One Good Thing

To Achive the Full Satisfaction of Your  Life's Purpose is to Initiate Self-Destruction and Invites Annihilation

Angel to Darla: "You're gonna be okay."

Darla: "No. No, I don't think so. Once he's gone, I won't be okay. I won't be okay at all. - I don't know what I'll be. - Angel... Our baby is gonna die right here in this alley. - You died in an alley, remember?"

Angel: "I remember."

Darla: "I wanna say I'm sorry. I wanna say it and mean it, but - I can't. - Aren't you gonna tell me it's okay?"

Angel: "No."

Darla: "No? It's really not, is it? We did so many terrible things together. So much destruction, so much - pain. - We can't make up for any of it. You know that, don't you."

Angel after a beat: "Yeah."

Darla: "This child - Angel, it's The One Good Thing We Ever Did Together."

Angel lifts Darla's hand between both of his and pressed it against his lips.

Darla: "The only good thing."

Angel buries his face in his hands, still holding onto Darla's, takes a sobbing breath.

Darla: "You make sure to tell him that."

Darla is holding one of the splinters of wood and buries it in her chest, gasping. Angel lifts his head and stares as Darla turns to dust.

Where Darla was there is now a naked human infant lying in the rain, crying.

Holtz steps into Lorne's bedroom with flames flickering all around him. Lifts his crossbow and looks around.

Angel carefully gathers up the baby.

Holtz steps through the hole in Lorne's wall into the alley. Lifts the crossbow and aims it at Angel as Angel slowly stands up, cradling the crying infant.

Fred hands Angel's jacket back to him and he wraps it around the infant.

Holtz is watching them over his crossbow.

Angel slowly turns his head and sees Holtz.

For a moment they just look at each other.

A Grapplar appears at the mouth of the alley behind. Angel looks from it to the baby (that has quieted down) to Holtz.

Angel's car pulls up behind two Grapplars at the other end of the alley and Wes gets out.

Holtz slowly lowers his crossbow, still looking at Angel cradling the infant against his chest.

After a beat Angel slowly walks past Holtz, Fred clinging to his right arm.

Holtz watches as Angel and Fred pass between the two Grapplars.

Sahjhan: "Do it! Now's your chance. Do it! Finish it while you still can! You can't just let him walk away! Not now! Not after what you swore to me!"

Holtz watches as Fred and Angel get into the car.

Holtz: "I swore that I would show no mercy. (Watches Angel's car drive away) 

And I won't."

27     INT.     WAREHOUSE SOMEWHERE IN LOS ANGELES - NIGHT
Cordelia's sitting on the floor, chanting in the middle of a circle of lit white candles.

CORDELIA
(chanting) Vanu'esh. Katahn darh'im. Vajra'ha'esh.
Vanu'esh. Katahn darh'im. Vajra'ha'esh.

Connor watches Cordelia chant, then goes into the next room.

Cut to:

28     INT.     WAREHOUSE SOMEWHERE IN LOS ANGELES - NIGHT
Connor walks into the room beside where Cordelia is chanting. He looks at the girl he brought there; she's still unconscious, sitting on the floor, leaning her head against the wall.

CORDELIA (O.S.)
(chanting in the other room) Vanu'esh. Katahn darh'im. Vajra'ha'esh.
Vanu'esh. Katahn darh'im. Vajra'ha'esh.
Vanu'esh. Katahn darh'im. Vajra'ha'esh.

The girl wakens and gasps as she sees Connor kneeling in front of her. 

CONNOR
It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you.

VIRGIN
(cowering) Please...

CONNOR
Brought you some water.

VIRGIN
(crying) I gotta get home. My mom's gonna be so mad.

CONNOR
(softly) I'm sorry.

VIRGIN
(weeping) I won't tell anyone, I promise. Please, just let me go.

WOMAN'S VOICE (O.S.)
Listen.

CONNOR
(stands) Somebody there?

WOMAN'S VOICE (O.S.)
I've always been here... close to your heart. After all... 

The woman steps out of the shadows to reveal it's Darla. Darla's wearing a simple dress and a white cardigan sweater. Her voice is soft and sweet. 

DARLA
(smiling sweetly) ...isn't that where a mother belongs?

Fade to black.

ACT III:

29     INT.     WAREHOUSE SOMEWHERE IN LOS ANGELES - NIGHT
Resume. Darla has just appeared to Connor in the room where he is keeping the adolescent girl he abducted. Cordelia is in the next room, chanting. Connor stares at Darla in shock.

DARLA (O.S.)
The Powers have sent me to give you a message.

CONNOR
You can't be my mother.

DARLA
(softly) I have her memories, her feelings. Isn't that what makes a person who they are?

VIRGIN
(weeping in the corner) Let me go, please... (softly sobbing)

DARLA
(walks toward the virgin girl) I know that sound, the look in her eyes, the smell of fear. (kneels beside the girl) I've nurtured it a thousand times (looks at Connor) in all the people that I've murdered.

CONNOR
My mother's dead. (the girl looks up at Connor)

DARLA
(stands) And I'll always be a part of you. You shared your soul with me once when you were growing inside of me when I'd lost my own. You brought light to my shadow, filled my heart with joy and love. I'd never felt so close to any living thing as I did to my beautiful boy.

CONNOR
Why'd you leave me? (scoffs) Did you hate me that much?

DARLA
Baby, no. I wanted to be with you more than anything.

CONNOR
You killed yourself. I wasn't even born yet. And you—

DARLA
—did what I had to. My life for yours. I did so many terrible things, Connor, so much destruction, so much pain. You were the one good thing I ever did. The only good thing. I'd die every day for the rest of eternity for you. And this... (gestures to the virgin girl) is how you repay me?

CONNOR
(walks away) You don't understand. (turns toward Darla) We need her for our baby to keep it safe.

DARLA
By anointing it in the blood of an innocent? You really think that safety can be plucked from the arms of an evil deed?

CONNOR
Good, evil. They're just words.

DARLA
(shakes her head) Don't let this happen, Connor. Don't let my death mean nothing. 

Cut to:

30     INT.     LOBBY AT HOTEL/ANGEL INVESTIGATIONS - NIGHT
Angel and gang are interviewing Skip about Cordelia.

SKIP
You really think it matters? I mean, nothing I tell you is gonna change what's gonna happen.

ANGEL
Cut the gloom and doom. What's taken over Cordy?

SKIP
Something beyond your comprehension. To give it voice would rend your feeble brain into a quivering mass of—

ANGEL
(looks to Fred) Fred, infinite agony. (walks away)

Fred stands, holding open a book.

