Leaving 2023 Quotes

It is more important to look holistically at the root of why anyone would want to avoid work so badly that they’d game the system and leave the workforce altogether. When work is fulfilling, dignifying, respects our skills and nourishes our talents and souls, it becomes a pleasure not a burden; something we would look for not run away from. [From “On the Great Resignation” published on CounterPunch on February 24, 2023]

Another dangerous neoliberal word circulating everywhere that is worth zooming in on is the word ‘resilience’. On the surface, I think many people won’t object to the idea that it is good and beneficial for us to be resilient to withstand the difficulties and challenges of life. As a person who lived through the atrocities of wars and sanctions in Iraq, I’ve learnt that life is not about being happy or sad, not about laughing or crying, leaving or staying. Life is about endurance. Since most feelings, moods, and states of being are fleeting, endurance, for me, is the common denominator that helps me go through the darkest and most beautiful moments of life knowing that they are fleeing. In that sense, I believe it is good for us to master the art of resilience and endurance. Yet, how should we think about the meaning of ‘resilience’ when used by ruling classes that push for wars and occupations, and that contribute to producing millions of deaths and refugees to profit from plundering the planet? What does it mean when these same warmongers fund humanitarian organizations asking them to go to war-torn countries to teach people the value of ‘resilience’? What happens to the meaning of ‘resilience’ when they create frighteningly precarious economic structures, uncertain employment, and lay off people without accountability? All this while also asking us to be ‘resilient’… As such, we must not let the word ‘resilience’ circulate or get planted in the heads of our youth uncritically. Instead, we should raise questions about what it really means. Does it mean the same thing for a poor young man or woman from Ghana, Ecuador, Afghanistan vs a privileged member from the upper management of a U.S. corporation? Resilience towards what? What is the root of the challenges for which we are expected to be resilient? Does our resilience solve the cause or the root of the problem or does it maintain the status quo while we wait for the next disaster? Are individuals always to blame if their resilience doesn’t yield any results, or should we equally examine the social contract and the entire structure in which individuals live that might be designed in such a way that one’s resilience may not prevail no matter how much perseverance and sacrifice one demonstrates? There is no doubt that resilience, according to its neoliberal corporate meaning, is used in a way that places the sole responsibility of failure on the shoulders of individuals rather than equally holding accountable the structure in which these individuals exist, and the precarious circumstances that require work and commitment way beyond individual capabilities and resources. I find it more effective not to simply aspire to be resilient, but to distinguish between situations in which individual resilience can do, and those for which the depth, awareness, and work of an entire community or society is needed for any real and sustainable change to occur. But none of this can happen if we don’t first agree upon what each of us mean when we say ‘resilience,’ and if we have different definitions of what it means, then we should ask: how shall we merge and reconcile our definitions of the word so that we complement not undermine what we do individually and collectively as people. Resilience should not become a synonym for surrender. It is great to be resilient when facing a flood or an earthquake, but that is not the same when having to endure wars and economic crises caused by the ruling class and warmongers. [From “On the Great Resignation” published on CounterPunch on February 24, 2023]

The Spinning Year by Stewart Stafford Warm days, leaves of green, Winter's looming touch between, Harvesting in chill of night, Spiders crawl in roused delight. Rearranging the hibernacle, My living quarter tabernacle, To see out the darkened months, Until come Spring's timed shunts. Emerge into a world of change, Earth's mother hand will rearrange, Another tree ring sagely earned, See around a new corner turned. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.

Paradise Isle by Stewart Stafford In superstitious guidance, I discovered your shallows, Ingénues' on naked dunes, Edenites of Paradise Isle. Tragedy and chance are but pirates; One welcome, both shocking rogues, Am I a castaway or a sleepwalker? Let motivations as explorers gather. Leaving footprints only we can see, The wet sand, a camouflage ally, We quit the beach and head inland, As crabs in shade to the waterline crawl. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.

The line separating investment and speculation, which is never bright and clear, becomes blurred still further when most market participants have recently enjoyed triumphs. Nothing sedates rationality like large doses of effortless money. After a heady experience of that kind, normally sensible people drift into behavior akin to that of Cinderella at the ball. They know that overstaying the festivities — that is, continuing to speculate in companies that have gigantic valuations relative to the cash they are likely to generate in the future — will eventually bring on pumpkins and mice. But they nevertheless hate to miss a single minute of what is one helluva party. Therefore, the giddy participants all plan to leave just seconds before midnight. There’s a problem, though: They are dancing in a room in which the clocks have no hands.

