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Post by dukeofpain on Dec 5, 2005 22:38:09 GMT -5
Empty? Israelis committing international crime and not being held accountable for their crimes isn't empty, it's a merited source of concern. Nor is the fact that the Israeli govt could "care-less" by these crimes against the gentiles, by showing absolutely no initiative to stop these offenses, or in making a point that slavery shouldn't be tolerated. If they did they'd send the pimps to jail for more than a month or two. Yet at the same time having liars and scoundrels who specialize in culmination like international Zionist organizations (b'nai brith, ADL, Jewish congress, AIPC lobby, etc.) and talking heads like wiesenthal or Elie Wiesel, canvasing the western world with only revenge and pillage on their minds. It's mighty gaudy of a country of only 6 million, to be this wanton in their unashamed offenses, a nation that depends upon foreign western money. Coupled this with the fact that Israel thinks it can do what ever she wants internationally: subvert the rule of law in nations by openly saying that they don't and won't abide by , or even acknowledge it. Yet they want 90 year old Europeans, to be tried convicted and executed, out of what, justice? Ha. blood lust! The ratio of Jews involved in international sophisticated crime is incredibly disproportionate. IE. per capita thousands of these "Natashas" entering and leaving Israel would be tantamount to hundreds of thousands if not millions of Israeli slaves in eastern Europe. Supremist attitudes, exploitation, and the vile hypocrisy of Zionist policy is what the common theme is. Of course using this Jewish victim rhetoric: accusing me of distorting reality, without actually using proof, rather using emotive slander (anti-Semite, holocaust denier, hate filled, etc.) as proof "in and of itself", is to be expected. As it seems it's all you have in your arsenal. (see my above post) Attacking me because I never authored Jewish religious law? p.s. I got it from www.torah.org
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Post by nymos on Dec 5, 2005 23:45:36 GMT -5
Empty? Israelis committing international crime and not being held accountable for their crimes isn't empty, it's a merited source of concern. Nor is the fact that the Israeli govt could "care-less" by these crimes against the gentiles, by showing absolutely no initiative to stop these offenses, or in making a point that slavery shouldn't be tolerated. If they did they'd send the pimps to jail for more than a month or two. Yes empty. You've claimed that there were no inquiries into the matter, when there were. So your words were empty. You're accusing just for the sake of accusing. Absolutely no initiative to stop the offenses? Doubtful. It's clear that you would like it to be the case, though. Again empty words. Purposefully interchanging, words like "Israel", "they", specific oragnizations, and persons, as if they were one and the same. Not to mention the slander! And you're accusing someone else of "culmination [sic]" ? Give me numbers. I accused you of distorting reality when you credited "Jews" with something one particular Jew said. You did this deliberately. You don't care whether what you've claimed really reflects reality. Just as long as it serves your purpose, it's good enough for you. Where did I use victim rhetoric? The only person using the victim rhetoric is you. Just look at all your posts. Boo hoo. Jews did this. Jews did that. Jews are such evil exploitators. Blah. Blah. Blah. "Emotive slander"? You want to see emotive slander? Look at what you write. You're the master of that. Just look at the quoted paragraph, for instance. I pointed out that you don't care about the "Natashas", Palestinians, etc. Your sole interest is the villification of Jews. I stand by this. Your posts make this clear as day. In fact the only defense you have is accusing someone of playing the victim, again regardless of whether it's true or not. No. Not that. Moby Dick"Already several fatalities had attended his chase. But though similar disasters, however little bruited ashore, were by no means unusual in the fishery; yet, in most instances, such seemed the White Whale's infernal aforethought of ferocity, that every dismembering or death that he caused, was not wholly regarded as having been inflicted by an unintelligent agent." A Tale of Two Cities"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, ..." See? I can quote too. [/quote]
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Post by anodyne on Dec 6, 2005 0:38:13 GMT -5
hmm.. just looking over your quotes Nymos.... Melville was so much superior to Dickens as a writer.
That being said... jewy jew joo
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Post by nymos on Dec 6, 2005 1:12:15 GMT -5
hmm.. just looking over your quotes Nymos.... Melville was so much superior to Dickens as a writer. That being said... jewy jew joo Anodyne, which of these two passages do you think shows superior writing? "The traveller who at the present day is content to travel in the good old Asiatic style, neither rushed along by a locomotive, nor dragged by a stage-coach; who is willing to enjoy hospitalities at far-scattered farmhouses, instead of paying his bill at an inn; who is not to be frightened by any amount of loneliness, or to be deterred by the roughest roads or the highest hills; such a traveller in the eastern part of __________, will find ample food for poetic reflection in the singular scenery of a country, which, owing to the ruggedness of the soil and its lying out of the track of all public conveyances, remains almost as unknown to the general tourist as the interior of Bohemia." "It was very remarkable that a young gentleman who had been brought up under one continuous system of unnatural restraint, should be a hypocrite; but it was certainly the case with Tom. It was very strange that a young gentleman who had never been left to his own guidance for five consecutive minutes, should be incapable at last of governing himself; but so it was with Tom. It was altogether unaccountable that a young gentleman whose imagination had been strangled in his cradle, should be still inconvenienced by its ghost in the form of grovelling sensualities; but such a monster, beyond all doubt, was Tom. "
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Post by Yankel on Dec 6, 2005 1:47:51 GMT -5
Ahem, can I take a guess? Both seem like Twain to me.
