

There are some upon this earth of yours,” returned the Spirit, “who lay claim to know us, and who do their deeds of passion, pride, ill-will, hatred, envy, bigotry, and selfishness in our name, who are as strange to us and all our kith and kin, as if they had never lived. Remember that, and charge their doings on themselves, not us.” Scrooge

The woods could provide for almost anything. Food, protection, a place where they didn’t have to be wary about anything or anyone else. It was simple and peaceful-most of the time.

The fact that the dwarf didn’t have weapons visible on him didn’t make him any less dangerous. He was all sharp edges. Sharp words, sharp smiles, sharp knives. He exuded power.

The bear grunted and nudged her with his head and she scratched his neck and breathed in the familiar scent of fur and mind and safety.

Thorn’s glances were as sharp as his words.

Turyn looked at Vax as though he spoke a different language and with something that almost resembled pity.

The Men That Don't Fit In There's a race of men that don't fit in, A race that can't stay still; So they break the hearts of kith and kin, And they roam the world at will. They range the field and they rove the flood, And they climb the mountain's crest; Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood, And they don't know how to rest. If they just went straight they might go far; They are strong and brave and true; But they're always tired of the things that are, And they want the strange and new. They say: "Could I find my proper groove, What a deep mark I would make!" So they chop and change, and each fresh move Is only a fresh mistake. And each forgets, as he strips and runs With a brilliant, fitful pace, It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones Who win in the lifelong race. And each forgets that his youth has fled, Forgets that his prime is past, Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead, In the glare of the truth at last. He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance; He has just done things by half. Life's been a jolly good joke on him, And now is the time to laugh. Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost; He was never meant to win; He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone; He's a man who won't fit in.

What is it that in the Albino man so peculiarly repels and often shocks the eye, as that sometimes he is loathed by his own kith and kin! It is that whiteness which invests him, a thing expressed by the name he bears. The Albino is as well made as other men—has no substantive deformity—and yet this mere aspect of all-pervading whiteness makes him more strangely hideous than the ugliest abortion. Why should this be so?

To full-blood elves, they might appear too young to be this weathered and weary, but to any perceptive observer, it was clear they came by their caution honestly, and they moved with a grace brought on by years of traveling together.

Mine was, probably, the easiest imaginable kind of arrest. It did not tear me from the embrace of kith and kin, nor wrench me from a deeply cherished home life. One pallid European February it took me from our narrow salient on the Baltic Sea, where, depending on one's point of view, either we had surrounded the Germans or they had surrounded us, and it deprived me only of my familiar artillery battery and the scenes of the last three months of war. The brigade commander called me to his headquarters and asked me for my pistol; I turned it over without suspecting any evil intent, when suddenly, from a tense, immobile suite of staff officers in the corner, two counterintelligence officers stepped forward hurriedly, crossed the room in a few quick bounds, their four hands grabbed simultaneously at the star on my cap, my shoulder boards, my officer's belt, my map case, and they shouted theatrically: "You are under arrest!" Burning and prickling from head to toe, all I could explain was, "Me? What for?" Across the sheer gap separating me from those left behind, across that quarantine line not event a sound dared penetrate, came the unthinkable magic words of the brigade commander: "Sholzhenitsyn. Come back here." "You have ..." he asked weightily, "a friend on the First Ukrainian Front?" I knew instantly I had been arrested because of my correspondence with a school friend and understood what direction to expect danger.

Cities always got under her skin when she came in from the wild. But where she raised her hackles, Vax thrived. His shoulders dropped and his awareness sharpened. He walked with the gait of someone who expected trouble and would in fact welcome it.

Every artist who moves us, from a movie maker to Beethoven or Shakespeare, is a bit of a hypnotist. In this sense that seemingly stupid and mechanical contraption we call "society" must rank as the greatest artist on the planet. For instance, when I was seven or eight, and feeling superior to the kids who closed their eyes "during the scary parts," I was entering a deep hypnosis created by another Virtual Reality called language. This hypnosis was a worse nightmare than the Wicked Witch of the West or King Kong or the Wolf-Man or any of their kith and kin, but it made me a "member of society".

No, it is heroism freely donned, deliberately and unanimously hailed, heroism on behalf of an idea and a sentiment, in other words, heroism in its clearest, purest and most virginal form, a disinterested and whole-hearted sacrifice for that which men regard as their duty to themselves, to their kith and kin, to mankind and to the future. If life and personal safety were more precious than the idea of honour, of patriotism and of fidelity to tradition and the race, there was, I repeat, and there is still a choice to be made; and never perhaps in any war was the choice easier, for never did men feel more free, never indeed were they more free to choose.

Where kin are relations of kind, kith is relationship based on knowledge of place—the close landscape, “one’s square mile,” as Griffiths writes, where each tree and neighbor and robin and fox and stone is known, not by map or guide but by heart. Kith is intimacy with a place, its landmarks, its fragrance, the habits of its wildlings.

