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How quickly companies forget. Now they just want sheep that perform miracles on command.

The Wants Of Man "MAN wants but little here below, Nor wants that little long." 'Tis not with me exactly so; But 'tis so in the song. My wants are many and, if told, Would muster many a score; And were each wish a mint of gold, I still should long for more. What first I want is daily bread — And canvas-backs, — and wine — And all the realms of nature spread Before me, when I dine. Four courses scarcely can provide My appetite to quell; With four choice cooks from France beside, To dress my dinner well. What next I want, at princely cost, Is elegant attire : Black sable furs for winter's frost, And silks for summer's fire, And Cashmere shawls, and Brussels lace My bosom's front to deck, — And diamond rings my hands to grace, And rubies for my neck. I want (who does not want?) a wife, — Affectionate and fair; To solace all the woes of life, And all its joys to share. Of temper sweet, of yielding will, Of firm, yet placid mind, — With all my faults to love me still With sentiment refined. And as Time's car incessant runs, And Fortune fills my store, I want of daughters and of sons From eight to half a score. I want (alas! can mortal dare Such bliss on earth to crave?) That all the girls be chaste and fair, — The boys all wise and brave. I want a warm and faithful friend, To cheer the adverse hour, Who ne'er to flatter will descend, Nor bend the knee to power, — A friend to chide me when I'm wrong, My inmost soul to see; And that my friendship prove as strong For him as his for me. I want the seals of power and place, The ensigns of command; Charged by the People's unbought grace To rule my native land. Nor crown nor sceptre would I ask But from my country's will, By day, by night, to ply the task Her cup of bliss to fill. I want the voice of honest praise To follow me behind, And to be thought in future days The friend of human-kind, That after ages, as they rise, Exulting may proclaim In choral union to the skies Their blessings on my name. These are the Wants of mortal Man, — I cannot want them long, For life itself is but a span, And earthly bliss — a song. My last great Want — absorbing all — Is, when beneath the sod, And summoned to my final call, The Mercy of my God. - John Quincy Adams

Is there a nostr VPN?

#CatholicNostr Sacred Heart of Christ, may I learn to have the same heart as you.

We never know how high we are Till we are called to rise; And then, if we are true to plan, Our statures touch the skies— The Heroism we recite Would be a daily thing, Did not ourselves the Cubits warp For fear to be a King— - Emily Dickinson

To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, One clover, and a bee. And revery. The revery alone will do, If bees are few. - Emily Dickinson

Nobody Loses All The Time nobody loses all the time i had an uncle named Sol who was a born failure and nearly everybody said he should have gone into vaudeville perhaps because my Uncle Sol could sing McCann He Was A Diver on Xmas Eve like Hell Itself which may or may not account for the fact that my Uncle Sol indulged in that possibly most inexcusable of all to use a highfalootin phrase luxuries that is or to wit farming and be it needlessly added my Uncle Sol’s farm failed because the chickens ate the vegetables so my Uncle Sol had a chicken farm till the skunks ate the chickens when my Uncle Sol had a skunk farm but the skunks caught cold and died and so my Uncle Sol imitated the skunks in a subtle manner or by drowning himself in the watertank but somebody who’d given my Uncle Sol a Victor Victrola and records while he lived presented to him upon the auspicious occasion of his decease a scruptious not to mention splendiferous funeral with tall boys in black gloves and flowers and everything and i remember we all cried like the Missouri when my Uncle Sol’s coffin lurched because somebody pressed a button (and down went my Uncle Sol and started a worm farm) - e. e. cummings

I WRUNG MY HANDS I wrung my hands under my dark veil. . . “Why are you pale, what makes you reckless?” – Because I have made my loved one drunk with an astringent sadness. I’ll never forget. He went out, reeling; his mouth was twisted, desolate. . . I ran downstairs, not touching the banisters, and followed him as far as the gate. And shouted, choking: “I meant it all in fun. Don’t leave me, or I’ll die of pain.” He smiled at me – oh so calmly, terribly – and said: “Why don’t you get out of the rain?” - Anna Akhmatova

(He loved three things in life: Evensong, white peacocks And old maps of America. He hated it when children cried, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . And I was his wife.) - Anna Akhmatova (translator: Roberta Reeder)

Test post on nostr that should automatically post on X. X Connect

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Excellent article from arvix Exploring the Nostr Ecosystem: A Study of Decentralization and Resilience Yiluo Wei & Gareth Tyson

Exploring the Nostr Ecosystem: A Study of Decentralization and Resilience

#nostr #study

Telegram CEO Pavel Durov arrested; Tucker Carlson, Edward Snowden condemn French tyranny https://thehill.com/video/telegram-ceo-pavel-durov-arrested-tucker-carlson-edward-snowden-condemn-french-tyranny/9985592/

#Catholic Can we get #CatholicNostr going? It'd be nice to be able to 'send' stuff to all of you great Catholic nostr...ers. Not sure what to call that. :)

This economy is killing me. I can't survive four more years of this.

In a land where leaders rise and fall, There came Kamala, known to all, With laughter oft and words so grand, Yet, in her wake, confusion's band. She was dubbed the "Border Czar", But borders, they did not go far, For under her, they did not mend, And thus, her subjects, they contend. Her staff, they changed like leaves in fall, Yet her speech, it did not change at all, Awkward, inauthentic, so they say, In her presence, many turned away. Her speeches filled with platitudes, Short and sweet, yet void of goods, To avoid her wrong, she'd laugh instead, A tactic used when words have fled. In meetings, unprepared, they claim, Her mind, not focused on the game, For reading briefs, she had no taste, In governance, she left much chaste. They call her actions, or the lack thereof, A comedy, not fit for love, From border duties to her laugh, Her competence, they do half-staff. In Chaucer's style, with jest and jest, We ponder, could she lead the west? With malapropisms, she doth speak, In leadership, most find her weak.