The Fates

No Fate 

But What We Make for Ourselves

 "Babies are sort of like public property, weirdly enough, too—sort of like pregnant women. 

People often treat pregnant women sort of like they’re public property, too—in a positive way. 

They do all sorts of cute things."

You might say, 
' How good a job do you do of encouraging your children to live in Truth? '

That’s part of the answer to this question. 

The answer likely is, 
'You don’t do as good a job of it as you could.' 

It works out quite well, but you don’t know how well it could work if you did it really well, or spectacularly well, or ultimately well, or something like that. 

You don’t know.

People have an intimation of this. 

One of the things that’s really cool about having a young baby…

There’s two things you don’t know…There’s a lot more than two. There’s three things you don’t know until you have a baby. 

The first one is that you didn’t grow up yet. 
You actually don’t grow up until someone else is more important than you.

 You can’t. 

People think they grow up if they don’t have children, but they don’t. 

They just think they do. 

Now, there are some people who make Sacrifices of other sorts, but this is a whole different ball of wax, as far as I’m concerned. 

It’s not a very elegant metaphor, but…

You learn that it’s kinda a relief not to be the center of attention. 

That’s cool—that you can sit back, because, of course, your child, in your family, and in society, is immediately the center of attention. 

Unless you’re narcissistic, 
then you allow that to happen. 

And then you learn all sorts of really good things about Other People.

Other People really like babies. 

It’s so cool. 

I lived in Montreal when we had our first child. 

I lived in a pretty rough neighbourhood, by Montreal standards. 

It’s like, Montreal’s such a great city, like Toronto. 

Even the rough neighbourhoods are more like charming with a little dark underbelly. 

Something like that. 

But there were some rough characters in our neighbourhood, and it was pretty poor, and we’d push her around in her stroller. 

These grizzled, wrecked, old guys would come by, look at her, and just light up. 

They’d come over and smile at her, and you just saw the positive element of their humanity well worth. 

There has to be something seriously wrong with you if you don’t respond that way to a baby. 

That’s Not Good. 

But it was so cool to see these people, who you’d generally kind of walk around on the street, and, all of a sudden, the layers that were on them would just fall off. 

The babies are sort of like public property, weirdly enough, too—sort of like pregnant women. People often treat pregnant women sort of like they’re public property, too—in a positive way. They do all sorts of cute things.

The reason I’m telling you that is because there’s a strong impulse in people to know that there’s something miraculous about the existence of a new human being. 

The miraculous element is all the potential that’s there. 

Potential is all that is there. 

With every birth, there’s the potential for something remarkable to be introduced in The World. 

One of the things I’ve thought, too, is that babies are generic until you have one. 

Your baby isn’t a generic baby, at all. 

Instantly, it’s a person with whom you have a relationship that’s closer, perhaps, than every relationship you’ve ever had, and that you can keep Perfect, right? 

Most of the relationships that you’ve had already are with people who are screwed up in 50 different ways, and so are you, but here you’ve got this baby. 

It’s not ruined, yet. 


You have this possibility of maintaining this relationship that starts out—
That baby really likes you, and generally that continues for quite a long time. 

They’re two years old, you come home, and they’re really happy to see you. 

It’s kind of like having a puppy. 
It’s like, they’re thrilled when you come home. 

 How many people are thrilled when you come home? 
It’s like, oh, it’s you again. 
No, not a little kid. 

A little kid is thrilled when you come home, and you can keep that going. 

There’s this pristine element to the potential relationship between parents and children that’s terribly devalued in our society. 

It’s almost as if we’re willfully blind to it. 

I think it’s an absolute catastrophe, because there’s very little in life that can compare to establishing a proper relationship with a child. 

 They make great company if you keep your relationship with them pristine.

It’s worthwhile. 

The reason I’m telling you this is because 
people look at infants and they think this could be the potential 
Saviour of Mankind. 

That is What They Think. 

That’s How They Act, 
so 
That’s How They Think. 

The thing is, it’s also True. 

Now, how True it is, I don’t know. 


But that’s, I think, probably because people don’t dare to find out. 

That’s how it looks to me.

"In Christ’s case, however
—as He sacrificed Himself—
God, his Father, is simultaneously sacrificing His Son. 

It’s for this reason that the Christian sacrificial drama of Son and Self is archetypal. 

Nothing greater can be imagined. 

That’s why it’s an archetype: 
You Can’t Push Past it. 

That’s the very definition of ‘archetypal.’ That’s the core of what constitutes ‘religious.’ 

The Greatest of All Possible Sacrifices is 
Self and Child. 

Of that there can be no doubt."

Pain and Suffering define The World. 

Of that, equally, there can be no doubt. 

The person who wants to alleviate suffering—who wants to bring about 
The Best of All Possible Futures; 

Who wants to create Heaven on Earth—

Will therefore Sacrifice 
Everything He Has 
to God—


To Life in The Truth."



I Do. 

Thor: 

You know, I’m 1500 years old. 

I’ve killed twice as many enemies as that. 

And every one of them would have rather killed me than not succeeded. 

I’m only alive because Fate wants me alive. 

Thanos is just the latest of a long line of bastards, and he’ll be the latest to feel my vengeance. 

Fate Wills it So. 

Capt. Rocket: 

And what if you’re wrong?

Thor: 

Well, if I’m wrong, what more could I lose?

Rocket: 

I could lose a lot. Me, personally? I could lose a lot.





" So I do feel that there are profound differences between the sexes in terms of emotions, in terms of communication patterns. 


My father used to say that he could never follow women’s conversations. 

He said 'Women don’t even finish sentences', 

[ Because they don't have to ]

that women understand immediately what the other woman is saying. 


And women tend to be more interested in 
-or have been traditionally more interested in - 
Soap Operas.


It’s not just that the women were home without jobs. 

It’s that honestly, I believe that soap opera does reflect, does mirror, the way women talk to each other. 