The relazed atmosphere and the pleasant buzz of voices wrapped around Vax as he followed Gideor, as if to remind him that perhaps the Clasp wasn’t so bad an ally to have. That perhaps there was something to the spireling’s words after all. Vax regarded it all warily, recognizing how the tavern functioned as both a lure and a mask for the dangers that lay underneath.

We know that Hinduism believes in reincarnation. Such beliefs or theories have one purpose. It is to provide a plausible answer to our questions that would otherwise remain unanswered. We have questions such as, “Why should I perform work if the result is not likely to be seen; especially when death can visit me at any moment? And then: Why should death happen at all? And why do our kith and kin have to be engulfed in grief when we die? Is it not injustice and something not acceptable?" The Gita tries to assuage such feelings by stating that just as we attain childhood, youth, and old age, similarly, we also attain another body after our death. It is a continuous and cyclical process, and the wise ones should not have worries in this regard.

What’s the catch? What are you not telling me?” Gideor smiled. “How delightfully distrustful. Why would I withold everything?” “Because information must be earned.” Vax shifted in his seat. “And you have no reason to trust me.” “But I do. You’re share your allegiance to the Clasp, of course,” Gideor said, like it was a foregone conclusion. “And we know where to find your sister if you don’t.

Our children are an integral component of our stories as we are of theirs and, therefore, each child acts as the knighted messengers to carry their forebears’ stories into the future. To deprive our children of the narrative cells regarding the formation of the ozone layer that rims the atmosphere of our ancestors’ saga and parental determination of selfhood is to deny them of the sacred right to claim the sanctity of their heritage. Accordingly, all wrinkled brow natives are chargeable with the sacrosanct obligation of telling their kith and kin the memorable story of the scenic days they spent as children of nature splashing about in their naked innocence in the brook of infinite time and space. We must scrupulous document our family’s history as well as scrawl out our personal story.

I’m struck by the fact there was nothing supernatural about my heightened perceptions that afternoon, nothing that I needed an idea of magic or a divinity to explain. No, all it took was another perceptual slant on the same old reality, a lens or mode of consciousness that invented nothing but merely (merely!) italicized the prose of ordinary experience, disclosing the wonder that is always there in a garden or wood, hidden in plain sight—another form of consciousness “parted from [us],” as William James put it, “by the filmiest of screens.” Nature does in fact teem with subjectivities—call them spirits if you like—other than our own; it is only the human ego, with its imagined monopoly on subjectivity, that keeps us from recognizing them all, our kith and kin. In this sense, I guess Paul Stamets is right to think the mushrooms are bringing us messages from nature, or at least helping us to open up and read them.

But soon the steeples called good people all, to church and chapel, and away they came, flocking through the streets in their best clothes, and with their gayest faces. And at the same time there emerged from scores of bye-streets, lanes, and nameless turnings, innumerable people, carrying their dinners to the bakers’ shops. The sight of these poor revellers appeared to interest the Spirit very much, for he stood with Scrooge beside him in a baker’s doorway, and taking off the covers as their bearers passed, sprinkled incense on their dinners from his torch. And it was a very uncommon kind of torch, for once or twice when there were angry words between some dinner-carriers who had jostled with each other, he shed a few drops of water on them from it, and their good humour was restored directly. For they said, it was a shame to quarrel upon Christmas Day. And so it was! God love it, so it was! In time the bells ceased, and the bakers’ were shut up; and yet there was a genial shadowing forth of all these dinners and the progress of their cooking, in the thawed blotch of wet above each baker’s oven; where the pavement smoked as if its stones were cooking too. “Is there a peculiar flavour in what you sprinkle from your torch?” asked Scrooge. “There is. My own.” “Would it apply to any kind of dinner on this day?” asked Scrooge. “To any kindly given. To a poor one most.” “Why to a poor one most?” asked Scrooge. “Because it needs it most.” “Spirit,” said Scrooge, after a moments thought, “I wonder you, of all the beings in the many worlds about us, should desire to cramp these peoples opportunities of innocent enjoyment.” “I!” cried the Spirit. “You would deprive them of their means of dining every seventh day, often the only day on which they can be said to dine at all,” said Scrooge. “Wouldn’t you?” “I!” cried the Spirit. “You seek to close these places on the Seventh Day?” said Scrooge. “And it comes to the same thing.” “I seek!” exclaimed the Spirit. “Forgive me if I am wrong. It has been done in your name, or at least in that of your family,” said Scrooge. “There are some upon this earth of yours,” returned the Spirit, “who lay claim to know us, and who do their deeds of passion, pride, ill-will, hatred, envy, bigotry* and selfishness in our name; who are as strange to us and all our kith and kin, as if they had never lived. Remember that, and charge their doings on themselves, not us.

