WHAT of Facial Hair, a nubile

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WHAT of Facial Hair, a nubile lad asked.

The Master replied:
As maturity encroaches upon adolescence, as the child becomes the man (or ugly woman) he (or she) begins to grow first the downy fuzz and, subsequently, the rich, wiry outcropping that has come to be called Beard.
It is no small coincidence that a great scribe or teller of tales is called by the similar word Bard.
Many an otherwise canny person has fallen upon troubled times by confusing these words.
For it is true that a Bard can have a Beard, but a Beard cannot have a Bard.
One can shave a Beard, and, for that matter, one can shave a Bard.
But having shaved a Beard, it no longer exists.
Whereas having shaved a Bard you continue to have a Bard.
A Beardless Bard.

Kehlog Albran – The Profit

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Then an eccentric looking man

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Then an eccentric looking man said,
Speak to us of Art.
And he said:
It might as easily be said that man could live without Art as that man could live without water.
Look upon the innocent scribblings of little children.
Doubt not that each of us emerged from the womb an artist.
Art is freedom.
That which is called Art, yet is made subservient to commerce is not Art.
That which is called Art, yet is made subservient to a Nation or State is not Art.
That which is called Art, yet is hanging in the Museum of Modern Art is not Art. That crap my six year old son could do, the Master explained.

Kehlog Albran – The Profit

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A scholar then asked

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A scholar then asked:
Could you advise me of a proper vocation, Master?

He then said:
Some men can earn their keep with the power of their minds.
Others must use their backs and hands.
This is the same in nature as it is with man.
Some animals acquire their food easily, such as rabbits, horses and elephants.
Other animals must struggle for their food, like flamingos, moles, and ants.
So you see, the nature of the vocation must fit the individual.

But I have no abilities, desires, or talents, Master, the man sobbed.

Have you thought of becoming a stockbroker? the Master queried.

Kehlog Albran – The Profit

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Kehlog Albran: The Profit

A man came forward from the crowd and said, May I ask now?
The Master nodded.
Master, what have you learned on the Mountain?
Everything, the Master responded.
Have you knowledge above man?
The Master’s eyes slowly focused on the humbled interrogator and a chill came over the crowd.

The Master spoke:
In the scope of the Universe, man knows little.
But in his minute wisdom, he thinks himself a god among the other creatures of this planet.
How wrong he is can be seen by observing the uses to which man puts his tiny ration of intellect.
He gloats over his gold.
And lusts after material possessions.
And all the while his most precious possession slips through his fingers like the waters of a running brook.
He lets go the one thing he cannot nor ever will be able to purchase once it is gone, the precious possession that cannot be borrowed or sold.

Time? Is Time the most precious possession, Master?

No, my son, the Master replied, but you’re close.

Kehlog Albran – The Profit

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Arcipello – Daniel Conway Art



~~~~~A Dream
Within A Dream


Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow–
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep– while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

– Edgar Allan Poe –


( π tnx for the image 🙂 φ )

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The Madman :: How I Became a Madman


(pic by the always lovely No Secrets)


The Madman ————————————— Kahlil Gibran

You ask me how I became a madman. It happened thus: One day, long before many gods were born, I woke from a deep sleep and found all my masks were stolen — the seven masks I have fashioned and worn in seven lives, — I ran maskless through the crowded streets shouting, “Thieves, thieves, the curséd thieves.”

Men and women laughed at me and some ran to their houses in fear of me.

And when I reached the market place, a youth standing on a house-top cried, “He is a madman.” I looked up to behold him; the sun kissed my own naked face for the first time. For the first time the sun kissed my own naked face and my soul was inflamed with love for the sun, and I wanted my masks no more. And as if in a trance I cried, “Blessed, blessed are the thieves who stole my masks.”

Thus I became a madman.

And I have found both freedom and safety in my madness; the freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us.

But let me not be too proud of my safety. Even a Thief in a jail is safe from another thief.”

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giovanni

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guy ben

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fred

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Fog and Grain by Geraldo Magela

geraldo magela

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