These communication patterns have been built up through women - The World of Women, which. . . 

It made sense that there was a Division of Labor. 

It wasn’t sexism against women that there was a Division of Labor. 


The Men went off to hunt and 
did the dangerous things. 

The women stayed around The Hearth because you had 

Pregnant Women

Nursing Women 

Older Women 

that were cooking and so on.


So I feel that these communication patterns that we’re talking about have been built up over the centuries. 


Men had to toughen each other to go out. 


The hunting parties of Native Americans. . .
 They could be gone for two weeks when the temperature was below zero. 

Many of them died. 

[ Just as a lot of the women died in childbirth, too - that's equally dangerous ]

The idea that somehow. . .  


‘Oh, any kind of separation of the sexes, or different spheres of the sexes, is inherently sexist’. . . 

That is Wrong. 


Luckily we’ve been, what would you call, invaded by stupid terrorists instead of smart terrorists, because a smart terrorist could do an unbelievable amount of damage in a very short period of time. 

And it’s just God’s good graces that that hasn’t happened yet. 


Paglia: 
What will happen is that it’s The Men. . . 

The Men will reconstruct Civilization 

While The Women cower in The Houses 

and

Have The Men go out and do all The Dirty Work. 

That’s what’s going to happen again. 

Only men will bring civilization back again.

+++++++

Walking ballsack. Wanna knock that idiot's teeth out.


Yeah, well, We don't need him anyway.

Yeah, that's right.

'Cause we have Maggie + Sasha + Jesus, here.

 [Door opens]

 Maggie:
 And... Enid.




I need to see Maggie.



You're Here.

Are You okay?

I'm not.
But I Will be.



People told me you killed walkers and a car... with a tractor?


I couldn't sit by and watch.
Not again.
So I guess I sat and did something.


You're supposed to take it easy.

It wasn't hard.
It wasn't the first time.
There was this boy in high school.


You ran over The Boy..?

His car.

Oh.

 [Chuckles]

 It was a Camaro.
 And then it wasn't.


  [Laughs]
 
  [Door opens]
 
  Enid.
 
 
  Hi. I -- I came to help.
 
 
 
  You came by yourself?
  Yeah. Have some dinner.
 
 
 
  Why are there balloons on Abraham's grave?
 
 
  I didn't have the heart to tell you.
  Glenn would've.
  He was a bad liar.
 
 
 
  Sorry.
 
 
  There's no need to be sorry.
  Nothing wrong with balloons.
 
 
  There's nothing marking the graves.
 
 
  Nope.
 
  I was gonna use this for Glenn's.
  It was my Dad's.
  He gave it to Him.
 
  But I'm giving it to You.
  We don't need anything to remember Him by.
  We have Us.
 
 
 
  ♪♪
 
  For this new morning, with its Light,
  For Rest and Shelter of The Night,
  For Health and Food,
  For Love and Friends,
  For Everything that Goodness sends.
 
 
  Amen.
  Amen.
  Amen.







Is that an apple pie?


Uh. How did you do that?


I could smell it from outside the door. [Sighs] Uh, you baked it? Some guy gave it to us for what we did. ‭Mm. His little girl said you should run for President of Hilltop. [Chuckles] "Maggie for President." [Chuckles] Uh, do you want a plate? No, I'm good. Did Jesus give you those? Is he still around? There's some things I wanna add to his list before he goes out. The kids need something to write with -- pens, pencils. Are you already president? Mm. [Chuckles] I've just been talking to people.

[Chuckles]

Jesus left this morning.
He told me to tell you, but I-I forgot.

Okay. Next time.
I'm gonna get some milk.

Let me.


No, I'm good.

[Door creaks]

What?

Enid,

The Maid of Hilltop :

You're lying to Maggie about Jesus. 

[ Insight+Intuition ]

What makes you say that?

 

Enid, 

The Maid of Hilltop :

A Girl who lives in The House.
She was telling me about Everyone.
She said Jesus is a runner and that he left yesterday, not this morning.
[ Gossiping+Observation ]
 

It's for her own good. ‭ 

Enid, 

The Maid of Hilltop :

Why?

Sasha, 

Spirit of Female Vengeance :

Because I need to do something, 

and she'll want to help me.

[ To The Feminine Mind, words, purely verbal expressions of support and solidarity are at the very least  as  impactful and meaningful to for Women+Girls as actual practical action - and more-than likely, transcendently more so... ]

 

Enid, 

The Maid of Hilltop :

[Scoffs]
You want to kill Negan.
[Sighs]
What if you have help?

And unto this, Conan, destined to wear the jeweled crown of Aquilonia upon a troubled brow.
A Man who would some day be King by his own hand.
One who would crush The Snakes of The Earth.

Sasha, 

Spirit of Female Vengeance :

If we had help
-- a lot of people --

then, I wouldn't be afraid to tell her, because 

she'd know it wasn't on her to do it.
 

[ By default,female cognition will approach any new problem, challenge or situation initially from a presumptive attitude of Collective Responsibility. ]

 But if it's just Me, then --

[ Then, Revenge is a Dish That is Best Served Cold... ‭]
 

Enid, 

The Maid of Hilltop : It isn't just you.
 You and Maggie aren't the only ones who want to take Negan out.
 There's --
 

[ Women+Girls Do Not Raise Armies. ]

 

Sasha, 

Spirit of Female Vengeance :
 ‭No, Enid.
 That's not happening.
 And if you care about her, you don't say anything about this.

  [Sighs]

Enid, 

The Maid of Hilltop : 
  We have to keep her safe.
  You have to keep her safe.
  It isn't just you.
 
Sasha, 

Spirit of Female Vengence : 
  It sure looks like it.

++++++++

Tygers

 The Tyger
By William Blake

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

 

When Adam Delved and Eve Span, Who Was Then The Gentleman?

gentleman (n.)

c. 1200, perhaps mid-12c., "well-born man, man of good family or birth," also extended to Roman patricians and ancient Greek aristocrats, from gentle + man (n.); the compound probably is modeled on Old French gentilhomme (the English gentleman itself was borrowed into French in 18c.).