March 19 The Way of Abraham in Faith He went out, not knowing whither he went. Hebrews 11:8 In the Old Testament, personal relationship with God showed itself in separation, and this is symbolised in the life of Abraham by his separation from his country and from his kith and kin. To-day the separation is more of a mental and moral separation from the way that those who are dearest to us look at things, that is, if they have not a personal relationship with God. Jesus Christ emphasised this (see Luke 14:26). Faith never knows where it is being led, but it loves and knows the One Who is leading. It is a life of faith, not of intellect and reason, but a life of knowing Who makes us “go.” The root of faith is the knowledge of a Person, and one of the biggest snares is the idea that God is sure to lead us to success. The final stage in the life of faith is attainment of character. There are many passing transfigurations of character; when we pray we feel the blessing of God enwrapping us and for the time being we are changed, then we get back to the ordinary days and ways and the glory vanishes. The life of faith is not a life of mounting up with wings, but a life of walking and not fainting. It is not a question of sanctification; but of something infinitely further on than sanctification, of faith that has been tried and proved and has stood the test. Abraham is not a type of sanctification, but a type of the life of faith, a tried faith built on a real God. “Abraham believed God.

The Unknown Soldier A tale to tell in bloody rhyme, A story to last ’til the dawn of end’s time. Of a loving boy who left dear home, To bear his countries burdens; her honor to sow. –A common boy, I say, who left kith and kin, To battle der Kaiser and all that was therein. The Arsenal of Democracy was his kind, –To make the world safe–was their call and chime. Trained he thus in the far army camps, Drilled he often in the march and stamp. Laughed he did with new found friends, Lived they together for the noble end. Greyish mottled images clipp’ed and hack´ed– Black and white broke drum Ʀ…ɧ..λ..t…ʮ..m..ȿ —marching armies off to ’ttack. Images scratched, chopped, theatrical exaggerate, Confetti parades, shouts of high praise To where hell would sup and partake with all bon hope as the transport do them take Faded icons board the ship– To steel them away collaged together –joined in spirit and hip. Timeworn humanity of once what was To broker peace in eagles and doves. Mortal clay in the earth but to grapple and smite As warbirds ironed soar in heaven’s light. All called all forward to divinities’ kept date, Heroes all–all aces and fates. Paris–Used to sing and play at some cards, A common Joe everybody knew from own heart. He could have been called ‘the kid’ by the ‘old man,’ But a common private now taking orders to stand. Receiving letters from his shy sweet one, Read them over and over until they faded to none. Trained like hell with his Commander-in-Arms, –To avoid the dangers of a most bloody harm. Aye, this boy was mortal, true enough said, He could be one of thousands alive but now surely dead. How he sang and cried and ate the gruel of rations, And grumbled as soldiers do at war’s great contagions. Out–out to the battle this young did go, To become a man; the world to show. (An ocean away his mother cried so– To return her boy safe as far as the heavens go). Lay he down in trenched hole, With balls bursting overhead upon the knoll. Listened hardnfast to the “Sarge” bearing the news, —“We’re going over soon—” was all he knew. The whistle blew; up and over they went, Charging the Hun, his life to be spent (“Avoid the gas boys that’ll blister yer arse!!”). Running through wires razored and deadened trees, Fell he into a gouge to find in shelter of need (They say he bayoneted one just as he–, face to face in War’s Dance of trialed humanity). A nameless sonnuvabitch shell then did untimely RiiiiiiiP the field asunder in burrrstzʑ–and he tripped. And on the field of battle’s blood did he die, Faceless in a puddle as blurrs of ghosting men shrieked as they were fleeing by–. Perished he alone in the no man’s land, Surrounded by an army of his brother’s teeming bands . . . And a world away a mother sighed, Listened to the rain and lay down and cried. . . . Today lays the grave somber and white, Guarded decades long in both the dark and the light. Silent sentinels watch o’er and with him do walk, Speak they neither; their duty talks. Lone, stark sentries perform the unsmiling task, –Guarding this one dead–at the nation’s bequest. Cared over day and night in both rain or sun, Present changing of the guard and their duty is done (The changing of the guard ’tis poetry motioned A Nation defining itself–telling of rifles twirl-clicking under the intensest of devotions). This poem–of The Unknown, taken thus, Is rend eternal by Divinity’s Iron Trust. How he, a common soldier, gained the estate Of bearing his countries glory unto his unknown fate. Here rests in honored glory a warrior known but to God, Now rests he in peace from the conflict path he trod. He is our friend, our family, brother, our mother’s son –belongs he to us all, For he has stood in our place–heeding God’s final call.