I read Innocents Abroad for the chapter on Palestine.
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Post by anodyne on Dec 6, 2005 2:02:54 GMT -5
I prefer the first excerpt over the second. But the second excerpt isn't bad at all. Best way to compare two authors, in my opinion, is by comparing their first description of the main character. It's easier that way since they all have to do it. But of course it's all subjective. We amy have different tastes. Although, I'm pretty sure any novel written after 1980 is crap.
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Post by nymos on Dec 6, 2005 2:21:02 GMT -5
Ahem, can I take a guess? Both seem like Twain to me. I read Innocents Abroad for the chapter on Palestine. No Yankel. Neither one is by Mark Twain. First one's by Melville and the second is by Dickens.
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Post by nymos on Dec 6, 2005 2:29:26 GMT -5
I prefer the first excerpt over the second. But the second excerpt isn't bad at all. Best way to compare two authors, in my opinion, is by comparing their first description of the main character. It's easier that way since they all have to do it. But of course it's all subjective. We amy have different tastes. Although, I'm pretty sure any novel written after 1980 is crap. You picked Melville again. I, in both cases, would would lean slightly towards Dickens. Hard to say why exactly, other than it flows better. So I take it you weren't on the "Da Vinci Code" bandwagon? ;D
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Post by anodyne on Dec 6, 2005 2:36:16 GMT -5
Heh, my grandpa read it but I passed.
I have to say this about Mark Twain... he's hilarious. His work is over a hundred years old but it makes me laugh... funnier than most comedies on TV. The man had an amazing wit. A true American hero in my eyes, as well.
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Post by Yankel on Dec 6, 2005 2:54:30 GMT -5
Damn. I thought I was onto something.
Pretty much anything Mark Twain wrote is good. He was a brilliant satirist. Pudd'nhead Wilson and No. 44 are my personal favorites.
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Post by nymos on Dec 6, 2005 2:58:46 GMT -5
I completely agree on Mark Twain. Did anyone read his short essay "On Barbers"?
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Post by dukeofpain on Dec 6, 2005 12:08:56 GMT -5
He was a fellow reactionary. The Noble Red Man by Mark Twain Although it is difficult to imagine an era more receptive to ethnic flummery than the present (see review of The Invented Indian below, the impulse to glorify the Indian is scarcely new.
In 1870, Mark Twain, never a man to leave foolishness unrebuked, vented his contempt for worshipful accounts of imaginary Indians. His essay, which originally appeared in the September issue of The Galaxy, is omitted from most anthologies. In books he is tall and tawny, muscular, straight and of kingly presence; he has a beaked nose and an eagle eye. His hair is glossy, and as black as the raven's wing; out of its massed richness springs a sheaf of brilliant feathers; in his ears and nose are silver ornaments; on his arms and wrists and ankles are broad silver bands and bracelets; his buckskin hunting suit is gallantly fringed, and the belt and the moccasins wonderfully flowered with colored beads; and when, rainbowed with his war-paint, he stands at full height, with his crimson blanket wrapped about him, his quiver at his back, his bow and tomahawk projecting upward from his folded arms, and his eagle eye gazing at specks against the far horizon which even the paleface's field-glass could scarcely reach, he is a being to fall down and worship. His language is intensely figurative. He never speaks of the moon, but always of "the eye of the night;" nor of the wind as the wind, but as "the whisper of the Great Spirit;" and so forth and so on. His power of condensation is marvelous. In some publications he seldom says anything but "Waugh!" and this, with a page of explanation by the author, reveals a whole world of thought and wisdom that before lay concealed in that one little word. He is noble. He is true and loyal; not even imminent death can shake his peerless faithfulness. His heart is a well-spring of truth, and of generous impulses, and of knightly magnanimity. With him, gratitude is religion; do him a kindness, and at the end of a lifetime he has not forgotten it. Eat of his bread, or offer him yours, and the bond of hospitality is sealed--a bond which is forever inviolable with him. He loves the dark-eyed daughter of the forest, the dusky maiden of faultless form and rich attire, the pride of the tribe, the all-beautiful. He talks to her in a low voice, at twilight of his deeds on the war-path and in the chase, and of the grand achievements of his ancestors; and she listens with downcast eyes, "while a richer hue mantles her dusky cheek." Such is the Noble Red Man in print. But out on the plains and in the mountains, not being on dress parade, not being gotten up to see company, he is under no obligation to be other than his natural self, and therefore: He is little, and scrawny, and black, and dirty; and, judged by even the most charitable of our canons of human excellence, is thoroughly pitiful and contemptible. There is nothing in his eye or his nose that is attractive, and if there is anything in his hair that--however, that is a feature which will not bear too close examination . . . He