SKIP
OK, you got me. It doesn't even have a name.

GUNN
Then what do you call it?

SKIP
Oh, Master or "Hey."

LORNE
Unspeakable horror for real this time.

ANGEL
Ah, it doesn't make sense. Cordy was made a higher being because she proved herself to the Powers by bearing their visions. This thing couldn't have—

WESLEY
Unless it maneuvered her to inherit the visions in the first place.

SKIP
Uh, oh. Better step on it. The rubes are catching up.

ANGEL
It wasn't just her ascension. Everything that's happened to Cordy in the past few years—all of it—was planned.

SKIP
You really think it stops with her, amigo? You have any concept of how many lines have to intersect in order for a thing like this to play out? How many events have to be nudged in just the right direction? (looks at Lorne) Leaving Pylea. (looks at Gunn) Your sister. (looks at Fred) Opening the wrong book. (looks at Wesley) Sleeping with the enemy. (beat) Gosh, (chuckles) I love a story with scope.

GUNN
No way. We make our own choices.

SKIP
Yeah, sure. Cheese sandwich here, uh, when to floss. But the big stuff, like two vampires squeezing out a kid?

ANGEL
Connor.

WESLEY
An impossible birth to make one possible.

SKIP
That's what the kid was designed for.

LORNE
(chuckles) To sleep with mother love?

ANGEL
To create a vessel.

SKIP
Look out. The monkey's thinking again.

ANGEL
Being inside a human makes it vulnerable, doesn't it? That's why it had to stay hidden. Why it needed to create something stronger to pour itself into.

GUNN
Wait. So the big nasty inside of Cordy is going to give birth... to itself?

SKIP
Circle of life. It's a beautiful thing.

ANGEL
How do we stop it?

SKIP
That's the easy part, slick. All you gotta do is find Cordelia and chop her head off.

ANGEL
Has to be another way.

SKIP
Sure. Stab her in the heart, kidney, couple pokes in the lung—

ANGEL
A way that won't kill Cordy in the process.

SKIP
Takes a whole lot of cramming to get that much sweetness into a human. It's in every hair, every cell, every molecule of Cordelia's body and it ain't letting go 'til it got a brand new bag.

FRED
What happens to Cordy then?

SKIP
Drained of her life force during labor. Those contractions are a real bitch.

ANGEL
It'll kill her?

SKIP
Or she'll end up a head of cabbage.

WESLEY
What do you wanna do?

SKIP
The only thing you can do. Kill the woman he loves to save the world. Times like this? Really gotta suck being you.

ANGEL
How do I find her? (Skip doesn't answer; Angel walks forward intimidatingly) How?

SKIP
Well, I'd go with the Bu'shundi ritual but, uh, you're gonna need a sacred Hutamin paw for that—

LORNE
Got it. (stands, goes behind the desk)

SKIP
(shocked) What?

LORNE
Cordy—the real Cordy—kept one in her desk drawer.

SKIP
Probably a knock-off. It's not some trinket you'd throw in a desk drawer—

LORNE
(Lorne pulls the item out of Cordelia's desk) She thought it was a back scratcher.

ANGEL
Get started.

SKIP
Wait, wait. Uh, did I say "Bu'shundi "? I meant "Ru'shundi ". It's—it—whole different— (turns around in disgust) Crap.

Cut to:

31     INT.     WAREHOUSE SOMEWHERE IN LOS ANGELES - NIGHT
Connor is in the room with the girl he's holding prisoner. The girl is awake now, crying, sitting on the floor. Darla is squatting next to the girl. They both look up at Connor.

CONNOR
They hate us... because we're special.

VIRGIN
(crying, pleading) I don't hate you. Please.

DARLA
They're scared because of what you've done not because of what you are.

CONNOR
They wanted to kill me when I was still inside of you.

DARLA
(stands) But that changed when they saw you, held you in their arms, felt the warmth of your skin, the goodness in your heart.

CONNOR
And it will happen again when they hold my child. (looks at the girl) It's the only way.

DARLA
You have a choice, Connor. That is something more precious then you'll ever know.

CONNOR
What choice? They're hunting us like animals!

DARLA
(walks up to Connor) Because you're acting like one. As a vampire I killed without mercy or remorse because I didn't have a soul. What's your excuse?

CONNOR
(shakes his head) You think I wanna do this?

DARLA
Then don't.

CONNOR
(nearly in tears) I have to.

DARLA
Why? (gestures to Cordelia in the next room) Because she told you? There are things happening, Connor, things that I can't— (sigh) It has to be your choice. You can stop this.

CONNOR
Her blood for our baby's. It's fair, isn't it?

VIRGIN
(weeping) Please, I wanna go home.

CONNOR
(yelling) Shut up!

DARLA
This isn't you, Connor.

CONNOR
You've been gone a long time, Mom. How would you know?

DARLA
Because we shared a soul. I feel the pain, the anger, the hurt, like it were my own. (walks up to Connor, looks him in the eyes) But most of all, I feel the good in you and no matter how much you're beaten or twisted or lied to, it's still there in your heart. I know it, and deep down, you know it, too.

Close-up of Connor's face to show it's tear-streaked as he contemplates the young girl cowering in the corner.

Cut to:

32     INT.     LOBBY AT HOTEL/ANGEL INVESTIGATIONS - NIGHT
Fred and Gunn are sitting on the stairs, each on a different step, staring off into the distance.

FRED
What do you think he'll do?

GUNN
What he has to, like he always does.

Show they are staring at Angel.

FRED
Will it make a difference? We really are just pieces being moved around a board.

GUNN
Then we'll kick it over and start a new game. Look, monochrome can yap all he wants about no-name's cosmic plan, but here's a little something I picked up rubbing mojos these past couple of years. The final score can't be rigged. I don't care how many players you grease, that last shot always comes up a question mark. But here's the thing—you never know when you're taking it. It could be when you're duking it out with the Legion of Doom, or just crossing the street deciding where to have brunch. So you just treat it all like it was up to you—the world in the balance—'cause you never know when it is.

FRED
You been practicing that?

GUNN
(smiles) Little bit. (chuckles)

Lorne and Wesley come out of the office.

LORNE
Hug your neighbor, kiddies, we got it.

SKIP
(scoffs) You're all puppets.

WESLEY
Shut up.

FRED
Where is she?

LORNE
(looks at the map) Well, according to the scorch marks, downtown, meat packing district.

ANGEL
(comes out of the office) Good work. (takes the map from Lorne) 

GUNN
Lets load up.

ANGEL
No, you're not coming, any of you. Whatever's taken over Cordy, it's still her inside. She's still our friend. She's still the woman I... I won't let you carry that. I can't.