(Well, the following are my own so they probably 'don`t already exist in the data base'.) -------------------------------------------- Never visit a place where you have to count your change. When your carrier bags exceed the number of your teeth it's time to check out. What is an opinion but an ersatz fact? Things are nearly always better from a distance [aka The Expectation Is Better Than The Event] There's no such thing as a free 0800 number. The court scene at the end of Alice In Wonderland is a microcosm of the UK justice system. With respect to heterogeneity of shape & size, no other species approaches Homo Sapiens's level. Darwinism relaxes its hold with Western Man's tolerance of its current state of corporeal deviation. [I think this may be a reference to our overweight brethren. Ed.] Много людей - живы,только потому что нeзаконно них убить. The poncier the restaurant the smaller the portion. Remember that although the government may have the backing of the whole army, without the backing of the people tho' they be armed only with sticks, it will not be able to stay in power. An ill-defined border it is 'twixt arrogance and shyness. There are 2 types of people in the world. Those who want to part with as few of their resources as possible, and those aiming to relieve the rest of us of said resources. So if you need facts, you have to go to the news, history books, or your own kith-&-kin. This is why i term our society a "99% bullshit" society. And since the majority of folk are evidently ignorant of this, the state of affairs will endure. Finally, if you are intrigued as to what the future holds for you - take your life up to now, and extend it. Not very exciting I'm afraid.

…The love of his youth Appeared as in a dream And this ageing lover Went mad with love. The youth robbed him of Reason and his chastity. In pursuit of his Beloved, mad, deranged, He was from kith and kin estranged. The fire of the rose’s cheek Burnt the nightingale’s heart; The laughing flame Tormented the devoted moth…

Prannoy Roy was appointing sons, daughters, in-laws, nephews and nieces of top officials and politicians in NDTV as journalists.  This show of nepotism in journalism changed the style of journalism as access to corridors of power became easy for media houses. Not only bureaucrats, several kith and kin and siblings of top police and military officials too became journalists in NDTV, as and when the organization needed largesse from the system.  This unholy recruitment of journalists completely changed the character of India’s journalism. In those days the joke in Delhi was that all siblings of the powerful, not-so-good-in-academics can become journalists through NDTV. Still, when you look at the family details of many journalists in NDTV, you can see their links with IAS, IPS, IRS, Military top brass uncles, fathers, and in- laws.

The Fey's Captive by Stewart Stafford Sprite music in moonlit sway, Her song turned azaleas grey, A haunting lilt that carried far; Charmed ear to shimmering star. Hornpipe down, melody went on, Lovelight flickered, then it shone, Claimed me then on yearly shore, Dragged me behind the fairy door. An enchanted hostage kept there, Gossamer glowed her flaxen hair, Made me pledge to be her slave, This regal man, reduced to knave. A year and a day passed, comet swift, My sentence over, her parting gift, Conditions met by kith and kin, Woke to bedroom light with a grin. © Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved

The door is on the latch tonight, The hearth-fire is aglow, I seem to hear soft passing feet- The Christchild in the snow. My heart is open wide tonight For strangers, kith or kin; I would not bar a single door Where love might enter in. Author unknown

The day I brought my suicide dream he got quite conversant. The dream was thus. I had gone to Holland to avail myself of their suicide hospitality. It was a sort of garage, the light from the fluorescent tubes ghastly bright. We were told to sit for a given time. The waiting was perhaps to allow the sufferers to make peace with themselves or maybe write a last letter to kith and kin. Not once did we acknowledge one another.

You can expect prosperity from cows, Penance from Brahmins, Fickle-mindedness from women And antagonism from your own kith and kin.' And

is much better to live in seclusion, In a thorny jungle, full of tigers and elephants, To sleep on a bed of grass and wear clothes made of bark, Than to live, amongst one's kith and kin, in utter poverty.' —

Beyond Borders and Dogma (Sonnet 1590) Monkeys obsess over chunks of land, takes a human to home the world. Leeches obsess over guns and badges, takes a human to deck the halls. Beyond borders and dogma, beyond division and doctrine, beyond malignant maleficence, everyone is my kith and kin. Any ape can boast about their culture, I'll die roaring for every culture on earth, except my own. Monkeys obsess over chunks of land, I stand guard till all are one. Nationalists mark borders by raising guns, like dogs mark their territory by raising legs. Monkeys seek refuge in archaic sovereignty, Human am I, my refuge is the human race.

There are some upon this earth of yours,’ returned the Spirit, ‘who lay claim to know us, and who do their deeds of passion, pride, ill-will, hatred, envy, bigotry, and selfishness in our name, who are as strange to us and all our kith and kin, as if they had never lived. Remember that, and charge their doings on themselves, not us.

Now it was dark as coal. The forest rang with sounds. Hoot owls called back and forth. There was a quick cry from some sort of creature. Merck heard rustling, but he knew the rustling wasn’t human. He could have sworn he heard a catamount screech. It was far away and up high. Once, and only once, a coyote yipped, then sang its shrill tune for half a minute. None of his kith and kin joined in. Merck watched, his eyes perfectly adjusted to the night. He could see the horse wandering around by Thad’s grave. There was a thin trickle nearby and the horse discovered it. Faintly, Merck could hear it drink.

