The most significant problem with the writings of Bakunin, Koestler, and Thoreau is that they leave me feeling as though it's just too late.
Far, far too late.
Last updated December 30, 2009
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“Here the ferryman,
A figure of fright, keeper of waters and streams,
Is Charon, foul and terrible, his beard
Grown wild and hoar, his staring eyes all flame,
His sordid cloak hung from a shoulder knot.
Alone he poles his craft and trims the sails
And in his rusty hull ferries the dead,
Old now -- but old age in the gods is green.”
Risto Juola, 1975 to 2014
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Last Modified 2014-09-28 16:35:20