loader sand against the incoming wave
When dumam curiously unbalanced over our civilization, able to put golf carts on Mars but unable to match the poetry drenched in mud Elizabethan London, I wonder why it is who we are. In terms of technology the United States is przewspaniałe - Athens semiconductor physics. Despite this great band die unheard, we have no Shakespeare or Dante - not a clue about why we need them, and religiousness or is suppressed, or manifests itself in a harsh and hostile. Why?
I think it is because our environment depends not only on what we think, but also about what we can think of. We live in an urban area [urban ], but very random [ not urbane ], among the howling sirens in the air from the exhaust posiwiałym gibberish and broken buses. Pleas do not become false from the fact that often they are repeated. I am not able to imagine Whitman creates in the mall.
Haste and collect all their complexity harvest. As a society we can be called restless. And here - Niezamyślonymi.
Another way life is - or was - possible. Long ago, I spent a summer in Hampden-Sydney, in my small college on a huge wooded campus in the country was still Virginia. Students, thank God, gone.
Along the Via Sacra (the so called unique path in the campus) into the endless blue sky there was silence, absolute silence - unless you count the chirps of birds and insects wailing coming from the crown venerable oaks. This may sounds, but not noise. It's not even music, but something more ancient, old, earlier, better. Vivaldi was a great man, but here he would not have a chance. Homes professors, often old and dignified, though without ostentation, watched around the courtyards shaded by ancient trees. It was quiet and warm, and were finding himself alone with his thoughts.
It was terribly outdated. At night the stars shone on the black expanse of the sky and there is no noise was coming to you. None. Here, Thoreau could write a Corot painting. I do not think it could be done in zgiełkliwej suburban hideousness.
dochodziłeś Following the Via Sacra, the Black Bottom, where the road ended in the woods where he was a pond, a swan on it. It was not the place to which you are placed in photographic magazines - but just quiet, loud hum of insects from the forest in Virginia. In my increasingly long life I have never seen anything more peaceful. On the left path from the ruddy clay mica Wila spotted more and more down to Slippery Rock. Here, deep in the woods, a small brook splashed softly between the red edge, gliding over the mossy płaskim kamieniem. Niewielu znało to miejsce. Mój ojciec, jeszcze zanim doprowadzono elektryczność, przychodził tu, żeby wślizgiwać się do położonego niżej stawku. Ja też.
Wiele popołudni spędziłem tam czytając, albo nic nie robiąc, albo oglądając nartniki ślizgające się na powierzchni wody z nogami w lekkich wklęsłościach. Jako że studiowałem wtedy fizykę i chemię, wiedziałem co nieco o napięciu powierzchniowym, surfaktantach i preferencjach do tworzenia wiązań wodorowych, ale wiedziałem też, że przyglądam się czemuś niepojętemu. To nie była obserwacja Scientific. Researchers are looking at each thing in isolation from all others, but - with the exception of the great people - they do not notice a whole. Few are great on the ground.
Such places change the inner world of man. The Slippery Rock thinking about things that I could not think in Arlington, Virginia, next to Washington, with its sirens, traffic and silently angry people connected to the iPod. Wilson Boulevard, where I lived, it was not terrible. I liked located at the restaurants, bars and places of sushi. People were not angry. But it was horribly anxious.
I'm not religious - at least not in the sense that I believe that I have answers, but I am religious in the sense that I know the questions. I know that there are things they can not know - even more important matters than finding a spouse before the age of thirty. Most of us certainly know about it. But it is not easy to break free from a fixed mode of life. We try. People rush to Europe in search of the old, quiet and nice. Real estate salesmen understand this urge and call to buy a quiet rural life while building shopping centers, This would prevent. And so, in Arcadia appears haste. People think if a flight to the next small town. We use very much time to escape from ourselves. Maybe instead we should build a place that we will be liked.