SKIP
Anybody got a hanky?

Lorne frowns.

FRED
He's really gonna do it. He's gonna kill Cordelia.

WESLEY
He doesn't have a choice.

FRED
Angel, wait! (runs after him, but Angel goes on out the door)

SKIP
Yup, that'll go well.

Cut to:

33     INT.     WAREHOUSE SOMEWHERE IN LOS ANGELES - NIGHT
Connor kneels down to untie the bound hands of the virgin girl he's holding captive. Darla stands nearby.

CONNOR
(to the girl) Shhhhh. Shhh. It's okay.

DARLA
You're all right now. Everything's going to be all right.

CORDELIA
(walks into the room) What are you doing?

CONNOR
(frozen) Nothing. I, uh— (stands)

CORDELIA
It's time. Take her in the other room.

DARLA
Listen to your heart.

CONNOR
(to Cordelia) She didn't do anything. We should let her go.

CORDELIA
No we shouldn't. We need her, Connor. Our baby—

CONNOR
Shouldn't be anointed with innocent blood.

CORDELIA
(angrily) Anointed? Who's been filling your head with big, confusing words.

CONNOR
(turns away, paces) Just been thinking about it.

CORDELIA
Or, maybe... a little birdie's been pecking at you behind my back.

DARLA
(to Connor) She'll lie to you.

CORDELIA
You know how much they love to use the magic, Connor. A spell for this, a spell for that.

DARLA
Close her out, baby.

CORDELIA
Whatever you're hearing, whatever you think you're seeing—it's a trick.

DARLA
Don't let her in.

CORDELIA
It's Angel.

DARLA
No.

CORDELIA
Trying to turn you against me with a cheap vision of— (looks to where Darla's standing) Darla.

CONNOR
(to Cordelia) You can see her?

CORDELIA
I see the lies.

DARLA
Connor, listen to me.

CORDELIA
It's not her.

DARLA
You have to let her go.

CORDELIA
It's your father. This is how much he hates you.

DARLA
I love you. Please.

CORDELIA
Torturing you with this sad imitation of your dead mother.

DARLA
(crying) Don't let her do this.

CORDELIA
(pushing) Are you going to let them do this to us? Are you going to let them kill our baby?

DARLA
(desperate) Connor, listen to me...

CONNOR
(yelling, crying) You are not my mother!

Connor grabs the virgin girl by her bound hands and drags her into the other room.

VIRGIN
(weeping) No.

Cut to:

34     INT.     WAREHOUSE SOMEWHERE IN LOS ANGELES - NIGHT
Connor puts virgin girl on the ground in the center of the circle where Cordelia was chanting before. The girl looks up to see Cordelia swinging a huge butcher's knife at her head. When the girl looks up at Connor, she has Darla's face now.

DARLA
Please, don't do this Connor. Don't—

Connor just stands there, watching Cordelia murder this girl, listening to the sounds of blood spattering as Cordelia makes the killing blow. The girl collapses in the middle of the circle.

CORDELIA
(remorselessly) There. That wasn't so hard, was it?

Fade to black.

ACT IV:

35     INT.     WAREHOUSE SOMEWHERE IN LOS ANGELES - NIGHT
The dead girl lies on the floor outside the circle, covered in blood. Connor stares at her. Cordelia is lying on bedding inside the circle.

CORDELIA
Connor, we have to do this (writhes) while it's fresh. (rolling, grunting)

Connor stares at the girl's body; it stares back at her. Her blood is spattered on his face. Connor kneels down, places the palm of his hand in the blood pooling around the girl. He then stands and walks up to Cordelia.

CORDELIA
(chanting, writhing) Vanu'esh. Katahn darh'im. Vajra'ha'esh.

Closeup of Connor's bloody palm as he walks to Cordelia.

CORDELIA
(chanting, weakly) Vanu'esh. Katahn darh'im. Vajra'ha'esh. ...darh'im... 

Connor stands over Cordelia, staring at her. She pulls up her shirt to reveal the bare skin of her swollen belly.

CORDELIA
Do it, Connor. (panting) Do it now. (panting) Do it now.

Connor presses his bloody palm to Cordelia's belly. She screams. The building starts to shake around them.

Cut to:

And, Therefore.....

The World can be validly construed as  
Forum for Action, 
or as  
Place of Things. 

The former manner of interpretation – more primordial, and less clearly understood – finds its expression in the arts or humanities, in ritual, drama, literature, and mythology. 

The World as Forum for Action is a place of value, a place where all things have meaning. 

This meaning, which is shaped as a 

consequence of social interaction, is implication for action, or – at a higher level of analysis – implication  for the configuration of the interpretive schema that produces or guides action. 

The latter manner of interpretation – The World as Place of Things – finds its formal expression in the Methods and Theories of Science. 

Science allows for increasingly precise determination of the consensually- validatable properties of things, and for efficient utilization of precisely-determined things as tools (once the direction such use is to take has been determined, through application of more fundamental narrative  processes). 

No complete world-picture can be generated, without use of both modes of construal. 


Bears...
 They Think They Are Bears... 
They Want Us to Think That They are Bears -

Quickly  - How Do You Hunt a Bear ?

The fact that one  mode is generally set at odds with the other means only that the nature of their respective domains remains 

insufficiently discriminated. Adherents of the mythological world-view tend to regard the statements of their creeds as indistinguishable from empirical “fact,” even though such statements were generally formulated long before the notion of objective reality emerged. 

Those who, by contrast, accept the scientific  perspective – who assume that it is, or might become, complete – forget that an impassable gulf currently

divides what is from what should be.
  

We need to know four things: 

What There Is, 

What to do about what there is,  

that there is a difference between knowing what there is, and knowing what to do about what there is 

and 

what that difference is. 

To explore something, to “discover what it is” – that means most importantly to discover its significance  for motor output, within a particular social context, and only more particularly, to determine its precise  objective sensory or material nature. This is knowledge, in the most basic of senses – and often constitutes  sufficient knowledge. 

Imagine that a baby girl, toddling around in the course of her initial tentative investigations, reaches up  onto a counter-top to touch a fragile and expensive glass sculpture. 

She observes its color, sees its shine,  feels that it is smooth and cold and heavy to the touch. Suddenly her mother interferes, grasps her hand,  tells her not to ever touch that object. The child has just learned a number of specifically consequential things about the sculpture – has identified its sensory properties, certainly. 

More importantly, however, she has determined that approached in the wrong manner, the sculpture is dangerous (at least in the presence of Mother); 

has discovered as well that the sculpture is regarded more highly, in its present unaltered configuration, than the exploratory tendency – at least (once again) by mother. 

