The major wings of today’s American version of the imprisonment by Marxism, (government’s dictatorship of citizen subjects forced to be made equal) rising primarily from radical feminists of all colors, shapes, sizes and sexes and the Eric Holder-Al Sharpton black racist crowds. Both war against white conservative males, the living who are smeared for their lack of skin color and/or their maleness, yes, but particularly the dead, especially the names of those who have contributed so much to the arts, sciences, the humanities, the learnings from our white human male past which have recently politically being made to be forgotten for the same reasons.
Modern Marxism and its feminist and black racist chapters who infect our American schools insist that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. No beauty can become more beautiful than another. All art is equally beautiful……..which logically means ‘that which is equally beautiful is equally ugly’…..
Forced equality is the goal of Marxist achievement.
I disagree with these academic Marxist goals infecting our American arts and social sciences. It is because I am old and have been taught the uplifting and spiritual when Marxism was an anaethema to our American way of life..
Is it possible that the utterings of a well heeled, but cold blooded murderer faced with his own imminent demise can be written with magnificent unsurpassed beauty, beauty of words and message so painful you cannot forget it as long as you live? Could such utterings rise above the Marxist command of forced equality of today’s lessons of mediocrity? Read the following assemblage of words uttered by a fictional Thane of Scotland who had committed a murder from a play written by dead white male, William Shakespeare, in 17th century England:
“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day to the last syllable of recorded time. And all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death.
Out, out, brief candle. Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”
It is easy enough English to understand. I find the utterance breath-takingly beautiful describing life scathed by evil thought and deed now as then when I heard it for the first time, read to me by my 9th grade English teacher, 68 years old, 90 pound withered but commanding, Mabel Wicker, at my local urban public high school. There were 35 other kids in that class, mostly of us boys who were disruptive during eighth grade classes in elementary school. This is the same Miss Wicker from whom I earned an F for my first eight week period in her class. I was mesmerized by the Shakespeare she read as part of her daily lectures. I recognized its beauty. I was not disruptive. No one in that class was disruptive. We were not allowed to be.
She used red ink in designing the large F handwritten on my report card to increase the chances for public humiliation.
I enjoyed her readings so much. I had never cared about grades. They never meant anything in elementary school. You were either okay or you weren’t. I never even thought about grades…….until the marking period after the first eight weeks with Miss Mabel Wicker’s flashy red ‘F’ shining for all to see for the rest of the school year.
She expected homework from me. She showed me her grading book. There was nothing listed under my name. It was a perfectly clean slate sans any indication of handed-in homework. She pointed clearly for me that I had earned my keep. What could I say?
Later in the year I did memorize the above lines from William Shakespeare’s Macbeth as part of the 400 lines of poetry required to get a passing grade at the end of the year. I was then and am to this day, inspired so by the beauty of language preaching the power of evil and boredom in a human life without the beauty of words and their meaning of story in thinking-man’s war seeking God over evil.
What is memorable from your 9th grade class?
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