"Chess" from NTodd Pritzky (Dohiyi Mir).
This image makes The Heretik thnk of cabbages and kings, but this not yet that moment.
Consider now the king photographer NTodd instead.
Other outstanding images by NTodd and his friends Aaron and Elit may be found and purchased online here!
"Lillies" by Aaron. Buy it here.
"Manhole" by Eli. Buy it here.
'The time has come,' the Walrus said,
'To talk of many things:
Of shoes -- and ships -- and sealing wax --
Of cabbages -- and kings --
And why the sea is boiling hot --
And whether pigs have wings.'
ON CABBAGES AND KINGS: THE HERETIK
The Heretik loved this poem as a child. He returns to the classics often with several thoughts. First, that the classics, our heretige belongs to us all, not to just right thinking people. The classics belong as much to the fringe as to the center, to the left as to the right. May it always be so. And may we fear those who think otherwise. May we be strong each of us in our defense of all.
The classics are problematic, however. All classics come from a different age than our own. The authors and artists are of a different age, yet timeless in their truth, ageless in their eternal soul. Some of them, however, were a little wacked in their personal affairs. Lewis Carroll, author of so many wondrous children's stories, seems to have had an unseemly attraction to the young girls who were his subjects.
Can we separate our judgement on the artist from a balanced judgement of the art? Can we tell the dancer from the dance?
What role art? Bulwark or refuge in a storm? We live in most stormy times. La tormenta once again blows as it has before, as it will again. We need our artists, even our most wacked and questionable ones to rise and defend us with their brushrstokes and keystrokes now more than ever. Art may be a refuge, art may be a bulwark. Art can be both and more, a rampart to stand on and be counted
We live in an age that demands we all be counted (even if all our votes are not). We live in age again of cabbages and kings. Mere mortal men now rule as though with the divine right of kings. Verdict first, trial later (if at all) is the order of the day.
One leader walks now as if a king, but with a cabbage for a head beneath his crown. That cabbage head is rotting for all the world to smell.
The Walrus and the Carpenter
The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright --
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.
The moon was shining sulkily,
Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
After the day was done --
'It's very rude of him.' she said,
'To come and spoil the fun!'
The sea was wet as wet could be,
The sands were dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because
No cloud was in the sky:
No birds were flying overhead --
There were no birds to fly.
The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand:
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
'If this were only cleared away,'
They said, 'it would be grand.'
'If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year,
Do you suppose,' the Walrus said,
'That they could get it clear?'
'I doubt it,' said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.
'O Oysters, come and walk with us!
The Walrus did beseech.
'A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each.'
The eldest Oyster looked at him,
But never a word he said:
The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head --
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the oyster-bed.
Out four young Oysters hurried up.
All eager for the treat:
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
Their shoes were clean and neat --
And this was odd, because, you know,
They hadn't any feet.
Four other Oysters followed them,
And yet another four;
And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more --
All hopping through the frothy waves,
And scrambling to the shore.
The Walrus and the Carpenter
Walked on a mile or so,
And then they rested on a rock
Conveniently low:
And all the little Oysters stood
And waited in a row.
'The time has come,' the Walrus said,
'To talk of many things:
Of shoes -- and ships -- and sealing wax --
Of cabbages -- and kings --
And why the sea is boiling hot --
And whether pigs have wings.'
'But wait a bit,' the Oysters cried,
'Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!'
'No hurry!' said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.
'A loaf of bread,' the Walrus said,
'Is what we chiefly need:
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed --
Now, if you're ready, Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed.'
'But not on us!' the Oysters cried,
Turning a little blue.
'After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!'
'The night is fine,' the Walrus said,
'Do you admire the view?'
'It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!'
The Carpenter said nothing but
'Cut us another slice-
I wish you were not quite so deaf-
I've had to ask you twice!'
'It seems a shame,' the Walrus said,
'To play them such a trick.
After we've brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!'
The Carpenter said nothing but
'The butter's spread too thick!'
'I weep for you,'the Walrus said:
'I deeply sympathize.'
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.
'O Oysters,' said the Carpenter,
'You've had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?'
But answer came there none --
And this was scarcely odd, because
They'd eaten every one.
-- Lewis Carroll
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