The baby girl has  simultaneously encountered an object, from the empirical perspective, and its socioculturally-determined  status. 

The empirical object might be regarded as  
those sensory properties “intrinsic” to the object. 

The status of the object, by contrast, consists of its meaning – 
consists of its implication for behavior. 

Everything a child encounters has this dual nature, experienced by the child as part of a unified totality.

Everything is something, and means something – 

and 

The distinction between essence and significance is not necessarily drawn.

STORMY

CYBERMAN: 
You have failed, Doctor. 
Begin conversion. Phase one. 
Cleanse the brain of emotions. 

The Chin: 
No. Craig, fight it! 
They can't convert you if you fight back. 
You're strong. Don't give in to it. 

CRAIG: 
Help me! 

The Chin: 
Think of Sophie. 
Think of Alfie. 
Craig, don't let them take it all away. 

CRAIG: 
Make it stop. Please, make it stop! 

The Chin: 

Please, listen to me. 

I believe in you. I believe you can do this. 

I've always believed in all of you, all my life. 

I'm going die, Craig. 

Tomorrow, I'm going to die,
but I don't mind if you just prove me right. Craig! 

(A Cyberman helmet closes over Craig's face.) 

CYBERMAN: 
Begin full conversion.

[Ladies clothing]

(Alfie is crying.) 

VAL: 
Don't worry, it's just a little light going out.

[Cybership]

(They are on the monitor.) 

CYBERMAN 2: 
Unknown soundwave detected. 

CYBERMAN: 
It is the sound of fear. 
It is irrelevant. 
We will remove all fear. 

The Chin: 
Alfie, I'm so sorry! 
Alfie, please, stop. 
I, I can't help him.

CYBERMAN: 
Emotions eradicated. 
Conversion complete. 

Alert.

Emotional subsystems rebooting. 

This is impossible. 

The Chin : 
He can hear him. 
He can hear Alfie. 
Oh, please, just give me this. 

Craig, you wanted a chance to prove you're a Dad.
You are never going to get better one than this. 

CYBERMAN: 
What is happening? 

The Chin: 
What's happening, you metal moron? 
A baby is crying. 

And you'd better watch out, because guess what? 

Ha ha! Daddy's coming home! 

(The Cyberman helmet opens again, and Craig starts to break out of the conversion chamber.) 

CRAIG: 
Alfie! Alfie, I'm here! I'm coming for you!

The Chin: 
Yes, Craig. 

CRAIG: 
Alfie! 

(The Doctor gets free of the confused Cyberman and grabs his sonic screwdriver.) 

DOCTOR: 
Alfie needs you! 

CYBERMAN: 
Emergency. Emotional influx!

The Chin: 
You've triggered a feedback loop into their emotional inhibitors. 
All that stuff they cut out of themselves, now they're feeling it. 
Which means a very big explosion. 

CYBERMAN: 
Overload. Overload. Overload. 

CRAIG: 
Get it open! We need to get to Alfie! 

The Chin: 
They've sealed the ship! 

CRAIG: 
We've got to get out of here! 

The Chin: 
I know! 

(The Cybermen's heads start exploding.) 

The Chin: 
The teleport! 

(The Doctor sonicks the controls and they beam away just before the whole Cybership goes KaBOOM.)

[Ladies clothing]

VAL: 
How did you get in there? 

CRAIG: 
Alfie! 

VAL: 
Here's your Daddy. 

(Val hands Alfie over. He gurgles.)

The Chin: 
That was another review. 
Ten out of Ten.

CRAIG: 
The Cybermen. 
They blew up.
 I blew them up with love. 

The Chin: 
No, that's impossible. 
And also grossly sentimental and over simplistic. 

You destroyed them because of the deeply ingrained hereditary human trait to protect one's own genes, which in turn triggered a, a, a. Yeah. 

Love. You blew them up with Love.

The World can be validly construed as forum for action, or as place of things. 

The former manner of interpretation – more primordial, and less clearly understood – finds its expression in the arts or humanities, in ritual, drama, literature, and mythology. The world as forum for  action is a place of value, a place where all things have meaning. This meaning, which is shaped as a 

consequence of social interaction, is implication for action, or – at a higher level of analysis – implication  for the configuration of the interpretive schema that produces or guides action. 

The latter manner of interpretation – The World as Place of Things – finds its formal expression in the Methods and Theories of Science.

Science allows for increasingly precise determination of the consensually- validatable properties of things, and for efficient utilization of precisely-determined things as tools (once the direction such use is to take has been determined, through application of more fundamental narrative  processes). 

No complete world-picture can be generated, without use of both modes of construal.


Bears...
 They Think They Are Bears... 
They Want Us to Think That They are Bears -

Quickly  - How Do You Hunt a Bear ?

The fact that one  mode is generally set at odds with the other means only that the nature of their respective domains remains 

insufficiently discriminated. Adherents of the mythological world-view tend to regard the statements of their creeds as indistinguishable from empirical “fact,” even though such statements were generally formulated long before the notion of objective reality emerged.

Those who, by contrast, accept the scientific  perspective – who assume that it is, or might become, complete – forget that an impassable gulf currently

divides what is from what should be.
  

We need to know four things:

What There Is,

What to do about what there is,  

that there is a difference between knowing what there is, and knowing what to do about what there is 

and

what that difference is. 

To explore something, to “discover what it is” – that means most importantly to discover its significance  for motor output, within a particular social context, and only more particularly, to determine its precise  objective sensory or material nature. This is knowledge, in the most basic of senses – and often constitutes  sufficient knowledge. 

Imagine that a baby girl, toddling around in the course of her initial tentative investigations, reaches up  onto a counter-top to touch a fragile and expensive glass sculpture.

She observes its color, sees its shine,  feels that it is smooth and cold and heavy to the touch. Suddenly her mother interferes, grasps her hand,  tells her not to ever touch that object. The child has just learned a number of specifically consequential things about the sculpture – has identified its sensory properties, certainly.

More importantly, however, she 

has determined that approached in the wrong manner, the sculpture is dangerous (at least in the presence of Mother); 

has discovered as well that the sculpture is regarded more highly, in its present unaltered configuration, than the exploratory tendency – at least (once again) by mother.

The baby girl has  simultaneously encountered an object, from the empirical perspective, and its socioculturally-determined  status.

The empirical object might be regarded as  
those sensory properties “intrinsic” to the object. 

The status of the object, by contrast, consists of its meaning –
consists of its implication for behavior.