Given specific uses in late Middle English (small gentleman, gentleman-of-arms, gentleman-usher, etc.), hence in England the word often meant any man above the social rank of a yeoman, including the nobility, but it was sometimes restricted to those who bear a coat of arms but not a title; in U.S., "man of property, not engaged in business or a profession" (1789). The English word from the beginning also had a special sense "nobleman whose behavior conforms to the ideals of chivalry and Christianity," and gentleman came to be used loosely for any man of good breeding, courtesy, kindness, honor, strict regard for the feelings of others, etc.

 

The Gentleman is always truthful and sincere; will not agree for the sake of complaisance or out of weakness ; will not pass over that of which he disapproves. He has a clear soul, and a fearless, straightforward tongue. On the other hand he is not blunt and rude. His truth is courteous; his courtesy, truthful; never a humbug, yet, where he truthfully can, he prefers to say pleasant things. [J.R. Vernon, "Contemporary Review," 1869]

Eventually, in polite use, it came to mean a man in general, regardless of social standing. Related: Gentlemen. Gentleman's agreement is first attested 1929. Gentleman farmer recorded from 1749, "A man of means who farms on a large scale, employs hands, and does little or none of the work himself" [Craigie, "Dictionary of American English"].

You Think Captain Phasma Knows How to Fix a Toilet Main..?

Between The Fall and Rise of Civilisations...


You Think Captain Phasma Knows How to Fix a Toilet Main..?

All's She Knows is Killin' and Chrome Armour....

[ Which is Fabulous, By The Way.... ]

 
"It made sense that there was a Division of Labor. 

It wasn’t sexism against women that there was a Division of Labor.

The men went off to hunt and did 
the dangerous things.

[ Excluding Childbirth. ]

What will happen is that it’s The Men will reconstruct civilization while the women cower in the houses and 
Have The Men Go Out 
and do 
All The Dirty Work. 

That’s what’s going to happen again. 

Only men will bring civilization back again.

You Have Never Seen This Before...?

Civilisation - Ancient and Wicked

Paglia: Well I’ve seen - I don’t know if this crosses into other countries - that there’s a certain kind of taunting and teasing that men, that boys do with each other that toughens them, where they don’t take things seriously. But a girl’s feelings become extremely hurt if she hears something that’s very tough, sarcastic against her. So I do feel that there are profound differences between the sexes in terms of emotions, in terms of communication patterns.


My father used to say that he could never follow women’s conversations. He said women don’t even finish sentences, that women understand immediately what the other woman is saying.


And women tend to be more interested in - or have been traditionally more interested in - soap operas. It’s not just that the women were home without jobs. It’s that honestly, I believe that soap opera does reflect, does mirror, the way women talk to each other.


These communication patterns have been built up through women - The World of Women, which. . . It made sense that there was a division of labor. 

It wasn’t sexism against women that there was a division of labor.

The men went off to hunt and did the dangerous things.

The women stayed around the hearth because you had pregnant women, nursing women, older women, that were cooking and so on.

So I feel that these communication patterns that we’re talking about have been built up over the centuries.


Men had to toughen each other to go out. The hunting parties of Native Americans. . . They could be gone for two weeks when the temperature was below zero. Many of them died. 


The idea that somehow. . . ‘Oh, any kind of separation of the sexes, or different spheres of the sexes, is inherently sexist’. . . 

That is wrong.

Peterson: And "inherently driven by a power dynamic"!


Paglia: The answer to all of this, everything that we’re talking about, is education into early history. 

Until people understand the Stone Age, the nomadic period, the agrarian era, and how culture, how civilization built up. . . 

In Mesopotamia - the great irrigation projects.

Or in Egypt where you had. . . Centralized government authority became necessary to master these. . . 

You had a situation, an environmentally difficult situation like the deserts Mesopotamia, or the peculiar character of Egyptian geography where you can only have a little tiny fertile line along the edges of the Nile. Otherwise, desert landscape.


So [understanding] civilization and authority as not necessarily about power grabbing but about organization to achieve something for the good of the people as a whole. 


Peterson: That’s exactly the great symbolism of The Great Father.

Paglia: By reducing all hierarchy to power, and selfish power, is utterly naive. It’s ignorant. 


I say education has to be totally reconstituted, including public education, to begin in the most distant past so our young people today, who know nothing about how the world was created that they inhabit, can understand what a marvelous technological paradise they live in. And it’s the product of capitalism, it’s the product of individual innovation. Most of it’s the product of a Western tradition that everyone wants to trash now. If you begin in the past and show. . . And also talk about war, because war is the one thing that wakes people up, as we see.


Peterson: And as we may see.


Paglia: Yes, War is The Reality Principle.

My father and five of my uncles went to World War II. My father was part of the force that landed in Japan. 

He was a paratrooper at the time of the Japanese surrender. And a couple of uncles got shot up and so on. 

When you have the reality of war, when people see the reality, the horrors of war - Berlin burned to a crisp and so on. Starvation and all. . . 

Then you understand this marvelous mechanism that brings water to the kitchen. 

And you flip on a light and the electricity turns on.


Peterson: I know, for me, and I suppose it’s because I have somewhat of a depressive temperament. . . 

I mean one thing that staggers me on a consistent basis is the fact that anything ever works. 

Because it’s so unlikely, you know, to be in a situation where our electronic communications work, where our electric grid works. 

And it works all the time, it works one hundred percent of the time.

And the reason for that is there are mostly men out there who are breaking themselves into pieces, repairing this thing which just falls apart all the time. 

Paglia: Absolutely. I said this in the Munk Debate in Toronto several years ago. All these elitists and professors sneering at men. It’s men who are maintaining everything around us.

This invisible army which feminists don’t notice. 