Manhood is measured at least partly in money, a man's only direct way of nourishing children. Manhood, then, as call to action, can be interpreted as a kind of moral compunction to provision kith and kin.

An Ode to The Occupants of The Titan Sub In the depths where everything is dark, Nothing exists and one tends to lose every mark, Of the reality that lies above, And the memories of the ones you love, Appear to float by like voluptuous sirens, And you think of the benevolent Titans, Then as the pressure mounts you hear a creaking sound, Slowly building up inside the hollow chamber where now only fear does abound, Then as your heart races and it does frantically pound, You feel you are to an unknown and impending doom bound, And you summon all your Gods in the form of your fears, And you gauge the ferocity of all the snares, Building from above, bottom, left and right, It is then you hold your equally fearful companion’s hand tight, And you remember all that you loved and those you still love, But they are far up and above, and you are here in the abyss now, Where darkness spreads endlessly and the creaking sound becomes louder, And all of a sudden you feel you are hit by a titanic sized aqueous boulder, Everything implodes, but only your heart and your memories explode, As they surface on the horizon of perception and your loved ones rush to the abode, Of the Gods where castles of prayers are erected, Prayers rising from the heart that gods have not defected, There they rush, and implore, But the Titans become quieter and they think Gods too ignore, The cries of the lamenting and remorseful heart, But little do they know praying is not an art, It is a feeling sublime and serene that arises from within, And when expressed with sincerity in the universe its resonance does deepen, And then Gods respond with care, And they always say, “darling, there is nothing to fear.” This sounds assuaging for many reasons, known and unknown, And your kin and kith experience the familiarity in these consolations offered by the unknown, And to the five departed adventurers of the deep sea, I hope in their Heavenward journey, now they shall new wonders see, And be the part of a greater adventure, That I call the God’s enterprising venture, As for the wonder of the abyss, There shall always be someone who for its thrill would miss, Anything and everything else, Because if he/she doesn't, then he/she will be someone else, That is why they dare to take on the Gods of the dark and deep, Because human passion is something that into the soul does seep, And unless tasted and confronted, this adventurer residing within the soul does not let him/her to sleep, So let me wish the 5 adventurers all the best on their new journey, Where there is no need for submersibles for in that world one attains natural buoyancy, and this too is one hell of a journey! As for those woe struck loved ones still residing in the realm of gravity, I hope they find assuaging moments in their thoughtful proclivity, Where they notice the universe flowing through their departed and loved one, Because every adventure is an expression of belief in love for someone, That someone who does not fear the abyss, That someone who dares to be the one, and never miss, The adventures that await him/her in those unknown realms, Where even the Titans sometimes bear signs of qualms, There let us go and seek the knowledge that awaits to reveal itself, Only if the adventurer believes in himself/herself, And I think that is where all 5 adventurers can always be found, In the realm of the Titans where knowledge does abound, where knowledge does abound!

Sonnet 1142 Naskar the scientist says, Science that lifts no human condition, is not science but superstition. Naskar the monk says, Inclusion is illumination, discrimination is delusion. Naskar the philosopher says, Better lose truth, than lose humanity - Better lose truth, than lose love. Naskar the sufi says, Sense yourself till you sense nothing but love. Naskar the humanist says, I don't care about your belief or disbelief, all I care about is your behavior with others. Naskar the humanitarian says, each human must earn their admission into the human race with humane actions. The spirit of love speaks of love, no matter the faith and field. Hate is but a mark of narrowness - When you expand heart and soul, whole world becomes kin and kith.

Our fools and jackasses, these priests, bishops, sophists and monks have treated the Jews in such a fashion that if a man wanted to become a true Christian he might better become a Jew. Were I a Jew and saw what blockheads and windbags rule and guide Christendom, I would rather become a sow than a Christian. For they have treated the Jews more like dogs than men. Yet the Jews are kith and kin and brothers-in-blood of our Saviour. If we are going to boast about the virtues of race, Christ belongs more to them than to us. To no other people has God shown

Our fools and jackasses, these priests, bishops, sophists and monks have treated the Jews in such a fashion that if a man wanted to become a true Christian he might better become a Jew. Were I a Jew and saw what blockheads and windbags rule and guide Christendom, I would rather become a sow than a Christian. For they have treated the Jews more like dogs than men. Yet the Jews are kith and kin and brothers-in-blood of our Saviour. If we are going to boast about the virtues of race, Christ belongs more to them than to us. To no other people has God shown such favor in entrusting them with His Holy Word.

The world is my home and all humans are my kith and kin.