We can not, because I decided to run things at a distance, and corporate. We have little choice when it comes to the place of residence - not because we were not able to move, but because all the seats are the same. Located in the South, the old town and the families of the gray-green moss English zwieszającym the beards from the trees gives way to shopping malls and restaurants, Ruby Tuesday networks. Perhaps the preserved town center with parking for tour buses, so that visitors can have experience of the South. The town turned into an exhibition of singularity is no longer adequately town.
So little remains of what is local. There were times that the two-lane highway peared among the Mists of the valleys in the Great Smoky Mountains, on their wrinkled slopes perched small towns and family restaurants - each different from the others. Barstow was desert town of desert people, and New Orleans was a city, not a theme park.
now - do not. Things are and the same, and the ugly. Korporatczycy belt driving skills acquired in the landscape of shops, homes, estates - cheap, because the same - because of the wonders of mass production - and who is able to tell them no? You can not stop progress - say booster - although I can not say that I noticed some progress.
And, of course, people want or think they want the hustle and bustle, standardized suburbs and franchise stores. The construction provides for a short time jobs, Wal-Mart actually sells saws at low prices, and eating in restaurants, Ruby Tuesday is good. Young people like the noise, a shop that sells thirty types of running shoes to people who do not run, it is certainly nothing wrong. It was only later gets into boredom and emptiness - are starting to feel them children, who are only shopping centers - never forests. Hamsters are running reels. We buy things.
I suspect that few people really liked what we have - but as freedom from it? Probably most have a very clear feeling of what it is, from what he wants to escape - and besides, there is nowhere to run. As in the bedridden jazgotliwych, smelly exhaust fumes, crowded cities, where the stars disappear behind the veil of smoke, where the flow of the river half-poisonous, and a large proportion of the population barely cope with reading, can anyone think of anything beyond the stock market, and another blank mating? There is no Milne'ów, Donne'ów and Marlowe'ów, because they can not exist, but we do not want to, because I do not know how they want.
_______
Translation based on:
Fred Reed, Other Times and Ways , http://www.fredoneverything.net/Walden% 20III.shtml
Other Times and Ways published on Fred Reed Fred On Everything in 2008
When dumam curiously unbalanced over our civilization, able to put golf carts on Mars but unable to match the poetry drenched in mud Elizabethan London, I wonder why it is who we are. In terms of technology the United States is przewspaniałe - Athens semiconductor physics. Despite this great band die unheard, we have no Shakespeare or Dante - not a clue about why we need them, and religiousness or is suppressed, or manifests itself in a harsh and hostile. Why?
I think it is because our environment depends not only on what we think, but also about what we can think of. We live in an urban area [urban ], but very random [ not urbane ], among the howling sirens in the air from the exhaust posiwiałym gibberish and broken buses. Pleas do not become false from the fact that often they are repeated. I am not able to imagine Whitman creates in the mall.
Haste and collect all their complexity harvest. As a society we can be called restless. And here - Niezamyślonymi.
Another way life is - or was - possible. Long ago, I spent a summer in Hampden-Sydney, in my small college on a huge wooded campus in the country was still Virginia. Students, thank God, gone.
Along the Via Sacra (the so called unique path in the campus) into the endless blue sky there was silence, absolute silence - unless you count the chirps of birds and insects wailing coming from the crown venerable oaks. This may sounds, but not noise. It's not even music, but something more ancient, old, earlier, better. Vivaldi was a great man, but here he would not have a chance. Homes professors, often old and dignified, though without ostentation, watched around the courtyards shaded by ancient trees. It was quiet and warm, and were finding himself alone with his thoughts.
It was terribly outdated. At night the stars shone on the black expanse of the sky and there is no noise was coming to you. None. Here, Thoreau could write a Corot painting. I do not think it could be done in zgiełkliwej suburban hideousness.
dochodziłeś Following the Via Sacra, the Black Bottom, where the road ended in the woods where he was a pond, a swan on it. It was not the place to which you are placed in photographic magazines - but just quiet, loud hum of insects from the forest in Virginia. In my increasingly long life I have never seen anything more peaceful. On the left path from the ruddy clay mica Wila spotted more and more down to Slippery Rock. Here, deep in the woods, a small brook splashed softly between the red edge, gliding over the mossy płaskim kamieniem. Niewielu znało to miejsce. Mój ojciec, jeszcze zanim doprowadzono elektryczność, przychodził tu, żeby wślizgiwać się do położonego niżej stawku. Ja też.