wears no bracelets on his arms or ankles; his hunting suit is gallantly fringed, but not intentionally; when he does not wear his disgusting rabbit-skin robe, his hunting suit consists wholly of the half of a horse blanket brought over in the Pinta or the Mayflower, and frayed out and fringed by inveterate use. He is not rich enough to possess a belt; he never owned a moccasin or wore a shoe in his life; and truly he is nothing but a poor, filthy , naked scurvy vagabond, whom to exterminate were a charity to the Creator's worthier insects and reptiles which he oppresses. Still, when contact with the white man has given to the Noble Son of the Forest certain cloudy impressions of civilization, and aspirations after a nobler life, he presently appears in public with one boot on and one shoe--shirtless, and wearing ripped and patched and buttonless pants which he holds up with his left hand--his execrable rabbit-skin robe flowing from his shoulder--an old hoop-skirt on, outside of it--a necklace of battered sardine-boxes and oyster-cans reposing on his bare breast--a venerable flint-lock musket in his right hand--a weather-beaten stove-pipe hat on, canted "gallusly" to starboard, and the lid off and hanging by a thread or two; and when he thus appears, and waits patiently around a saloon till he gets a chance to strike a "swell" attitude before a looking-glass, he is a good, fair, desirable subject for extermination if ever there was one. There is nothing figurative, or moonshiny, or sentimental about his language. It is very simple and unostentatious, and consists of plain, straightforward lies. His "wisdom" conferred upon an idiot would leave that idiot helpless indeed. He is ignoble--base and treacherous, and hateful in every way. Not even imminent death can startle him into a spasm of virtue. The ruling trait of all savages is a greedy and consuming selfishness, and in our Noble Red Man it is found in its amplest development. His heart is a cesspool of falsehood, of treachery, and of low and devilish instincts. With him, gratitude is an unknown emotion; and when one does him a kindness, it is safest to keep the face toward him, lest the reward be an arrow in the back. To accept of a favor from him is to assume a debt which you can never repay to his satisfaction, though you bankrupt yourself trying. To give him a dinner when he is starving, is to precipitate the whole hungry tribe upon your hospitality, for he will go straight and fetch them, men, women, children, and dogs, and these they will huddle patiently around your door, or flatten their noses against your window, day aft er day, gazing beseechingly upon every mouthful you take, and unconsciously swallowing when you swallow! The scum of the earth! And the Noble Son of the Plains becomes a mighty hunter in the due and proper season. That season is the summer, and the prey that a number of the tribes hunt is crickets and grasshoppers! The warriors, old men, women, and children, spread themselves abroad in the plain and drive the hopping creatures before them into a ring of fire. I could describe the feast that then follows, without missing a detail, if I thought the reader would stand it. All history and honest observation will show that the Red Man is a skulking coward and a windy braggart, who strikes without warning--usually from an ambush or under cover of night, and nearly always bringing a force of about five or six to one against his enemy; kills helpless women and little children, and massacres the e men in their beds; and then brags about it as long as he lives, and his son and his grandson and great-grandson after him glorify it among the "heroic deeds of their ancestors." A regiment of Fenians will fill the whole world with the noise of it when they are getting ready invade Canada; but when the Red Man declares war, the first intimation his friend the white man whom he supped with at twilight has of it, is when the war-whoop rings in his ears and tomahawk sinks into his brain. . . . The Noble Red Man seldom goes prating loving foolishness to a splendidly caparisoned blushing maid at twilight. No; he trades a crippled horse, or a damaged musket, or a dog, or a gallon of grasshoppers, and an inefficient old mother for her, and makes h er work like an abject slave all the rest of her life to compensate him for the outlay. He never works himself. She builds the habitation, when they use one (it consists in hanging half a dozen rags over the weather side of a sage-brush bush to roost under); gathers and brings home the fuel; takes care of the raw-boned pony when they possess such grandeur; she walks and carries her nursing cubs while he rides. She wears no clothing save the fragrant rabbit-skin robe which her great-grandmother before her wore, and all the "blushing" she does can be removed with soap and a towel, provided it is only four or five weeks old and not caked. Such is the genuine Noble Aborigine. I did not get him from books, but from personal observation.
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Post by murphee on Dec 6, 2005 12:21:35 GMT -5
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Post by nockwasright on Dec 6, 2005 12:27:05 GMT -5
I like the story when he killes his soul. Also the one of the people stuck in a train who elects representatives and then eat them.
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Post by nymos on Dec 6, 2005 12:44:50 GMT -5
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