Under The Octagon by Stewart Stafford Under the octagon of glass and steel, A careworn man sits at his desk and sighs, He longs to leave this place of chilly lies, And find a hidden treasure that is real. He knows a code that he can’t reveal, A sepulchre where the Holy Grail lies, He found it with his providence eyes, A numinous and haunting view that heals. He takes a penknife from his drawer and peels, His finger till he sees a key inside, He wraps his wound and leaves without a guide, He runs towards the garden, full of zeal. He finds the rhododendrons and the birch, He digs beneath the wisteria with care, Cracks open the tomb, and discovers there, A golden bird sitting upon its perch. "Back! Thou tomb-raiding thief." It squawks, its voice so stern, "Cleanse thyself, endeavour to learn. Do not touch the Grail without belief!" Caving in, he seals the grave, The aureate avian conveys his thanks, The plumage rejoining arcane ranks, The man seeks out a confessor's nave. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved

Can people really change? Leave a Comment / By GhulamNabi7 / 7 October, 2023 Over the last four episodes, Rashida and I have explored questions that are fundamentally about change: Will things be different after Covid-19? Can society become more equal? Can (and should) people stop lying? Will we make the changes needed to stop a climate disaster?Over the last four episodes, Rashida and I have explored questions that are fundamentally about change: Will things be different after Covid-19? Can society become more equal? Can (and should) people stop lying? Will we make the changes needed to stop a climate disaster?Over the last four episodes, Rashida and I have explored questions that are fundamentally about change: Will things be different after Covid-19? Can society become more equal? Can (and should) people stop lying? Will we make the changes needed to stop a climate disaster?Over the last four episodes, Rashida and I have explored questions that are fundamentally about change

An Apple A Day, Keeps Death Away by Stewart Stafford Death came knocking at my door, He said he’d come to claim my soul, I said I wasn’t ready yet, And asked him for an hour or so. "Death waits for no man!" it roared, Adding that my time was up, The Reaper said we were leaving, And that I was such a cheeky pup. I asked if he'd like an apple for the trip, And gestured to my magic tree, "Aye," he said, reaching up, His hand stuck to it, to my glee. "What trick is this?" Death howled, "Free me, I demand, this instant!" "Lift my death sentence first," I said, "Never! Taking life is a constant!" "Use your other hand to free yourself." He tried until both hands became stuck, "Let me live, and you may go," I said, "Agreed!" Death vanished. What good luck! An apple a day keeps Death away, But in the long run, you'll have to pay, Unless you have a magic tree - A new lease on life, briefly. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.

...a lack of affordable housing in rural Scotland is perhaps the biggest issue threatening the viability of communities today. This situation is not new but since house prices really took off some 20 years ago, there is asense that the issue has now become existential. Lack of employment is often similarly highlighted as a major issue, but thanks to the social security system most people can manage, to some degree at least, a period of being unemployed or under employed. In contrast, without adequate and secure accommodation people very quickly have to leave their home communities in search of housing, more often than not in distant towns and cities - even if, as is often the dase, they have a job offer locally.

Sept 27-69-6.30 by knife by Stewart Stafford I am the thief on the golden hill, Predator in sight, a hooded chill, Masked, armed and primed to strike, Prey pinned by the lake, as I like. Tie them up on blankets, used, In time they'll see it's all a ruse, Pretend to leave, then come back, Back-slashed in a frenzied attack. Left to die, their assailant gone, Darkness falls on two bleeding fawns, Stagger up the hill to try and get aid, Passing out as the lifeforce fades. Flashlight in the eyes, back for the kill! Help arrives, shakily standing still, Message on his car, Zodiac was here, He lived, she passed, and then only fear. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.

A Garden Epitaph by Stewart Stafford From a verdant birth, Two roses entwined together, A union withered from the earth, Root quest in envenomed weather. Green fingers pruned with ill will, Each barb taken to wounded hearts, Cut natures freed of earthly swill, Two crimson blooms, beyond scars. Master gardener, just hear me, If you see devotion, leave it be, In silent witness, wonders see, Lest you hasten obsequies. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.

Crypto Cryptid by Stewart Stafford There's no point in hunting beasts, When you're the game you seek, Idle trigger finger behind the gun, Leave carcasses rotting in the sun. Billions springing from blood; From gushing oil to a crypto flood, Cutthroat games played to the hilt, Philanthropy, as rich boy's guilt. Bought your justice and rude health, Faux angelic in Faustian wealth, Scalpel wielded for everything's price, Trophy mansions rank with vice. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.

My Angel Sleeps by Stewart Stafford My angel sleeps, do not disturb, Painless and gorgeous in repose, In resting flight, I still see her, Her embryonic features now froze. Many times, she called me father, And hastened me to her side, Entwined as one, no one to part us, Now, the earth's youthful bride. Let me cast more soil upon you, To soften your final resting place, My heart's core I leave with you, To claim back when face to face. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.

