Anonymous ID: 68cf71 Nov. 3, 2018, 9:15 p.m. No.3722788   ๐Ÿ—„๏ธ.is ๐Ÿ”—kun   >>3046 >>3167 >>3276 >>3332

>>3722654

And now, in this time of world storm, when I have been called upon by King and Parliament and with the support of all parties in the State to bear the chief responsibility in Great Britain, and when I have had the supreme honour of speaking for the British nation in its most deadly danger and in its finest hour, it has given me comfort and inspiration to feel that I think as you do, that our hands are joined across the oceans, and that our pulses throb and beat as one. Indeed I will make so bold as to say that here at least, in my motherโ€™s birth city of Rochester, I hold a latchkey to American hearts.

 

Strong tides of emotion, fierce surges of passion, sweep the broad expanses of the Union in this year of fate. In that prodigious travail there arc many elemental forces, there is much heart-searching and self-questioning; some pangs, some sorrow, some conflict of voices, but no fear. The world is witnessing the birth throes of a sublime resolve. I shall presume to confess to you that I have no doubts what that resolve will be.

 

The destiny of mankind is not decided by material computation. When great causes are on the move in the world, stirring all menโ€™s souls, drawing them from their firesides, casting aside comfort, wealth and the pursuit of happiness in response to impulses at once awe-striking and irresistible, we learn that we are spirits, not animals, and that something is going on in space and time, and beyond space and time, which, whether we like it or not, spells duty.

Anonymous ID: 68cf71 Nov. 3, 2018, 9:39 p.m. No.3723061   ๐Ÿ—„๏ธ.is ๐Ÿ”—kun

>>3723037

Grinning Parasite and the host,

clasp the Glass, command a toast.

While the multiverse dangles Our stringโ€ฆ

joyous mutilations continue the Spring.

 

Bounded; so we head for the Coast,

In full pursuit of John Titor's ghost.

Mere fiber-optic ruminations and worse,

Salient failures, but still hunters for the Source.

 

And so the Fighting endures for the crumbs,

Ballparks, oligarchs, brownstones and slums.

Open spaces blanketed by spectacle & infanticide -

crafted by the Hand, quantitated & calcified.

 

When the time is nigh to ride & cannot wait,

And barbarians are lining up at the gate.

Just remember we're going full throttle,

on the Everett-Wheeler Model.