Everything a child encounters has this dual nature, experienced by the child as part of a unified totality.

Everything is something, and means something –
and
The distinction between essence and significance is not necessarily drawn. 

Stormy :
Mum - What Makes You Happy?


Stormy's Mum :
New Shoes, Comfortable Bra - I'm joking.
YOU Make Me Happy.

Stormy :
Me, why?

Stormy's Mum :
Because, you alphabetise all my books, aaand you tell me if I'm wearing too much make-up

[VERY IMPORTANT] 

aaaand you write the funniest birthday cards... 
Plus, you are really, really good at picking a ripe avocado; 
and you help me finish crosswords I have NO BUSINESS finishing, and -

Because -

You are The ONLY Thing in This World, 
I KNOW I Got Right...

Stormy :
Night, Mum.

Stormy's Mum :
Night, Sweetheart.
 
[ Hugs a Tree ]

“BUT WHY MUST we go for a walk with Ellen?” grumbled Michael, slamming the gate. “I don’t like her. Her nose is too red.” 

“Sh!” said Jane. “She’ll hear you.”

Ellen, who was wheeling the perambulator, turned round. 

“You’re a cruel, unkind boy, Master Michael! I’m only doing my duty, I’m sure. It’s no pleasure to me to be going for a walk in this heat –so there!”

 She blew her red nose on a green handkerchief. 

“Then why do you go?” Michael demanded. 

“Because Mary Poppins is busy. So come along, there’s a good boy, and I’ll buy you a penn’orth of peppermints.” 

“I don’t want peppermints,” muttered Michael. “I want Mary Poppins.” 

Plop-plop! Plop-plop! Ellen’s feet marched slowly and heavily along the Lane. 

“I can see a rainbow through every chink of my hat,” said Jane. 

“I can’t,” said Michael crossly. “I can only see my silk lining.” 

Ellen stopped at the corner, looking anxiously for traffic. 

“Want any help?” enquired the Policeman, sauntering up to her. 

“Well,” said Ellen, blushing, “if you could take us across the road, I’d be obliged. What with a bad cold, and four children to look after, I don’t know if I’m on my head or my feet.” 

She blew her nose again. 

“But you must know! You’ve only got to look!” said Michael, thinking how Perfectly Awful Ellen was. 

But the Policeman, apparently, thought differently, for he took tight hold of Ellen’s arm with one hand, and the handle of the perambulator with the other, and led her across the street as tenderly as though she were a bride. 

“Ever get a Day Off?” he enquired, looking interestedly into Ellen’s red face. 

“Well,” said Ellen. “Half-days, so to speak. Every second Saturday.” She blew her nose nervously. 

“Funny,” said the Policeman. “Those are my days too. And I’m usually just around here at two o’clock in the afternoon.” 

“Oh!” said Ellen, opening her mouth very wide indeed. 

“So!” said the Policeman, nodding at her politely. 

“Well, I’ll see,” said Ellen. 

“Goodbye.” And she went trudging on, looking back occasionally to see if the Policeman was still looking. 

And he always was. 

“Mary Poppins never needs a policeman,” complained Michael. 

“What can she be busy about?” 

“Something important is happening at home,” said Jane. “I’m sure of it.”

“How do you know?” 

“I’ve got an empty, waiting sort of feeling inside.” 

“Pooh!” said Michael. “I expect you’re hungry! Can’t we go faster, Ellen, and get it over?” 

“That boy,” said Ellen to the Park railing, “has a heart of stone. No, we can’t, Master Michael, because of my feet.” 

“What’s the matter with them?” 

“They will only go so fast and no faster.” 

“Oh, dear Mary Poppins!” said Michael bitterly. 

He went sighing after the perambulator. 

Jane walked beside him counting rainbows through her hat. 

Ellen’s slow feet tramped steadily onward. One-two. One-two. Plop-plop! Plop-plop! 

And away behind them in Cherry Tree Lane the important thing was happening. 

From the outside, Number Seventeen looked as peaceful and sleepy as all the other houses. 

But behind the drawn blinds there was such a stir and bustle that, if it hadn’t been Summer-time, a passer-by might have thought the people in the house were Spring-cleaning or getting ready for Christmas. 

But the House itself stood blinking in the sunshine, taking no notice. 

After all, it thought to itself, I have seen such bustlings often before and shall probably see them many times again, so why should I bother about it? 

And just then, the front door was flung open by Mrs Brill, and Doctor Simpson hurried out. 

Mrs Brill stood dancing on her toes as she watched him go down the garden path, swinging his little brown bag. 

Then she hurried to the Pantry and called excitedly: “Where are you, Robertson? Come along, if you’re coming!” 

She scuttled up the stairs two at a time with Robertson Ay, yawning and stretching, behind her. 

“Sh!” hissed Mrs Brill. “Sh!” 

She put her finger to her lips and tiptoed to Mrs Banks’ door. 

“Tch, tch! You can’t see nothing but the wardrobe,” she complained, as she bent to look through the key-hole. 

“The wardrobe and a bit of the winder.” 

But the next moment she started violently. 

“My Glory-goodness!” she shrieked, as the door burst open suddenly and she fell back against Robertson Ay. 

For there, framed against the light, stood Mary Poppins, looking very stern and suspicious. 

In her arms she carried, with great care, something that looked like a bundle of blankets. 

“Well!” said Mrs Brill breathlessly. 

“If it isn’t you! I was just polishing the door-knob, putting a shine on it, so to say, as you came out.” 

Mary Poppins looked at the door-knob. It was very dirty. 

“Polishing the key-hole is what I should have said!” she remarked tartly. 

But Mrs Brill took no notice. She was gazing tenderly at the bundle. 

With her large red hand she drew aside a fold of one of the blankets, and a satisfied smile spread over her face. 

“Ah!” she cooed. “Ah, the Lamb! Ah, the Duck! Ah, the Trinket! And as good as a week of Sundays, I’ll be bound!” 

Robertson Ay yawned again and stared at the bundle with his mouth slightly open. “Another pair of shoes to clean!” he said mournfully, leaning against the banisters for support. 

“Mind you don’t drop it, now!” said Mrs Brill anxiously, as Mary Poppins brushed past her. 

Mary Poppins glanced at them both contemptuously. 

“If I were some people,” she remarked acidly, “I’d mind my own business!” 

And she folded the blanket over the bundle again and went upstairs to the Nursery. . . 

“Excuse me, please! Excuse me!” Mr Banks came rushing up the stairs, nearly knocking Mrs Brill over as he hurried into Mrs Banks’ bedroom. 