Nothing would work if it weren’t for the men. 


Peterson: A professor is someone who’s standing on a hill surrounded by a wall, which is surrounded by another wall, which is surrounded by another wall - it’s walls all the way down - who stands up there and says I’m brave and independent.

It’s like, you’ve got this protected area that’s so unlikely - it’s so absolutely unlikely - and the fact that people aren’t on their knees in gratitude all the time for the fact that we have central heating and air conditioning and pure water and reliable food. . . It’s absolutely unbelievable.

Paglia: Yes, I mean people used to die. . . The water supply was contaminated with cholera for heaven’s sake. 

People don’t understand. 


To have clean water, fresh milk, fresh orange juice. 

All of these things. These are marvels.


Peterson: And all of the time.


Paglia: All of the time. Western culture is heading - because we are so dependent on this invisible infrastructure - we’re heading for an absolute catastrophe when jihadists figure out how to paralyze the power grid. The entire culture will be chaotic. You’ll have mobs in the street within three days when suddenly the food supply is interrupted and there’s no way to communicate. That is the way Western culture is going to collapse. 

And it won’t take much.


Peterson: Single points of failure.


Paglia: Because we are so interconnected, and now we’re so dependent on communications and computers. . . I used to predict for years it’ll be an asteroid hitting the earth, and then we’ll have another ice age. 


Peterson: Do you know how the solar flares work? 

This happens about once every century. 

So back about 1880 - I don’t remember the exact year - there was a significant enough solar flare. . . 

So that produces an electromagnetic pulse like a hydrogen bomb because the sun is a hydrogen bomb. 

An electromagnetic pulse will emerge from the sun and wave across the earth, and it produces huge spikes in electrical current along anything that’s electronic, and it will burn them out.

It lit telegraph operators on fire in the 1800s. One of those things took out the Quebec power grid in 1985 and knocked out the whole Northeast Corridor. So they figure those things are about one in a century event.

My brother-in-law, who’s a very smart guy. . . He designed the chip in the iPhone. We were talking about political issues the last time I went and saw him in San Francisco, and his notion was that all that the government should be doing right now is stress- testing our infrastructure the same way they stress-test the banks.

Because we’re so full of these single points of failure. And I think you’re absolutely right.

Luckily we’ve been, what would you call, invaded by stupid terrorists instead of smart terrorists, because a smart terrorist could do an unbelievable amount of damage in a very short period of time. And it’s just God’s good graces that that hasn’t happened yet. 


Paglia: What will happen is that it’s The Men. . . The Men will reconstruct civilization while the women cower in the houses and have The Men go out and do all the dirty work. That’s what’s going to happen again. Only men will bring civilization back again.

Leia is The Hearth

Leia is The Hearth

That Boy is Our Last Hope...

No. There is Another.

No -  Not Leia : Leia's Son
When She Has One.

A Man's Gotta Do 

What a Man's Gotta Do.

But here’s The Problem. 

This is something My Wife 

has pointed out, too -- She said, 

‘Well, Men are going to have 

to stand up for themselves.’ 

But here’s The Problem --

I know How to Stand Up to A Man 

who’s unfairly trespassing against me. 

And the reason I know that is because 

the parameters for my resistance 

are quite well defined, which is : 

we talk, we argue, we push, 

and then it becomes physical. 

If we move 

beyond the boundaries 

of civil discourse, 

we know what 

the next step is.

That’s forbidden in 

discourse with women. 

And so I don’t think 

that men can control 

Crazy Women. 

Camile Paglia: 
Well I’ve seen - I don’t know if this crosses into other countries - that there’s a certain kind of taunting and teasing that men, that boys do with each other that toughens them, where they don’t take things seriously. 

But a girl’s feelings become extremely hurt if she hears something that’s very tough, sarcastic against her. 

So I do feel that there are profound differences between the sexes in terms of emotions, in terms of communication patterns. 


My Father used to say that he could never follow women’s conversations. 

He said 'Women don’t even finish sentences', 
[ Because they don't have to ]
that women understand immediately 

what the other woman is saying. 


And women tend to be more interested in 

- or have been traditionally 

more interested in - soap operas. 

It’s not just that the women were home without jobs. 

It’s that honestly, I believe that 

soap opera does reflect, does mirror, 

the way women talk to each other. 


These communication patterns have been built up through women - 

The World of Women, which. . . 

It made sense that there was 

a Division of Labor. 

It wasn’t sexism against women that there was a division of labor. 

The men went off to hunt and did the dangerous things. 

The women stayed around The Hearth because you had pregnant women, nursing women, older women, that were cooking and so on.

So I feel that these communication patterns that we’re talking about have been built up over the centuries. 


Men had to toughen 

each other to go out. 


The hunting parties of Native Americans. . .
 They could be gone for two weeks when the temperature was below zero. 

Many of them died. 

[ Just as a lot of the women died in childbirth, too - that's equally dangerous ]

The idea that somehow. . .  


‘Oh, any kind of separation of the sexes, or different spheres of the sexes, is inherently sexist’. . . 

That is wrong. 


Luckily we’ve been, what would you call, invaded by stupid terrorists instead of smart terrorists, because a smart terrorist could do an unbelievable amount of damage in a very short period of time. 

And it’s just God’s good graces 

that that hasn’t happened yet. 


Paglia: 
What will happen is that it’s The Men. . . 

The Men will reconstruct civilization 

while the women cower in the houses 

and have The Men go out and 

do all the dirty work. 

That’s what’s going to happen again. 

Only men will bring 

Civilization back again.

Snark

The Hunting of the Snark

BY LEWIS CARROLL

Fit the First

            The Landing

"Just the place for a Snark!" the Bellman cried,

   As he landed his crew with care;

Supporting each man on the top of the tide

   By a finger entwined in his hair.

"Just the place for a Snark! I have said it twice:

   That alone should encourage the crew.

