Since I am a Catholic intellectual, radical on some issues of peace and justice, but a freethinker about some other things, I sometimes do not get along very well with feminist supervixens.

For what it's worth, however, I'd like to mention that I've just had the pleasure of reading about 30 or 40 percent of the content on your blog, and I enjoyed it very much. There's a lot of love there, and I didn't run into any hate (although all the little shits on DKos seem to think you're some kind of arch hatemonger). Maybe it's hidden away in some back corner I didn't see, but I see no sign of that. Frankly, it was not what I expected from the title. I see your short blogroll links to Marisacat; and after some fights she and I have turned out to get along well; pleased to meet one of her, I presume, friends.

I love the fact that you quote A.E. Housman:

Terence, This Is Stupid Stuff

Terence, this is stupid stuff:
You eat your victuals fast enough;
There can't be much amiss, 'tis clear,
To see the rate you drink your beer.
But oh, good Lord, the verse you make,
It gives a chap the belly-ache.
The cow, the old cow, she is dead;
It sleeps well, the horned head:
We poor lads, 'tis our turn now
To hear such tunes as killed the cow.
Pretty friendship 'tis to rhyme
Your friends to death before their time
Moping melancholy mad:
Come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad."
Why, if 'tis dancing you would be,
There's brisker pipes than poetry.
Say, for what were hop-yards meant,
Or why was Burton built on Trent?
Oh many a peer of England brews
Livelier liquor than the Muse,
And malt does more than Milton can
To justify God's ways to man.
Ale, man, ale's the stuff to drink
For fellows whom it hurts to think:
Look into the pewter pot
To see the world as the world's not.
And faith, 'tis pleasant till 'tis past:
The mischief is that 'twill not last.
Oh I have been to Ludlow fair
And left my necktie God knows where,
And carried half way home, or near,
Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer:
Then the world seemed none so bad,
And I myself a sterling lad;
And down in lovely muck I've lain,
Happy till I woke again.
Then I saw the morning sky:
Heigho, the tale was all a lie;
The world, it was the old world yet,
I was I, my things were wet,
And nothing now remained to do
But begin the game anew.
Therefore, since the world has still
Much good, but much less good than ill,
And while the sun and moon endure
Luck's a chance, but trouble's sure,
I'd face it as a wise man would,
And train for ill and not for good.
`Tis true, the stuff I bring for sale
Is not so brisk a brew as ale:
Out of a stem that scored the hand
I wrung it in a weary land.
But take it: if the snack is sour,
The better for the embittered hour;
It should do good to heart and head
When your soul is in my soul's stead;
And I will friend you, if I may,
In the dark and cloudy day.
There as a king reigned in the east:
There, when kings will sit to feast,
They get their fill before they think
With poisoned meat and poisoned drink.
He gathered all that springs to birth
From the many-venomed earth;
First a little, thence to more,
He sampled all her killing store;
And easy, smiling, seasoned sound,
Sate the king when healths went round.
They put arsenic in his meat
And stared aghast to watch him eat;
They poured strychnine in his cup
And shook to see him drink it up:
They shook, they stared as white's their shirt:
Them it was their poison hurt.
-I tell the tale that I heard told.
Mithridates, he died old.

- A. E. Housman

That was my favorite poem in high school. I used to go around all the time, ripped to the gills, reciting that. I used to have every word of it memorized. I can still remember about half of it by memory. Anybody who likes that is a natural friend of mine, although no doubt we have grave differences.

I loved the post about Allen Ginsberg, one of my favorite poets. "It's never too late to do nothing." Amen. That's what I need to hear.

I loved your posts about DKos. Better written than anything I've done.

Let me close by saying your blog's title reminded me of one of my favorite old computer games, which I kept when I sent many others off to the library when I was moving:  Draconian's "Chamber of the Sci-mutant Priestess" from 1989. You'd hate the picture on the box. But it would secretly amuse you.