There is naturally much inter-marriage among Zionists, and in times of trouble families are united, those with even the most attenuated blood connections arraying themselves with their kith and kin. The dispute over Harbuttle and his offers of marriage, therefore, grows into a miniature war of the roses. In no time, the classroom is filled to overflowing with a crowd of angry, milling women, pushing each other about, afraid to smite hard but resorting to jostling, charging, thrusting and pulling tactics and using arms, elbows, bosoms, hindquarters and knees like battering rams. The noise is appalling. Speech flows freely and angry, vulgar words rush forth in torrents. Place, dignity, decorum are all forgotten in this release of pent-up feelings. The saintly, peace-loving women who one by one thrust themselves in the doorway of the room hoping in some way to calm the storm, are unwillingly sucked into the maelstrom and, before they know where they are, are rampaging with the rest. The men, dumbfounded and nonplussed, hang back, knowing that once they intrude, the bloody masculine forms of combat may supervene and replace the more dishevelled and shrill, but less deadly feminine type.

GREED knows no humanitarianism, no kith and kin, no patriotism. It’s purely founded on “worship of self”; “what pleases self” is but its sole precept. This makes greed the “evilest of evil,” the worst product of a corrupted will. In all facets of life, they’re everywhere; from the looks of it, its end seems nowhere.

The English are frosty When you're no kith or kin Of theirs, but how they alter When once they take you in! The kindest, the truest, The best friends ever known, It's hard to remember How they froze you to a bone.

Well, the following are my own so they probably "don't already exist in the data base". ------------------------------------------------------ Never visit a place where you have to count your change. When your carrier bags exceed the number of your teeth it's time to check out. What is an opinion but an ersatz fact? Things are nearly always better from a distance [aka The Expectation Is Better Than The Event] There's no such thing as a free 0800 number. The court scene at the end of Alice In Wonderland is a microcosm of the UK justice system. With respect to heterogeneity of shape & size, no other species approaches Homo Sapiens's level. Darwinism relaxes its hold with Western Man's tolerance of its current state of corporeal deviation. [I think this may be a reference to our overweight brethren. Ed.] Много людей - живы,только потому что нeзаконно них убить. The poncier the restaurant the smaller the portion. Remember that although the government may have the backing of the whole army, without the backing of the people tho' they be armed only with sticks, it will not be able to stay in power. An ill-defined border it is 'twixt arrogance and shyness. There are 2 types of people in the world. Those who want to part with as few of their resources as possible, and those aiming to relieve the rest of us of said resources. So if you need facts, you have to go to the news, history books, or your own kith-&-kin. This is why i term our society a "99% bullshit" society. And since the majority of folk are evidently ignorant of this, the state of affairs will endure. Finally, if you are intrigued as to what the future holds for you - take your life up to now, and extend it. Not very exciting I'm afraid.

(Well, the following are my own so they probably 'don`t already exist in the data base'). -------------------------------------------- Never visit a place where you have to count your change. When your carrier bags exceed the number of your teeth it's time to check out. What is an opinion but an ersatz fact? Things are nearly always better from a distance [aka The Expectation Is Better Than The Event] There's no such thing as a free 0800 number. The court scene at the end of Alice In Wonderland is a microcosm of the UK justice system. With respect to heterogeneity of shape & size, no other species approaches Homo Sapiens's level. Darwinism relaxes its hold with Western Man's tolerance of its current state of corporeal deviation. [I think this may be a reference to our overweight brethren. Ed.] Много людей - живы,только потому что нeзаконно них убить. The poncier the restaurant the smaller the portion. Remember that although the government may have the backing of the whole army, without the backing of the people tho' they be armed only with sticks, it will not be able to stay in power. An ill-defined border it is 'twixt arrogance and shyness. There are 2 types of people in the world. Those who want to part with as few of their resources as possible, and those aiming to relieve the rest of us of said resources. So if you need facts, you have to go to the news, history books, or your own kith-&-kin. This is why i term our society a "99% bullshit" society. And since the majority of folk are evidently ignorant of this, the state of affairs will endure. Finally, if you are intrigued as to what the future holds for you - take your life up to now, and extend it. Not very exciting I'm afraid.

(Well, the following are my own so they probably 'don`t already exist in the data base'). -------------------------------------------- Never visit a place where you have to count your change. When your carrier bags exceed the number of your teeth it's time to check out. What is an opinion but an ersatz fact? Things are nearly always better from a distance [aka The Expectation Is Better Than The Event] There's no such thing as a free 0800 number. The court scene at the end of Alice In Wonderland is a microcosm of the UK justice system. With respect to heterogeneity of shape & size, no other species approaches Homo Sapiens's level. Darwinism relaxes its hold with Western Man's tolerance of its current state of corporeal deviation. [I think this may be a reference to our overweight brethren. Ed.] Много людей - живы,только потому что нeзаконно них убить. The poncier the restaurant the smaller the portion. Remember that although the government may have the backing of the whole army, without the backing of the people tho' they be armed only with sticks, it will not be able to stay in power. An ill-defined border it is 'twixt arrogance and shyness. There are 2 types of people in the world. Those who want to part with as few of their resources as possible, and those aiming to relieve the rest of us of said resources. So if you need facts, you have to go to the news, history books, or your own kith-&-kin. This is why i term our society a "99% bullshit" society. And since the majority of folk are evidently ignorant of this, the state of affairs will endure. Finally, if you are intrigued as to what the future holds for you, take your life up to now and extend it. Not very exciting I'm afraid.