Just the place for a Snark! I have said it thrice:

   What I tell you three times is true."

The crew was complete: it included a Boots—

   A maker of Bonnets and Hoods—

A Barrister, brought to arrange their disputes—

   And a Broker, to value their goods.

A Billiard-marker, whose skill was immense,

   Might perhaps have won more than his share—

But a Banker, engaged at enormous expense,

   Had the whole of their cash in his care.

There was also a Beaver, that paced on the deck,

   Or would sit making lace in the bow:

And had often (the Bellman said) saved them from wreck,

   Though none of the sailors knew how.

There was one who was famed for the number of things

   He forgot when he entered the ship:

His umbrella, his watch, all his jewels and rings,

   And the clothes he had bought for the trip.

He had forty-two boxes, all carefully packed,

   With his name painted clearly on each:

But, since he omitted to mention the fact,

   They were all left behind on the beach.

The loss of his clothes hardly mattered, because

   He had seven coats on when he came,

With three pair of boots—but the worst of it was,

   He had wholly forgotten his name.

He would answer to "Hi!" or to any loud cry,

   Such as "Fry me!" or "Fritter my wig!"

To "What-you-may-call-um!" or "What-was-his-name!"

   But especially "Thing-um-a-jig!"

While, for those who preferred a more forcible word,

   He had different names from these:

His intimate friends called him "Candle-ends,"

   And his enemies "Toasted-cheese."

"His form is ungainly—his intellect small—"

   (So the Bellman would often remark)

"But his courage is perfect! And that, after all,

   Is the thing that one needs with a Snark."

He would joke with hænas, returning their stare

   With an impudent wag of the head:

And he once went a walk, paw-in-paw, with a bear,

   "Just to keep up its spirits," he said.

He came as a Baker: but owned, when too late—

   And it drove the poor Bellman half-mad—

He could only bake Bride-cake—for which, I may state,

   No materials were to be had.

The last of the crew needs especial remark,

   Though he looked an incredible dunce:

He had just one idea—but, that one being "Snark,"

   The good Bellman engaged him at once.

He came as a Butcher: but gravely declared,

   When the ship had been sailing a week,

He could only kill Beavers. The Bellman looked scared,

   And was almost too frightened to speak:

But at length he explained, in a tremulous tone,

   There was only one Beaver on board;

And that was a tame one he had of his own,

   Whose death would be deeply deplored.

The Beaver, who happened to hear the remark,

   Protested, with tears in its eyes,

That not even the rapture of hunting the Snark

   Could atone for that dismal surprise!

It strongly advised that the Butcher should be

   Conveyed in a separate ship:

But the Bellman declared that would never agree

   With the plans he had made for the trip:

Navigation was always a difficult art,

   Though with only one ship and one bell:

And he feared he must really decline, for his part,

   Undertaking another as well.

The Beaver's best course was, no doubt, to procure

   A second-hand dagger-proof coat—

So the Baker advised it—and next, to insure

   Its life in some Office of note:

This the Banker suggested, and offered for hire

   (On moderate terms), or for sale,

Two excellent Policies, one Against Fire,

   And one Against Damage From Hail.

Yet still, ever after that sorrowful day,

   Whenever the Butcher was by,

The Beaver kept looking the opposite way,

   And appeared unaccountably shy.

                  Fit the Second

                      The Bellman's Speech

The Bellman himself they all praised to the skies—

   Such a carriage, such ease and such grace!

Such solemnity, too! One could see he was wise,

   The moment one looked in his face!

He had bought a large map representing the sea,

   Without the least vestige of land:

And the crew were much pleased when they found it to be

   A map they could all understand.

"What's the good of Mercator's North Poles and Equators,

   Tropics, Zones, and Meridian Lines?"

So the Bellman would cry: and the crew would reply

   "They are merely conventional signs!

"Other maps are such shapes, with their islands and capes!

   But we've got our brave Captain to thank

(So the crew would protest) "that he's bought us the best—

   A perfect and absolute blank!"

This was charming, no doubt; but they shortly found out

   That the Captain they trusted so well

Had only one notion for crossing the ocean,

   And that was to tingle his bell.

He was thoughtful and grave—but the orders he gave

   Were enough to bewilder a crew.

When he cried "Steer to starboard, but keep her head larboard!"

   What on earth was the helmsman to do?

Then the bowsprit got mixed with the rudder sometimes:

   A thing, as the Bellman remarked,

That frequently happens in tropical climes,

   When a vessel is, so to speak, "snarked."

But the principal failing occurred in the sailing,

   And the Bellman, perplexed and distressed,

Said he had hoped, at least, when the wind blew due East,

   That the ship would not travel due West!

But the danger was past—they had landed at last,

   With their boxes, portmanteaus, and bags:

Yet at first sight the crew were not pleased with the view,

   Which consisted to chasms and crags.

The Bellman perceived that their spirits were low,

   And repeated in musical tone

Some jokes he had kept for a season of woe—

   But the crew would do nothing but groan.

He served out some grog with a liberal hand,

   And bade them sit down on the beach:

And they could not but own that their Captain looked grand,

   As he stood and delivered his speech.

"Friends, Romans, and countrymen, lend me your ears!"

   (They were all of them fond of quotations:

So they drank to his health, and they gave him three cheers,

   While he served out additional rations).

"We have sailed many months, we have sailed many weeks,

   (Four weeks to the month you may mark),

But never as yet ('tis your Captain who speaks)

   Have we caught the least glimpse of a Snark!

"We have sailed many weeks, we have sailed many days,

   (Seven days to the week I allow),

But a Snark, on the which we might lovingly gaze,

   We have never beheld till now!

"Come, listen, my men, while I tell you again

   The five unmistakable marks

By which you may know, wheresoever you go,

   The warranted genuine Snarks.

"Let us take them in order. The first is the taste,

   Which is meagre and hollow, but crisp:

Like a coat that is rather too tight in the waist,

   With a flavour of Will-o'-the-wisp.

