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This is about war, by Mark Twain. Not sure what specific book or work
it came from though, so if you know please tell me...
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It was a time of great and exalting excitement. The country was up in
arms, the war was on, in every breast burned the holy fire of
patriotism; the drums were beating, the bands playing, the toy pistols
popping, the bunched firecrackers hissing and spluttering; on every
hand and far down the receding and fading spread of roofs and balconies
a fluttering wilderness of flags flashed in the sun; daily the young
volunteers marched down the wide avenue gay and fine in their new
uniforms, the proud fathers and mothers and sisters and sweethearts
cheering them with voices choked with happy emotion as they swung by;
nightly the packed mass meetings listened, panting, to patriot oratory
which stirred the deepest deeps of their hearts and which they
interrupted at the briefest intervals with cyclones of applause, the
tears running down their cheeks the while; in the churches the pastors
preached devotion to flag and country and invoked the God of Battles,
beseeching His aid in our good cause in outpouring of fervid eloquence
which moved every listener. It was indeed a glad and gracious time,
and the half-dozen rash spirits that ventured to disapprove of the war
and cast doubt upon its righteousness straightway got such a stern and
angry warning that for their personal safety's sake they quickly shrank
out of sight and offended no more in that way.
Sunday morning came--the next day the battalions would leave for the
front; the church was filled; the volunteers were there, their young
faces alight with martial dreams--visions of the stern advance, the
gathering momentum, the rushing charge, the flashing sabers, the flight
of the foe, the tumult, the enveloping smoke, the fierce pursuit, the
surrender!--then home from the war, bronzed heroes, welcomed, adored,
submerged in golden proud, happy, and envied by the neighbors and
friends who had no sons and brothers to send forth to the field of
honor, there to win for the flag or, failing, die the noblest of noble
deaths. The service proceeded; a war prayer was said; it was followed
by an organ burst that with glowing eyes and beating hearts, and poured
out that tremendous invocation--
"God the all-terrible! Thou who ordainest, Thunder thy clarion and
lightning thy sword!"
Then came the "long" prayer. None could remember the like of it for
passionate pleading and moving and beautiful language. The burden of
its supplication was that an ever-merciful and benign Father of us all
would watch over our noble young soldiers and aid, comfort, and
encourage them in their patriotic work; bless them, shield them in the
day of battle and the hour of peril, bear them in His mighty hand, make
them strong and confident, invincible in the bloody onset; help them
crush the foe, grant to them and to their flag and country imperishable
honor and glory--
An aged stranger entered and moved with slow and noiseless step up the
main aisle, his eyes fixed upon the minister, his long body clothed in
a robe that reached to his feet, his head bare, his white hair
descending in a frothy cataract to his shoulders, his seamy face
unnaturally pale, pale even to ghastliness. With all eyes following
him and wondering, he made his silent way; without pausing, he ascended
to the preacher's side and stood there, waiting. With shut lids the
preacher, unconscious of his presence, continued his moving prayer, and
at last finished it with the words, uttered in fervent appeal, "Bless
our arms, grant us the victory, O Lord our God, Father and Protector of
our land and flag!"
The stranger touched his arm, motioned him to step aside--which the
startled minister did--and took his place. During some moments he
surveyed the spellbound audience with solemn eyes in which burned an
uncanny light; then in a deep voice he said:
"I come from the Throne--bearing a message from Almighty God!" The
words smote the house with a shock; if the stranger perceived it he
gave no attention. "He has heard the prayer of His servant your
shepherd and will grant it if such shall be your desire after I, His
messenger, shall have explained to you its import--that is to say, its
full import. For it is like unto many of the prayers of men, in that
it asks for more than he who utters it is aware of--except he pause and
think.
"God's servant and yours has prayed his prayer. Has he paused and
taken thought? Is it one prayer? No, it is two--one uttered, the
other not. Both have reached the ear of Him Who heareth all
supplications, the spoken and the unspoken. Ponder this--keep it in
mind. If you would beseech a blessing upon yourself, beware! lest
without intent you invoke a curse upon a neighbor at the same time. If
you pray for the blessing of rain upon your crop which needs it, by
that act you are possibly praying for a curse upon some neighbor's crop
which may not need rain and can be injured by it.
"You have heard your servant's prayer--the uttered part of it. I am
commissioned of God to put into words the other part of it--that part
which the pastor, and also you in your hearts, fervently prayed
silently. And ignorantly and unthinkingly? God grant that it was so!
You heard these words: 'Grant us the victory, O Lord our God!' That is
sufficient. The whole of the uttered prayer is compact into those
pregnant words. Elaborations were not necessary. When you have prayed
for victory you have prayed for many unmentioned results which follow
victory--which must follow it, cannot help but follow it. Upon the
listening spirit of God the Father fell also the unspoken part of the
prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen!