(Well, the following are my own so they probably 'don`t already exist in the data base'). ---------------------------------------------- Never visit a place where you have to count your change. When your carrier bags exceed the number of your teeth it's time to check out. What is an opinion but an ersatz fact? Things are nearly always better from a distance [aka The Expectation Is Better Than The Event] There's no such thing as a free 0800 number. The court scene at the end of Alice In Wonderland is a microcosm of the UK justice system. With respect to heterogeneity of shape & size, no other species approaches Homo Sapiens's level. Darwinism relaxes its hold with Western Man's tolerance of its current state of corporeal deviation. [I think this may be a reference to our overweight brethren. Ed.] Много людей - живы,только потому что нeзаконно них убить. The poncier the restaurant the smaller the portion. Remember that although the government may have the backing of the whole army, without the backing of the people tho' they be armed only with sticks, it will not be able to stay in power. An ill-defined border it is 'twixt arrogance and shyness. There are 2 types of people in the world. Those who want to part with as few of their resources as possible, and those aiming to relieve the rest of us of said resources. So if you need facts, you have to go to the news, history books, or your own kith-&-kin. This is why i term our society a "99% bullshit" society. And since the majority of folk are evidently ignorant of this, the state of affairs will endure. Finally, if you are intrigued as to what the future holds for you - take your life up to now, and extend it. Not very exciting I'm afraid.

With opportunity my kith, and determination my kin, nothing will stop my dream to begin. - The Malwatch

I’m struck by the fact there was nothing supernatural about my heightened perceptions that afternoon, nothing that I needed an idea of magic or a divinity to explain. No, all it took was another perceptual slant on the same old reality, a lens or mode of consciousness that invented nothing but merely (merely!) italicized the prose of ordinary experience, disclosing the wonder that is always there in a garden or wood, hidden in plain sight—another form of consciousness “parted from [us],” as William James put it, “by the filmiest of screens.” Nature does in fact teem with subjectivities—call them spirits if you like—other than our own; it is only the human ego, with its imagined monopoly on subjectivity, that keeps us from recognizing them all, our kith and kin. In this sense, I guess Paul Stamets is right to think the mushrooms are bringing us messages from nature, or at least helping us to open up and read them. Before this afternoon, I had always assumed access to a spiritual dimension hinged on one’s acceptance of the supernatural—of God, of a Beyond—but now I’m not so sure. The Beyond, whatever it consists of, might not be nearly as far away or inaccessible as we think. Huston Smith, the scholar of religion, once described a spiritually “realized being” as simply a person with “an acute sense of the astonishing mystery of everything.” Faith need not figure. Maybe to be in a garden and feel awe, or wonder, in the presence of an astonishing mystery, is nothing more than a recovery of a misplaced perspective, perhaps the child’s-eye view; maybe we regain it by means of a neurochemical change that disables the filters (of convention, of ego) that prevent us in ordinary hours from seeing what is, like those lovely leaves, staring us in the face. I don’t know. But if those dried-up little scraps of fungus taught me anything, it is that there are other, stranger forms of consciousness available to us, and, whatever they mean, their very existence, to quote William James again, “forbid[s] a premature closing of our accounts with reality.” Open-minded. And bemushroomed. That was me, now, ready to reopen my own accounts with reality.

The boys were going to a place that none had ever been before, to serve an order that had been the enemy of their kith and kin for thousands of years, yet Jon saw no tears, heard no wailing mothers. These are winter’s people, he reminded himself. Tears freeze upon your cheeks where they come from. Not a single hostage balked or tried to slink away when his turn came to enter that gloomy tunnel.

Every artist who moves us, from a movie maker to Beethoven or Shakespeare, is a bit of a hypnotist. In this sense that seemingly stupid and mechanical contraption we call "society" must rank as the greatest artist on the planet. For instance, when I was seven or eight, and feeling superior to the kids who closed their eyes "during the scary parts," I was entering a deep hypnosis created by another Virtual Reality called language. This hypnosis was a worse nightmare than the Wicked Witch of the West or King Kong or the Wolf-Man or any of their kith and kin, but it made me a "member of society

Every artist who moves us, from a movie maker to Beethoven or Shakespeare, is a bit of a hypnotist. In this sense that seemingly stupid and mechanical contraption we call "society" must rank as the greatest artist on the planet. For instance, when I was seven or eight, and feeling superior to the kids who closed their eyes "during the scary parts," I was entering a deep hypnosis created by another Virtual Reality called language. This hypnosis was a worse nightmare than the Wicked Witch of the West or King Kong or the Wolf-Man or any of their kith and kin, but it made me a "member of society”. By Robert AntonWilson in the introduction of the book.