[Hand Watches] I opened the drawer Where I keep old things and tokens I glanced over some hand watches With dead batteries and frozen times… Watches that were gifted to me over time By teachers or friends To commend my accomplishments and respect for time… It never occurred to them or to me then That Time would die in a heart attack And will cease to be important The day my homeland was occupied and destroyed… The day the occupying thieves In collaboration with the thieves within Would burn and destroy everything beautiful in it… And since then, I refuse to wear hand watches And will never wear one Until my people get back their Time and dignity… And when that happens, Time will remain unimportant For then, I will turn into a butterfly A sparrow A daffodil or an orange blossom, Or perhaps an apricot blossom on a branch An unstoppable sprig of water That flows beyond time and timing … In that same drawer I found Pens that have run out of ink Looking like mummified corpses.. At a moment of despair, A strong feeling struck me like a lightning Leaving me with a frightening question: What if this is a wound that all time can’t cure A cause that all the ink of the world can’t solve? [Original poem published in Arabic on February 5, 2023 at ahewar.org]

Sunrise Standoff by Stewart Stafford The grey men of dawn, Sniffed the air on the hill, Grunted at me to rejoin them, I remained where I was. Sunrise lit ashen shapes, The standoff continued, An eyeless search started, Their clawing reached me. I refused to go with them, So they roared in my face, Then disappeared downhill, Leaving me in torn freedom. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved

The Familiar Squatter by Stewart Stafford Stranger at a ranting roundabout, Changeling deep in a cranial fog, An infant brooked with abandon, The frail bitterness fumed within. Another dawn, the lid loosens more, Recognition dims, pleading for hints, Let me see my reflection in full now, Squatter with a thousand-yard stare. A planet downsized to an asteroid belt, Leave, and I surrender to disintegrate, Core melts inside this atrophying shell, Beyond repair, a journey of light ahead. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.

Day of the Dogwood by Stewart Stafford If I opened my veins, With the Saviour’s nails, Will your bloodlust go? Where compassion failed? Do I sweat out blood now? Or is it your crown of thorns? Miracles to silvered treachery, Pure as first Christmas morn. Scattered flock, shepherd leaves, Can you sheep know what you do? Such immaculate deception, but, Know this sacred heart was true. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.

Hand Watches" I opened the drawer where I keep old things and tokens… I looked over some hand watches with dead batteries and frozen times… Watches gifted to me over the years by teachers or friends commending my accomplishments and respect for time… It never occurred to them nor to me then that Time would die in a heart attack and cease to matter the day my homeland was occupied and destroyed… The day plunderers, in collaboration with thieves at home, would burn and destroy everything beautiful… And ever since, I refuse to wear hand watches… I vowed not to wear a hand watch until my people retrieve their Time and dignity… And when that happens, Time will not matter for I will then turn into a butterfly a sparrow a daffodil an orange Or perhaps an apricot blossom on a branch… I will turn into a spring of water flowing beyond time and timing … In that same drawer I found pens that have run out of ink looking now like mummified corpses… At a moment of despair, A strong feeling struck me like a lightning leaving me with a frightening question: What if this is a wound no time can heal, a cause that no ink can revive? [Published on April 7, 2023 on CounterPunch.org]

The Economics of Property-Casualty Insurance With the acquisition of General Re — and with GEICO’s business mushrooming — it becomes more important than ever that you understand how to evaluate an insurance company. The key determinants are: (1) the amount of float that the business generates; (2) its cost; and (3) most important of all, the long-term outlook for both of these factors. To begin with, float is money we hold but don't own. In an insurance operation, float arises because premiums are received before losses are paid, an interval that sometimes extends over many years. During that time, the insurer invests the money. Typically, this pleasant activity carries with it a downside: The premiums that an insurer takes in usually do not cover the losses and expenses it eventually must pay. That leaves it running an "underwriting loss," which is the cost of float. An insurance business has value if its cost of float over time is less than the cost the company would otherwise incur to obtain funds. But the business is a lemon if its cost of float is higher than market rates for money. A caution is appropriate here: Because loss costs must be estimated, insurers have enormous latitude in figuring their underwriting results, and that makes it very difficult for investors to calculate a company's true cost of float. Errors of estimation, usually innocent but sometimes not, can be huge. The consequences of these miscalculations flow directly into earnings. An experienced observer can usually detect large-scale errors in reserving, but the general public can typically do no more than accept what's presented, and at times I have been amazed by the numbers that big-name auditors have implicitly blessed. As for Berkshire, Charlie and I attempt to be conservative in presenting its underwriting results to you, because we have found that virtually all surprises in insurance are unpleasant ones. The table that follows shows the float generated by Berkshire’s insurance operations since we entered the business 32 years ago. The data are for every fifth year and also the last, which includes General Re’s huge float. For the table we have calculated our float — which we generate in large amounts relative to our premium volume — by adding net loss reserves, loss adjustment reserves, funds held under reinsurance assumed and unearned premium reserves, and then subtracting agents balances, prepaid acquisition costs, prepaid taxes and deferred charges applicable to assumed reinsurance. (Got that?)