Wiele popołudni spędziłem tam czytając, albo nic nie robiąc, albo oglądając nartniki ślizgające się na powierzchni wody z nogami w lekkich wklęsłościach. Jako że studiowałem wtedy fizykę i chemię, wiedziałem co nieco o napięciu powierzchniowym, surfaktantach i preferencjach do tworzenia wiązań wodorowych, ale wiedziałem też, że przyglądam się czemuś niepojętemu. To nie była obserwacja Scientific. Researchers are looking at each thing in isolation from all others, but - with the exception of the great people - they do not notice a whole. Few are great on the ground.
Such places change the inner world of man. The Slippery Rock thinking about things that I could not think in Arlington, Virginia, next to Washington, with its sirens, traffic and silently angry people connected to the iPod. Wilson Boulevard, where I lived, it was not terrible. I liked located at the restaurants, bars and places of sushi. People were not angry. But it was horribly anxious.
I'm not religious - at least not in the sense that I believe that I have answers, but I am religious in the sense that I know the questions. I know that there are things they can not know - even more important matters than finding a spouse before the age of thirty. Most of us certainly know about it. But it is not easy to break free from a fixed mode of life. We try. People rush to Europe in search of the old, quiet and nice. Real estate salesmen understand this urge and call to buy a quiet rural life while building shopping centers, This would prevent. And so, in Arcadia appears haste. People think if a flight to the next small town. We use very much time to escape from ourselves. Maybe instead we should build a place that we will be liked.
We can not, because I decided to run things at a distance, and corporate. We have little choice when it comes to the place of residence - not because we were not able to move, but because all the seats are the same. Located in the South, the old town and the families of the gray-green moss English zwieszającym the beards from the trees gives way to shopping malls and restaurants, Ruby Tuesday networks. Perhaps the preserved town center with parking for tour buses, so that visitors can have experience of the South. The town turned into an exhibition of singularity is no longer adequately town.
So little remains of what is local. There were times that the two-lane highway peared among the Mists of the valleys in the Great Smoky Mountains, on their wrinkled slopes perched small towns and family restaurants - each different from the others. Barstow was desert town of desert people, and New Orleans was a city, not a theme park.
now - do not. Things are and the same, and the ugly. Korporatczycy belt driving skills acquired in the landscape of shops, homes, estates - cheap, because the same - because of the wonders of mass production - and who is able to tell them no? You can not stop progress - say booster - although I can not say that I noticed some progress.
And, of course, people want or think they want the hustle and bustle, standardized suburbs and franchise stores. The construction provides for a short time jobs, Wal-Mart actually sells saws at low prices, and eating in restaurants, Ruby Tuesday is good. Young people like the noise, a shop that sells thirty types of running shoes to people who do not run, it is certainly nothing wrong. It was only later gets into boredom and emptiness - are starting to feel them children, who are only shopping centers - never forests. Hamsters are running reels. We buy things.
I suspect that few people really liked what we have - but as freedom from it? Probably most have a very clear feeling of what it is, from what he wants to escape - and besides, there is nowhere to run. As in the bedridden jazgotliwych, smelly exhaust fumes, crowded cities, where the stars disappear behind the veil of smoke, where the flow of the river half-poisonous, and a large proportion of the population barely cope with reading, can anyone think of anything beyond the stock market, and another blank mating? There is no Milne'ów, Donne'ów and Marlowe'ów, because they can not exist, but we do not want to, because I do not know how they want.
_______
Translation based on:
Fred Reed, Other Times and Ways , http://www.fredoneverything.net/Walden% 20III.shtml
Other Times and Ways published on Fred Reed Fred On Everything in 2008
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