Plague Journal, Not Much
I have little to say this morning. That is as it should be. Life is replete with conflict, language games, reportage contending for the apex of one’s attention. Often, better that less or nothing be said, — silence is the 
condition for reflection, a quieting of awareness so that the dispersed energies of life can be gathered, and re-ordered.
I read this morning about Isocrates who lived 436 to 338 BC. Isocrates studied under Socrates and Plato. We have a fragment of one of his speeches entitled, Against the Sophists. The Sophists were entrepreneur-educators. The Sophists promised what they could not deliver, for a shockingly small fee. They offered what amounted to short-cuts to virtue and prosperity. Character and skill at speechifying on the cheap.
Let no one think that I mean that a sense of justice is teachable. I contend that there is no sort of art that can convert those who by nature lack virtue to soundness of mind and a sense of justice.
— Isocrates
I read that at age 98 Isocrates starved himself to death when Greece lost its independence and Athens was sacked by the Macedonians.
How about a song to get us through? This cuts to the heart of things:
Ride Captain Ride
By Blues Image
Seventy-three men sailed up from the San Francisco Bay,
Rolled off of their ship and here’s what they had to say.
“We’re calling everyone to ride along to another shore,
Where we can laugh our lives away and be free once more.”
Ride, captain ride on your mystery ship,
Be amazed at the friends you’ve got there on your trip.
Ride, captain ride on your mystery ship,
Be aware of the things others just might have missed
No one heard them calling, no one came at all,
‘Cause they were too busy watching those old raindrops fall.
As a storm was blowing out on the peaceful sea,
Seventy-three men were sailing off into history.
Ride, captain ride on your mystery ship,
Be amazed at the friends you’ve got there on your trip.
Ride captain ride on your mystery ship,
Be aware of the world others just might have missed
Ride, captain ride on your mystery ship,
Be amazed at the friends you’ve got there on your trip.
Ride captain ride on your mystery ship,
Be aware of the world others just might have missed
Ride, captain ride on your mystery ship,
Be amazed at the friends you have here on your trip.
Ride, captain ride on your mystery ship,
Be aware of a world others just might have missed.
Lyrics written by: Frank Konte, Michael Pinera
2 thoughts on “Plague Journal, Not Much”
Ah, the old “short cut to virtue”. Snake oil salesmen have been peddling this meaningless concoction for centuries. It has never worked and will never work, yet those who believe in instant gratification will always fall prey to slick willie stump speech promising instant riches or power or popularity or fresh breath.
“Pssst, hey buddy, want all of your problems solved? Vote for Donald Trump and he’ll fix everything. Those pesky libtards and black folks will magically disappear. Really!”
“Gosh, mister, really? Then I’m with you and I’m voting for Mr. Trump!”
The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.