"Love?... too late... Glory?... I have tasted it... Ambition?... let us leave that nonsense to the politicians!"
~ The Desire to be a Man

Short story by French horror writer Auguste Villiers de l'Isle-Adam.

https://derschattigewald.substack.com/p/the-desire-to-be-a-man

Der Schattige Wald

The Desire to be a Man

By Auguste Villiers de l'Isle-Adam

Only the Irish can dance with the Leviathan:

https://youtu.be/5SmWUMJRIDo

YouTube

Dubliners - the Octopus jig (must be seen to be belived)

Dubliners - the Octopuss jig (must be seen to be belived)

Someone send the spam solution please or I will have to close chat.

'To become virtuosos of the enemy's legality.'

Schmitt's critique of the post-war writers. Something to be aware of in regards to today's discourse, which increases, but without the literary quality.

"Drawing on his uprightness and his brave intellect, Hobbes restored the old and eternal relationships between protection and obedience, command and the assumption of emergency action, power and responsibility against distinctions and pseudoconcepts of a potestas indirecta that demands obedience without being able to protect, that wants to command without assuming responsibility for the possibility of political peril, and exercise power by way of indirect powers on which it devolves responsibility."
~ Carl Schmitt

Psalm 93

93 The Lord reigneth, he is clothed with majesty; the Lord is clothed with strength, wherewith he hath girded himself: the world also is stablished, that it cannot be moved.

²Thy throne is established of old: thou art from everlasting.

³The floods have lifted up, O Lord, the floods have lifted up their voice; the floods lift up their waves.

⁴The Lord on high is mightier than the noise of many waters, yea, than the mighty waves of the sea.

⁵Thy testimonies are very sure: holiness becometh thine house, O Lord, for ever.

The reduction of friend and enemy to a mere placeholder of right and left has done great damage to Schmitt's legacy. Here I attempt to correct this problem.

"There was a king in Thule
faithful unto the grave,
whose dying mistress
gave him a golden goblet.

Nothing was more precious to him;
he drained it at every feast.
His eyes filled with tears
whenever he drank from it.

And when he came to die
he counted the towns in his realm,
bequeathed all to his heirs,
except for that goblet.

He sat at the royal banquet,
his knights around him
in the lofty ancestral hall
in his castle by the sea.

The old toper stood there,
drank life’s last glowing draught,
and hurled the sacred goblet
into the waves below.

He watched it fall and drink
and sink deep into the sea.
His eyes, too, sank;
he drank not one drop more."

~ Goethe