"Its habit of getting up late you'll agree

   That it carries too far, when I say

That it frequently breakfasts at five-o'clock tea,

   And dines on the following day.

"The third is its slowness in taking a jest.

   Should you happen to venture on one,

It will sigh like a thing that is deeply distressed:

   And it always looks grave at a pun.

"The fourth is its fondness for bathing-machines,

   Which it constantly carries about,

And believes that they add to the beauty of scenes—

   A sentiment open to doubt.

"The fifth is ambition. It next will be right

   To describe each particular batch:

Distinguishing those that have feathers, and bite,

   From those that have whiskers, and scratch.

"For, although common Snarks do no manner of harm,

   Yet, I feel it my duty to say,

Some are Boojums—" The Bellman broke off in alarm,

   For the Baker had fainted away.

            Fit the Third

               The Baker's Tale

They roused him with muffins—they roused him with ice—

   They roused him with mustard and cress—

They roused him with jam and judicious advice—

   They set him conundrums to guess.

When at length he sat up and was able to speak,

   His sad story he offered to tell;

And the Bellman cried "Silence! Not even a shriek!"

   And excitedly tingled his bell.

There was silence supreme! Not a shriek, not a scream,

   Scarcely even a howl or a groan,

As the man they called "Ho!" told his story of woe

   In an antediluvian tone.

"My father and mother were honest, though poor—"

   "Skip all that!" cried the Bellman in haste.

"If it once becomes dark, there's no chance of a Snark—

   We have hardly a minute to waste!"

"I skip forty years," said the Baker, in tears,

   "And proceed without further remark

To the day when you took me aboard of your ship

   To help you in hunting the Snark.

"A dear uncle of mine (after whom I was named)

   Remarked, when I bade him farewell—"

"Oh, skip your dear uncle!" the Bellman exclaimed,

   As he angrily tingled his bell.

"He remarked to me then," said that mildest of men,

   "'If your Snark be a Snark, that is right:

Fetch it home by all means—you may serve it with greens,

   And it's handy for striking a light.

"'You may seek it with thimbles—and seek it with care;

   You may hunt it with forks and hope;

You may threaten its life with a railway-share;

   You may charm it with smiles and soap—'"

("That's exactly the method," the Bellman bold

   In a hasty parenthesis cried,

"That's exactly the way I have always been told

   That the capture of Snarks should be tried!")

"'But oh, beamish nephew, beware of the day,

   If your Snark be a Boojum! For then

You will softly and suddenly vanish away,

   And never be met with again!'

"It is this, it is this that oppresses my soul,

   When I think of my uncle's last words:

And my heart is like nothing so much as a bowl

   Brimming over with quivering curds!

"It is this, it is this—" "We have had that before!"

   The Bellman indignantly said.

And the Baker replied "Let me say it once more.

   It is this, it is this that I dread!

"I engage with the Snark—every night after dark—

   In a dreamy delirious fight:

I serve it with greens in those shadowy scenes,

   And I use it for striking a light:

"But if ever I meet with a Boojum, that day,

   In a moment (of this I am sure),

I shall softly and suddenly vanish away—

   And the notion I cannot endure!"

            Fit the Fourth

               The Hunting

The Bellman looked uffish, and wrinkled his brow.

   "If only you'd spoken before!

It's excessively awkward to mention it now,

   With the Snark, so to speak, at the door!

"We should all of us grieve, as you well may believe,

   If you never were met with again—

But surely, my man, when the voyage began,

   You might have suggested it then?

"It's excessively awkward to mention it now—

   As I think I've already remarked."

And the man they called "Hi!" replied, with a sigh,

   "I informed you the day we embarked.

"You may charge me with murder—or want of sense—

   (We are all of us weak at times):

But the slightest approach to a false pretence

   Was never among my crimes!

"I said it in Hebrew—I said it in Dutch—

   I said it in German and Greek:

But I wholly forgot (and it vexes me much)

   That English is what you speak!"

"'Tis a pitiful tale," said the Bellman, whose face

   Had grown longer at every word:

"But, now that you've stated the whole of your case,

   More debate would be simply absurd.

"The rest of my speech" (he explained to his men)

   "You shall hear when I've leisure to speak it.

But the Snark is at hand, let me tell you again!

   'Tis your glorious duty to seek it!

"To seek it with thimbles, to seek it with care;

   To pursue it with forks and hope;

To threaten its life with a railway-share;

   To charm it with smiles and soap!

"For the Snark's a peculiar creature, that won't

   Be caught in a commonplace way.

Do all that you know, and try all that you don't:

   Not a chance must be wasted to-day!

"For England expects—I forbear to proceed:

   'Tis a maxim tremendous, but trite:

And you'd best be unpacking the things that you need

   To rig yourselves out for the fight."

Then the Banker endorsed a blank check (which he crossed),

   And changed his loose silver for notes.

The Baker with care combed his whiskers and hair,

   And shook the dust out of his coats.

The Boots and the Broker were sharpening a spade—

   Each working the grindstone in turn:

But the Beaver went on making lace, and displayed

   No interest in the concern:

Though the Barrister tried to appeal to its pride,

   And vainly proceeded to cite

A number of cases, in which making laces

   Had been proved an infringement of right.

The maker of Bonnets ferociously planned

   A novel arrangement of bows:

While the Billiard-marker with quivering hand

   Was chalking the tip of his nose.

But the Butcher turned nervous, and dressed himself fine,

   With yellow kid gloves and a ruff—

Said he felt it exactly like going to dine,

   Which the Bellman declared was all "stuff."

"Introduce me, now there's a good fellow," he said,

   "If we happen to meet it together!"

And the Bellman, sagaciously nodding his head,

   Said "That must depend on the weather."

The Beaver went simply galumphing about,

   At seeing the Butcher so shy:

And even the Baker, though stupid and stout,

   Made an effort to wink with one eye.