“Well!” he said, sitting down at the foot of the bed. “This is all Very Awkward. Very Awkward indeed. I don’t know that I can afford it. I hadn’t bargained for five.” 

“I’m so sorry!” said Mrs Banks, smiling at him happily. 

“You’re not sorry, not a bit. In fact, you’re very pleased and conceited about it. And there’s no reason to be. It’s a very small one.” 

“I like them that way,” said Mrs Banks. “Besides, it will grow.” 

“Yes, unfortunately!” he replied bitterly. “And I shall have to buy it shoes and clothes and a tricycle. Yes, and send it to school and give it a Good Start in Life. A very expensive proceeding. And then, after all that, when I’m an old man sitting by the fire, it will go away and leave me. You hadn’t thought of that, I suppose?” 

“No,” said Mrs Banks, trying to look sorry, but not succeeding. “I hadn’t.” 

“I thought not. Well, there it is. But, I warn you! I shall not be able to afford to have the bathroom retiled.”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Mrs Banks comfortingly. “I really like the old tiles best.” 

“Then you’re a very stupid woman. That’s all I have to say.” 

And Mr Banks went away, muttering and blustering through the house. But when he got outside the front door, he flung back his shoulders, and pushed out his chest, and put a large cigar in his mouth. 

And, soon after that, he was heard telling Admiral Boom the news in a voice that was very loud and conceited and boastful. . . 

Mary Poppins stooped over the new cradle between John’s and Barbara’s cots and laid the bundle of blankets carefully in it. 

“Here you are at last! Bless my Beak and Tail-feathers –I thought you were never coming! Which is it?” cried a croaking voice from the window. 

Mary Poppins looked up. The Starling who lived on the top of the Chimney was hopping excitedly on the window-sill. 

“A girl. Annabel,” said Mary Poppins shortly. “And I’ll thank you to be a little quieter. Squawking and croaking there like a packet of magpies!” 

But the Starling was not listening. 

He was turning somersaults on the window-sill, clapping his wings wildly together each time his head came up. 

“What a treat!” he panted, when at last he stood up straight. “What a Treat!” Oh, I could sing!” 

“You couldn’t. Not if you tried till Doomsday!” scoffed Mary Poppins. 

But the Starling was too happy to care. 

“A girl!” he shrieked, dancing on his toes. “I’ve had three broods this season and –would you believe it? –every one of them boys. But Annabel will make up to me for that!” 

He hopped a little along the sill. 

“Annabel!” he burst out again. 

“That’s a nice name! I had an Aunt called Annabel. Used to live in Admiral Boom’s chimney, and died, poor thing, of eating green apples and grapes. I warned her! I warned her! But she wouldn’t believe me! So, of course—” 

“Will you be quiet!” demanded Mary Poppins, making a dive at him with her apron. 

“I will not!” he shouted, dodging neatly. “This is no time for silence. I’m going to spread the news.” 

He swooped out of the window. 

“Back in five minutes!” he screamed at her over his shoulder, as he darted away. Mary Poppins moved quietly about the Nursery, putting Annabel’s new clothes in a neat pile. 

The Sunlight, slipping in at the window, crept across the room and up to the cradle. 


“Open your eyes,” it said softly, “and I’ll put a shine on them!” 

The coverlet of the cradle trembled. Annabel opened her eyes. 

“Good girl!” said the Sunlight. “They’re blue, I see. My favourite colour! There! You won’t find a brighter pair of eyes anywhere!” 

It slipped lightly out of Annabel’s eyes and down the side of the cradle. 

“Thank you very much!” said Annabel politely. 

A warm Breeze stirred the muslin flounces at her head. 

“Curls or straight?” it whispered, dropping into the cradle beside her. 

“Oh, curls, please!” said Annabel softly. 

“It does save trouble, doesn’t it?” agreed the Breeze. 

And it moved over her head, carefully turning up the feathery edges of her hair, before it fluttered off across the room. 