It was probably only a few intervals, though it seemed longer with Ryzven lurking and radiating impatience. At last Beryl and Kurr returned, markedly cleaner and fresher, and he heard Beryl telling the Greenspirit about the garden. His human hurried toward him, though her steps slowed when she spotted Ryzven nearby. Snaps squirmed in Zylar’s arms, so he set him down after checking the cord looped around his neck. Beryl reached for the leash as she eyed Ryzven, but she didn’t address him. Instead, she knelt and spoke nonsense words to the fur-person while rubbing him all over with her grabbers. Kurr filled the awkward silence with a stiff, formal greeting. “Honor to your kith and kin, renowned Ryzven. I am Kurr.” “A pleasure! Everyone who has been following the Choosing knows who you are, esteemed Greenspirit.” While Zylar would be pleased if Ryzven forgot his business with Beryl while dallying with Kurr, he doubted he’d be so lucky. And as Beryl rose, Ryzven turned to her, making sure she got the full impact of his rare colors. He even puffed out his thorax a little, and Beryl let out a breath, a sound Zylar identified as annoyance. She said something the translator couldn’t process. “I came to congratulate you on your—” Before Ryzven could finish his pompous sentence, Snaps ambled forward, lifted a leg, and eliminated on him. “I don’t like him,” Snaps said. “Beryl doesn’t like him. Let’s go!” “So sorry about that,” Beryl said in a flat tone. “Snaps is nervous around strangers.” Zylar had heard sincerity from her many times before, and on this occasion, she wasn’t remotely apologetic. In fact, her eyes were twinkling and she seemed to be having a hard time restraining herself from making the battle face, which she’d said indicated amusement or enjoyment. “You should clean that up,” he told Ryzven, who was sputtering incoherent outrage. Most likely, he would live to regret all of this, but it felt so good to get the best of his arrogant nest-mate for once that he didn’t even look back when Beryl grabbed his claw and led him toward the exit. It occurred to him that she was leading him like Snaps, only by the limb instead of using a cord, but it would have lessened the impact of their departure if he mentioned as much. Once they reached the public corridors, Kurr finally said, “I hope we have not given serious offense. I am…fearful.” The Greenspirit must know Ryzven’s reputation well. He wouldn’t accept such a humiliation without striking back. “Do not let it lessen your satisfaction in what you’ve achieved today. I will apologize more fully another time.” “Why would you apologize for something Snaps did?” Beryl cut in. “If anyone’s going to make amends, it should be me. Though for the record, I said ‘sorry’ already.” “It was insincere,” Kurr noted. Beryl stared for a long moment, then said, “That’s fair.” She took a step closer to the two of them and added in a whisper, “So when I apologize sincerely, I probably shouldn’t let on that I told Snaps to pee on him? I mean, theoretically.” The Greenspirit emitted a shocked rustling sound while Zylar simply could not contain his glee. He churred louder than he ever had in his life. “Truly? That’s what you said that the translator could not comprehend?” Then Beryl did show her fearsome aspect, displaying all her teeth. “I will neither confirm nor deny those allegations.” “Confirmed,” said Snaps. “I was promised extra snacks.” Still delighted with his intended, Zylar led the way to the garden, wondering how he should reward Beryl for improving his life in every conceivable way. 

Thus inspired by kith and kin, book learning—a core ingredient of his mother’s child-rearing—took on a new urgency.

pressure that the water would strip bark off the trees, at whom the police have deliberately set snarling dogs, are our own kith and kin.”5

So like many women before and after me, I lived my life as a disguised criatura, creature. Like my kith and kin before me, I swagger-staggered in high heels, and I wore a dress and hat to church. But my fabulous tail often fell below my hemline, and my ears twitched until my hat pitched, at the very least, down over both my eyes, and sometimes clear across the room.

If you want a graphic picture of this accursed chain, suppose a man who because of some special pleasure it gives him is a victim to his thirst for fame; then a desire to increase his fortune follows close upon this thirst for fame; he becomes grasping; but only because the first vice leads him on to this. Then this grasping after money and superiority engenders either anger with his kith and kin, or pride towards his inferiors, or envy of those above him; then hypocrisy comes in after this envy; a soured temper after that; a misanthropical spirit after that; and behind them all a state of condemnation which ends in the dark fires of hell. You see the chain; how all follows from one cherished passion.