"Be a man!" said the Bellman in wrath, as he heard

   The Butcher beginning to sob.

"Should we meet with a Jubjub, that desperate bird,

   We shall need all our strength for the job!"

             Fit the Fifth

               The Beaver's Lesson

They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;

   They pursued it with forks and hope;

They threatened its life with a railway-share;

   They charmed it with smiles and soap.

Then the Butcher contrived an ingenious plan

   For making a separate sally;

And had fixed on a spot unfrequented by man,

   A dismal and desolate valley.

But the very same plan to the Beaver occurred:

   It had chosen the very same place:

Yet neither betrayed, by a sign or a word,

   The disgust that appeared in his face.

Each thought he was thinking of nothing but "Snark"

   And the glorious work of the day;

And each tried to pretend that he did not remark

   That the other was going that way.

But the valley grew narrow and narrower still,

   And the evening got darker and colder,

Till (merely from nervousness, not from good will)

   They marched along shoulder to shoulder.

Then a scream, shrill and high, rent the shuddering sky,

   And they knew that some danger was near:

The Beaver turned pale to the tip of its tail,

   And even the Butcher felt queer.

He thought of his childhood, left far far behind—

   That blissful and innocent state—

The sound so exactly recalled to his mind

   A pencil that squeaks on a slate!

"'Tis the voice of the Jubjub!" he suddenly cried.

   (This man, that they used to call "Dunce.")

"As the Bellman would tell you," he added with pride,

   "I have uttered that sentiment once.

"'Tis the note of the Jubjub! Keep count, I entreat;

   You will find I have told it you twice.

Tis the song of the Jubjub! The proof is complete,

   If only I've stated it thrice."

The Beaver had counted with scrupulous care,

   Attending to every word:

But it fairly lost heart, and outgrabe in despair,

   When the third repetition occurred.

It felt that, in spite of all possible pains,

   It had somehow contrived to lose count,

And the only thing now was to rack its poor brains

   By reckoning up the amount.

"Two added to one—if that could but be done,"

   It said, "with one's fingers and thumbs!"

Recollecting with tears how, in earlier years,

   It had taken no pains with its sums.

"The thing can be done," said the Butcher, "I think.

   The thing must be done, I am sure.

The thing shall be done! Bring me paper and ink,

   The best there is time to procure."

The Beaver brought paper, portfolio, pens,

   And ink in unfailing supplies:

While strange creepy creatures came out of their dens,

   And watched them with wondering eyes.

So engrossed was the Butcher, he heeded them not,

   As he wrote with a pen in each hand,

And explained all the while in a popular style

   Which the Beaver could well understand.

"Taking Three as the subject to reason about—

   A convenient number to state—

We add Seven, and Ten, and then multiply out

   By One Thousand diminished by Eight.

"The result we proceed to divide, as you see,

   By Nine Hundred and Ninety and Two:

Then subtract Seventeen, and the answer must be

   Exactly and perfectly true.

"The method employed I would gladly explain,

   While I have it so clear in my head,

If I had but the time and you had but the brain—

   But much yet remains to be said.

"In one moment I've seen what has hitherto been

   Enveloped in absolute mystery,

And without extra charge I will give you at large

   A Lesson in Natural History."

In his genial way he proceeded to say

   (Forgetting all laws of propriety,

And that giving instruction, without introduction,

   Would have caused quite a thrill in Society),

"As to temper the Jubjub's a desperate bird,

   Since it lives in perpetual passion:

Its taste in costume is entirely absurd—

   It is ages ahead of the fashion:

"But it knows any friend it has met once before:

   It never will look at a bribe:

And in charity-meetings it stands at the door,

   And collects—though it does not subscribe.

"Its flavour when cooked is more exquisite far

   Than mutton, or oysters, or eggs:

(Some think it keeps best in an ivory jar,

   And some, in mahogany kegs:)

"You boil it in sawdust: you salt it in glue:

   You condense it with locusts and tape:

Still keeping one principal object in view—

   To preserve its symmetrical shape."

The Butcher would gladly have talked till next day,

   But he felt that the Lesson must end,

And he wept with delight in attempting to say

   He considered the Beaver his friend.

While the Beaver confessed, with affectionate looks

   More eloquent even than tears,

It had learned in ten minutes far more than all books

   Would have taught it in seventy years.

They returned hand-in-hand, and the Bellman, unmanned

   (For a moment) with noble emotion,

Said "This amply repays all the wearisome days

   We have spent on the billowy ocean!"

Such friends, as the Beaver and Butcher became,

   Have seldom if ever been known;

In winter or summer, 'twas always the same—

   You could never meet either alone.

And when quarrels arose—as one frequently finds

   Quarrels will, spite of every endeavour—

The song of the Jubjub recurred to their minds,

   And cemented their friendship for ever!

            Fit the Sixth

               The Barrister's Dream

They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;

   They pursued it with forks and hope;

They threatened its life with a railway-share;

   They charmed it with smiles and soap.

But the Barrister, weary of proving in vain

   That the Beaver's lace-making was wrong,

Fell asleep, and in dreams saw the creature quite plain

   That his fancy had dwelt on so long.

He dreamed that he stood in a shadowy Court,

   Where the Snark, with a glass in its eye,

Dressed in gown, bands, and wig, was defending a pig

   On the charge of deserting its sty.

The Witnesses proved, without error or flaw,

   That the sty was deserted when found:

And the Judge kept explaining the state of the law

   In a soft under-current of sound.

The indictment had never been clearly expressed,

   And it seemed that the Snark had begun,

And had spoken three hours, before any one guessed

   What the pig was supposed to have done.

The Jury had each formed a different view

   (Long before the indictment was read),

And they all spoke at once, so that none of them knew

   One word that the others had said.

"You must know—" said the Judge: but the Snark exclaimed "Fudge!"

   That statute is obsolete quite!