“Here we are! Here we are!” A harsh voice shrilled from the window. The Starling had returned to the sill. And behind him, wobbling uncertainly as he alighted, came a very young bird. Mary Poppins moved towards them threateningly. “Now you be off!” she said angrily. “I’ll have no sparrers littering up this Nursery—” But the Starling, with the young one at his side, brushed haughtily past her. “Kindly remember, Mary Poppins,” he said icily, “that all my families are properly brought up. Littering, indeed!” He alighted neatly on the edge of the cradle and steadied the Fledgling beside him. The young bird stared about him with round, inquisitive eyes. The Starling hopped along to the pillow. “Annabel, dear,” he began, in a husky, wheedling voice, “I’m very partial to a nice, crisp, crunchy piece of Arrowroot Biscuit.” His eyes twinkled greedily. “You haven’t one about you, I suppose?” The curled head stirred on the pillow. “No? Well, you’re young yet for biscuits, perhaps. Your sister Barbara –nice girl, she was, very generous and pleasant –always remembered me. So if, in the future, you could spare the old fellow a crumb or two. . .” “Of course I will,” said Annabel, from the folds of the blanket. “That’s the girl!” croaked the Starling approvingly. He cocked his head on one side and gazed at her with his round, bright eye. “I hope,” he remarked politely, “you are not too tired after your journey.” Annabel shook her head. “Where has she come from –out of an egg?” cheeped the Fledgling suddenly. “Huh-huh!” scoffed Mary Poppins. “Do you think she’s a sparrer?” The Starling gave her a pained and haughty look. “Well, what is she, then? And where did she come from?” cried the Fledgling shrilly, flapping his short wings and staring down at the cradle. “You tell him, Annabel!” the Starling croaked. Annabel moved her hands inside the blanket. “I am earth and air and fire and water,” she said softly. “I come from the Dark where all things have their beginning.” “Ah, such dark!” said the Starling softly, bending his head to his breast. “It was dark in the egg too!” the Fledgling cheeped. “I come from the sea and its tides,” Annabel went on. “I come from the sky and its stars; I come from the sun and its brightness—” “Ah, so bright!” said the Starling, nodding. “And I come from the forests of earth.” As if in a dream, Mary Poppins rocked the cradle –to-and-fro, to-and-fro with a steady swinging movement. “Yes?” whispered the Fledgling. “Slowly I moved at first,” said Annabel, “always sleeping and dreaming. I remembered all I had been, and I thought of all I shall be. And when I had dreamed my dream, I awoke and came swiftly.” She paused for a moment, her blue eyes full of memories. “And then?” prompted the Fledgling. “I heard the stars singing as I came and I felt warm wings about me. I passed the beasts of the jungle and came through the dark, deep waters. It was a long journey.” Annabel was silent. The Fledgling stared at her with his bright inquisitive eyes. Mary Poppins’ hand lay quietly on the side of the cradle. She had stopped rocking. “A long journey, indeed!” said the Starling softly, lifting his head from his breast. “And, ah, so soon forgotten!” Annabel stirred under the quilt. “No!” she said confidently. “I’ll never forget.” “Stuff and Nonsense! Beaks and Claws! Of course you will. By the time the week’s out you won’t remember a word of it –what you are or where you came from!” Inside her flannel petticoat Annabel was kicking furiously. “I will! I will! How could I forget?” “Because they all do!” jeered the Starling harshly. “Every silly human, except–” he nodded his head at Mary Poppins –“her! She’s different, she’s the Oddity, she’s the Misfit—” “You Sparrer!” cried Mary Poppins, making a dart at him. But with a rude laugh he swept his Fledgling off the edge of the cradle and flew with him to the window-sill. “Tipped you last!” he said cheekily, as he brushed past Mary Poppins. “Hullo, what’s that?” There was a chorus of voices outside on the landing and a clatter of feet on the stairs. “I don’t believe you! I won’t believe you!” cried Annabel wildly. And at that moment Jane and Michael and the Twins burst into the room. “Mrs Brill says you’ve got something to show us!” said Jane, flinging off her hat. “What is it?” demanded Michael, gazing round the room. “Show me! Me too!” shrieked the Twins. Mary Poppins glared at them. “Is this a decent Nursery or the Zoological Gardens?” she enquired angrily. “Answer me that!” “The Zoo –er –I mean—” Michael broke off hurriedly, for he had caught Mary Poppins’ eye. “I mean a Nursery,” he said lamely. “Oh, look, Michael, look!” Jane cried excitedly. “I told you something important was happening! It’s a New Baby! Oh, Mary Poppins, can I have it to keep?” Mary Poppins, with a furious glance at them all, stooped and lifted Annabel out of the cradle and sat down with her in the armchair. “Gently, please, gently!” she warned, as they crowded about her. “This is a baby, not a battleship!” “A boy-baby?” asked Michael. “No, a girl –Annabel.” Michael and Annabel stared at each other. He put his finger into her hand and she clutched it tightly. “My doll!” said John, pushing up against Mary Poppins’ knee. “My rabbit!” said Barbara, tugging at Annabel’s shawl. “Oh!” breathed Jane, touching the hair that the wind had curled. “How very small and sweet! Like a star. Where did you come from, Annabel?” Very pleased to be asked, Annabel began her story again. “I came from the Dark. . .” she recited softly. Jane laughed. “Such funny little sounds!” she cried. “I wish she could talk and tell us.” Annabel stared. “But I am telling you!” she protested, kicking. “Ha-ha!” shrieked the Starling rudely from the window. “What did I say? Excuse me laughing!” The Fledgling giggled behind his wing. “Perhaps she came from a Toy Shop,” said Michael. Annabel, with a furious movement, flung his finger from her. “Don’t be silly!” said Jane. “Doctor Simpson must have brought her in his little brown bag!” “Was I right, or was I wrong?” The Starling’s old dark eyes gleamed tauntingly at Annabel. “Tell me that!” he jeered, flapping his wings in triumph. But for answer Annabel turned her face against Mary Poppins’ apron and wept. Her first cries, thin and lonely, rang piercingly through the house. “There! There!” said the Starling gruffly. “Don’t take on! It can’t be helped. You’re only a human child after all. But next time, perhaps, you’ll believe your Betters! Elders and Betters! Elders and Betters!” he screamed, prancing conceitedly up and down. “Michael, take my feather duster, please, and sweep those birds off the sill!” said Mary Poppins ominously. A squawk of amusement came from the Starling. “We can sweep ourselves off, Mary Poppins, thank you! We were just going, anyway! Come along, Boy!” And with a loud, clucking chuckle, he flicked the Fledgling over the sill and swooped with him through the window. . . In a very short time, Annabel settled down comfortably to life in Cherry Tree Lane. She enjoyed being the centre of attraction, and was always pleased when somebody leant over her cradle and said how pretty she was, or how good or sweet-tempered. “Do go on admiring me!” she would say, smiling. “I like it so much!” And then they would hasten to tell her how curly her hair was and how blue her eyes, and Annabel would smile in such a satisfied way that they would cry, “How intelligent she is! You would almost think she understood!” But that always annoyed her, and she would turn away in disgust at their foolishness. Which was silly, because when she was disgusted she looked so charming that they became more foolish than ever. She was a week old before the Starling returned. Mary Poppins, in the dim light of the nightlight, was gently rocking the cradle when he appeared. “Back again?” snapped Mary Poppins, watching him prance in. “You’re as bad as a bad penny!” She gave a long, disgusted sniff. “I’ve been busy!” said the Starling. “Have to keep my affairs in order. And this isn’t the only Nursery I have to look after, you know!” His beady, black eyes twinkled wickedly. “Humph!” she said shortly. “I’m sorry for the others!” He chuckled, and shook his head. “Nobody like her!” he remarked chirpily to the blind-tassel. 

“Nobody like her! She’s got an answer for everything!” 

He cocked his head towards the cradle. 

“Well, how are things? Annabel asleep?” 

“No thanks to you, if she is!” said Mary Poppins. 

The Starling ignored the remark. He hopped to the end of the sill. “I’ll keep watch,” he said, in a whisper. “You go down and get a cup of tea.” 

Mary Poppins stood up. 

“Mind and don’t wake her, then!” 

The Starling laughed pityingly. 

“My dear girl, I have in my time brought up at least twenty broods of fledglings. I don’t need to be told how to look after a mere baby.” 

“Humph!” Mary Poppins walked to the cupboard and very pointedly put the biscuit-tin under her arm before she went out and shut the door. 

The Starling marched up and down the window-sill, backwards and forwards, with his wing-tips under his tail-feathers. 

There was a small stir in the cradle. Annabel opened her eyes. 

“Hullo!” she said. “I was wanting to see you.” 

“Ha!” said the Starling, swooping across to her. 


“There’s something I wanted to remember,” said Annabel, frowning. “And I thought you might remind me.” 

He started. His dark eye glittered. “How does it go?” he said softly. “Like this?” 

And he began in a husky whisper: “I am earth and air and fire and water—” 

“No, no!” said Annabel impatiently. “Of course it doesn’t.” 


“Well,” said the Starling anxiously, “was it about your journey? You came from the sea and its tides, you came from the sky and—” 

“Oh, don’t be so silly!” cried Annabel. “The only journey I ever took was to the Park and back again this morning. No, no –it was something important. Something beginning with B.” 

