Showing posts from October, 2012

the active, realistic loving of this one moment in all time.

from NO MORE SECONDHAND GOD by R. Buckminster Fuller
Late tonight (April 9, 1940) I am just sitting here for one of the many reasons people find themselves passionately isolated. (The cause is rarely noble.) In the midst of my overly self-emphatic thought I say, suddenly, (as most of us do): imagine, realize, the preposterousness of your chagrin in the face of what is involved in the newspaper headline on the chair over there. OSLO KEY BASES TAKEN BIG SEA AIR BATTLES ON World Telegram 7th Sports.
It’s no longer a phony war but I don’t think about that nor do I think much about Oslo. I think of such of aviators and sailormen as are in command of their faculties on both sides at this moment. Though you have been out in a froth-spitting squall on Long Island Sound or in an ocean liner on a burgeoning sea you have but a childlike hint of what a nineteen-year-old’s reaction is to the pitch black shrieking dark out there in the very cold northern elements of unloosening spring off Norway’s…