Let me tell you, my friends, the whole question depends

   On an ancient manorial right.

"In the matter of Treason the pig would appear

   To have aided, but scarcely abetted:

While the charge of Insolvency fails, it is clear,

   If you grant the plea 'never indebted.'

"The fact of Desertion I will not dispute;

   But its guilt, as I trust, is removed

(So far as relates to the costs of this suit)

   By the Alibi which has been proved.

"My poor client's fate now depends on your votes."

   Here the speaker sat down in his place,

And directed the Judge to refer to his notes

   And briefly to sum up the case.

But the Judge said he never had summed up before;

   So the Snark undertook it instead,

And summed it so well that it came to far more

   Than the Witnesses ever had said!

When the verdict was called for, the Jury declined,

   As the word was so puzzling to spell;

But they ventured to hope that the Snark wouldn't mind

   Undertaking that duty as well.

So the Snark found the verdict, although, as it owned,

   It was spent with the toils of the day:

When it said the word "GUILTY!" the Jury all groaned,

   And some of them fainted away.

Then the Snark pronounced sentence, the Judge being quite

   Too nervous to utter a word:

When it rose to its feet, there was silence like night,

   And the fall of a pin might be heard.

"Transportation for life" was the sentence it gave,

   "And then to be fined forty pound."

The Jury all cheered, though the Judge said he feared

   That the phrase was not legally sound.

But their wild exultation was suddenly checked

   When the jailer informed them, with tears,

Such a sentence would have not the slightest effect,

   As the pig had been dead for some years.

The Judge left the Court, looking deeply disgusted:

   But the Snark, though a little aghast,

As the lawyer to whom the defence was intrusted,

   Went bellowing on to the last.

Thus the Barrister dreamed, while the bellowing seemed

   To grow every moment more clear:

Till he woke to the knell of a furious bell,

   Which the Bellman rang close at his ear.

            Fit the Seventh

               The Banker's Fate

They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;

   They pursued it with forks and hope;

They threatened its life with a railway-share;

   They charmed it with smiles and soap.

And the Banker, inspired with a courage so new

   It was matter for general remark,

Rushed madly ahead and was lost to their view

   In his zeal to discover the Snark

But while he was seeking with thimbles and care,

   A Bandersnatch swiftly drew nigh

And grabbed at the Banker, who shrieked in despair,

   For he knew it was useless to fly.

He offered large discount—he offered a cheque

   (Drawn "to bearer") for seven-pounds-ten:

But the Bandersnatch merely extended its neck

   And grabbed at the Banker again.

Without rest or pause—while those frumious jaws

   Went savagely snapping around—

He skipped and he hopped, and he floundered and flopped,

   Till fainting he fell to the ground.

The Bandersnatch fled as the others appeared

   Led on by that fear-stricken yell:

And the Bellman remarked "It is just as I feared!"

   And solemnly tolled on his bell.

He was black in the face, and they scarcely could trace

   The least likeness to what he had been:

While so great was his fright that his waistcoat turned white—

   A wonderful thing to be seen!

To the horror of all who were present that day,

   He uprose in full evening dress,

And with senseless grimaces endeavoured to say

   What his tongue could no longer express.

Down he sank in a chair—ran his hands through his hair—

   And chanted in mimsiest tones

Words whose utter inanity proved his insanity,

   While he rattled a couple of bones.

"Leave him here to his fate—it is getting so late!"

   The Bellman exclaimed in a fright.

"We have lost half the day. Any further delay,

   And we sha'n't catch a Snark before night!"

            Fit the Eighth

               The Vanishing

They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;

   They pursued it with forks and hope;

They threatened its life with a railway-share;

   They charmed it with smiles and soap.

They shuddered to think that the chase might fail,

   And the Beaver, excited at last,

Went bounding along on the tip of its tail,

   For the daylight was nearly past.

"There is Thingumbob shouting!" the Bellman said,

   "He is shouting like mad, only hark!

He is waving his hands, he is wagging his head,

   He has certainly found a Snark!"

They gazed in delight, while the Butcher exclaimed

   "He was always a desperate wag!"

They beheld him—their Baker—their hero unnamed—

   On the top of a neighbouring crag,

Erect and sublime, for one moment of time,

   In the next, that wild figure they saw

(As if stung by a spasm) plunge into a chasm,

   While they waited and listened in awe.

"It's a Snark!" was the sound that first came to their ears,

   And seemed almost too good to be true.

Then followed a torrent of laughter and cheers:

   Then the ominous words "It's a Boo—"

Then, silence. Some fancied they heard in the air

   A weary and wandering sigh

That sounded like "-jum!" but the others declare

   It was only a breeze that went by.

They hunted till darkness came on, but they found

   Not a button, or feather, or mark,

By which they could tell that they stood on the ground

   Where the Baker had met with the Snark.

In the midst of the word he was trying to say,

   In the midst of his laughter and glee,

He had softly and suddenly vanished away—

   For the Snark was a Boojum, you see.

Source: Poets of the English Language (1950)

More About this Poem

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This, You Can Trust

Fire and wind come from the sky, from the gods of the sky, but Crom is your god. Crom, and he lives in the earth. 

Once giants lived in the earth, Conan, and in the darkness of chaos they fooled Crom, and they took from him the enigma of steel. 

Crom was angered, and The Earth shook, and Fire and Wind struck down these Giants, and threw their bodies into The Waters. 

But in their rage, the gods forgot the secret of steel, and left it on the battlefield. 

We, who found it, are just Men: Not gods, not giants, just men. And the secret of steel has always carried with it a mystery. You must learn its riddle.

Conan, you must learn its discipline. 

For no one, no one in this world can you trust. 

Not Men

Not Women

Not Beasts... 

This - This, you can trust.

The person who wants to alleviate suffering—who wants to bring about The Best of All Possible Futures; 

Who wants to create Heaven on Earth—

Will therefore sacrifice everything he has to God—

To Life in The Truth."