She crowed suddenly. “I’ve got it!” she cried. “It’s Biscuit. Half an Arrowroot Biscuit on the mantelpiece. Michael left it there after tea!” 

“Is that all?” said the Starling sadly. 

“Yes, of course,” Annabel said fretfully. “Isn’t it enough? I thought you’d be glad of a nice piece of biscuit!” 

“So I am, so I am!” said the Starling hastily. “But. . .” 

She turned her head on the pillow and closed her eyes. “Don’t talk any more now, please!” she said. “I want to go to sleep.” 

The Starling glanced across at the mantelpiece, and down again at Annabel. 

“Biscuits!” he said, shaking his head. “Alas, Annabel, alas!” 

Mary Poppins came in quietly and closed the door. 

“Did she wake?” she said, in a whisper. The Starling nodded. 

“Only for a minute,” he said sadly. “But it was long enough.” 

Mary Poppins’ eyes questioned him. 


“She’s forgotten,” he said, with a catch in his croak. “She’s forgotten it all. I knew she would. But, ah, my dear, what a pity!” 

“Humph!” Mary Poppins moved quietly about the Nursery, putting the toys away. She glanced at the Starling. He was standing at the window-sill with his back to her, and his speckled shoulders were heaving. 


“Caught another cold?” she remarked sarcastically. He wheeled round. 


“Certainly not! It’s –ahem –the night air. Rather chilly, you know. Makes the eyes water. Well –I must be off!” 

He waddled unsteadily to the edge of the sill. 

“I’m getting old,” he croaked sadly. “That’s what it is. Not so young as we were. Eh, Mary Poppins?” 


“I don’t know about you–” Mary Poppins drew herself up haughtily –“but I’m quite as young as I was, thank you!” 


“Ah,” said the Starling, shaking his head, “you’re a wonder. An Absolute, Marvellous, Wonderful Wonder!” His round eye twinkled wickedly. 

“I don’t think!” he called back rudely, as he dived out of the window. 

“Impudent Sparrer!” she shouted after him, and shut the window with a bang. . .

FORCE

You’re supposed to use the example of Samuel L. Jackson buying Pumpkin and HoneyBunny’s Souls (at gunpoint) in the Diner scene at the end of Pulp Fiction.

Non-Violence does not mean an absence of *FORCE*

[Shiva growls lightly] 

Do you seek to extinguish everything of who you were? 

I don't seek it, but... 

I'm stuck. 

King Ezekiel I :

You want the Saviors dead? 

Morgan. 

Yes, I do.

King Ezekiel I :

Cease this folly. 

Accompany my regiment. 

The Saviors are a Dragon with many heads, their numbers legion. 

We must seek allies in this endeavor. 

That's Benjamin's armor. 

Do you wear it to serve you, or do you wear it in his honor? 

Morgan... you are not stuck. 

Join us on this journey to create an alliance. 

Fight with us, and we shall defeat them so that no one will suffer under their capricious malevolence ever again. 

And we start once more for The Fallen... 

For The Kingdom... 

[Shiva growling softly] 

King Ezekiel I :

For The Glory of Victory. 

Ho!

Hittites

‘The name Zuul refers to a demigod worshipped by the —‘ what’s that word....?

“Hittites”

‘Hittites, Sumerians and Babylonians in Ancient Mesopotamia.

Zuul was the minion of Gozer’

“What’s Gozer?”

Gozer was very big in Ancient Mesopotamia

Well, What’s he doing in my icebox???

Chilling ? What else?

War and Warriors 

By our best enemies we do not want to be spared, nor by those either whom we love from the very heart. 

So let me tell you The Truth! 

My brethren in war! I love you from the very heart. 

I am, and was ever, your counterpart. 

And I am also your Best Enemy. 

So let me tell you The Truth! 

I know the hatred and envy of your hearts. 

Ye are not great enough not to know of hatred and envy. 

Then be great enough not to be ashamed of them! 

And if ye cannot be saints of knowledge, then, I pray you, be at least its warriors. 

They are the companions and forerunners of such saintship. 

I see many soldiers; could I but see many warriors! 

“Uniform” one calleth what they wear; may it not be uniform what they therewith hide! 

Ye shall be those whose eyes ever seek for an enemy—for YOUR enemy. 

And with some of you there is hatred at first sight. 

Your Enemy shall ye seek; your war shall ye wage, and for the sake of your thoughts! 

And if your thoughts succumb, your uprightness shall still shout triumph thereby! 

Ye shall love peace as a means to new wars—and the short peace more than the long. 

You I advise not to work, but to fight. 

You I advise not to peace, but to victory. 

Let your work be a fight, let your peace be a victory! 

One can only be silent and sit peacefully when one hath arrow and bow; otherwise one prateth and quarrelleth. 

Let your peace be a victory! 

Ye say it is the good cause which halloweth even war? 

I say unto you: it is the good war which halloweth every cause. 

War and courage have done more great things than charity. 

Not your sympathy, but your bravery hath hitherto saved the victims. 

“What is good?” ye ask. 

To be brave is good. 

Let the little girls say: “To be good is what is pretty, and at the same time touching.” 

They call you heartless: but your heart is True, and I love the bashfulness of your goodwill. 

Ye are ashamed of your flow, and others are ashamed of their ebb. 

Ye are ugly? 

Well then, my brethren, take the sublime about you, the mantle of the ugly! 

And when your soul becometh great, then doth it become haughty, and in your sublimity there is wickedness. 

I know you. 

In wickedness the haughty man and the weakling meet. 

But they misunderstand one another. 

I know you. 

Ye shall only have enemies to be hated, but not enemies to be despised. 

Ye must be proud of your enemies; then, the successes of your enemies are also your successes. 

Resistance—that is the distinction of The Slave. 

Let your distinction be obedience. 

Let your commanding itself be obeying! 

To the good warrior soundeth “thou shalt” pleasanter than “I will.” 

And all that is dear unto you, ye shall first have it commanded unto you. 

Let your love to life be love to your highest hope; and let your highest hope be the highest thought of life! 

Your highest thought, however, ye shall have it commanded unto you by me—and it is this: Man is something that is to be surpassed. 

So live your life of obedience and of war! 

What matter about long life! 

What warrior wisheth to be spared! 

I spare you not, I love you from my very heart, my brethren in war!

—Thus Spake Zarathustra.

CHOW — Food Witchcraft

If a Woman ever says 

“It’s like Having a Little Piece of My Self Inside of You”, 

DON’T EAT THE MEAL —

Clean Food, Please.