"O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth
to battle--be Thou near them! With them, in spirit, we also go forth
from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord
our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our
shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of
their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the
shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their
humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of
their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them
out roofless with their little children to wander unfriended the wastes
of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the
sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit,
worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and
denied it--for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes,
blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their
steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with
blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him
Who is the Source of Love, and Who is ever-faithful refuge and friend
of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite
hearts. Amen.
(After a pause) "Ye have prayed it; if ye still desire it, speak! The
messenger of the Most High waits."
It was believed afterward that the man was a lunatic, because there was
no sense in what he said.
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I Want My Old Beast Self
by John Brandi
Trees named
flowers named
continents named
bombsites memorialized
industrial parks christened
roadsigns quadrupled, thunder rerouted
lightning detoured
weather televised, music canned
dogmeat canned, uranium canned
Walt Disney frozen
Billy the Kid's body stolen
outer space wired
blackbirds poisoned
Popeye painted on warheads
electrocution sanctioned
phone wires tapped, geysers tapped
volcanoes monitored
terrorism mass-marketed
crime popularized, burglary syndicated
lies memorized, death squads okayed
rainforests mapped and divided
fir trees under contract, inlets earmarked
cows branded, knowledge booked
books shredded, time put into ticks
ticks digitalized
good will fossilized
mythology vandalized
honesty scrutinized
planet light eyed by marketing executives
chins, noses, breasts re-arranged in surgery rooms
bodies mugged and gassed, straights plugged
flags pinned to the otherside of the moon
scientists, poets, nuns silenced
hearts transplanted
satellites re-paving the night sky
earthworms boxed and sold
crocodiles skinned
counselers, therapists, mail-course astrologers
dissecting people's lives
Help!
I want my body back
I want my old beast self
I want a voice that sings and eyes high-altitude clear!
I want to live without being watched,
to smile without being choked, to bathe myself
unmonitored, to sleep without
someone ringing my number!
I want to make love without being told
how to do it how to feel how to wake
the next morning what time of day it is
who's in the World Series who's winning
the latest war who's been left in purgatory
and not gone to heaven
Stop!
Let me lose myself for once
Let me see who I am
Empty my pockets of driver's license, spare
change, social security, draft card, secret
phone numbers, fake student ID
Visa, Mastercharge!
I want to eat without additives
I want to die without preservatives
I want to rise from the world's debris
wipe the rusted mirror, have a feast!
I want to feel my body naked, wet with storm
stuck with pollen tanned with meteor fire
soused with cold rain!
I want to pass through the tail
of Halley's Comet
bloom shake my mane
stretch the stiff joints, roll
in the mustard, kick
my heels silver the dry wash
with rafts of light
unbloody the ocean
unsmoke the stack
undo the noose
unframe the framed
let loose the shadows
lick the salt from the world's tears
No flags!
No heads ruling hearts!
No dirty clothes piled in the closet
No bomb hatch open
on the horizon!
Let me flood through the gate
slide into you
embrace without could be's or what if's
I want it to be a hundred times
the first time!
I want it slow in the open luminous
sourcesless, as books have never
told it, as vision
has never witnessed it, I want it blessed
by the brightest angel
I want it in the clover in the clouds
with the furious taste of electricity
with silence left in my lungs
with my windshield steamed I want it
high on greenwet wave
and the whole world with me, out in
back through the narrow vent
of birth
then to sleep to drift to wake!
beckoned by no absence
collective and unnamed, feathered
horned
soft pawed
haloed
bloodsong in the veins
birdwhistle in the artery
fin in the spray of surf
I want it
heavenknowswhere, I want
my body back
I want my old beast self!
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NAMING OF PARTS
To-day we have naming of parts. Yesterday,
We had daily cleaning. And to-morrow morning,
We shall have what to do after firing. But to-day,
To-day we have naming of parts. Japonica
Glistens like coral in all of the neighboring gardens,
And to-day we have naming of parts.
This is the lower sling swivel. And this
Is the upper sling swivel, whose use you will see,
When you are given your slings. And this is the piling swivel,
Which in your case you have not got. The branches
Hold in the gardens their silent, eloquent gestures,
Which in our case we have not got.
This is the safety-catch, which is always released
With an easy flick of the thumb. And please do not let me
See anyone using his finger. You can do it quite easy
If you have any strength in your thumb. The blossoms
Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see
Any of them using their finger.
And this you can see is the bolt. The purpose of this
Is to open the breech, as you see. We can slide it
Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call this
Easing the spring. And rapidly backwards and forwards
The early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers:
They call it easing the Spring.
They call it easing the Spring: it is perfectly easy
If you have any strength in your thumb: like the bolt,
And the breech, and the cocking-piece, and the point of balance,
Which in our case we have not got; and the almond-blossom
Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards,
For today we have naming of parts.
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