A Fear For America — Morning Papers II

So Come Ye, Fine Sailor, Grab Yer Cup Of Tea And Tally With Me!

Ah, the Premonitions are thy server whilst I idol the crossing jeer that takes me from thought to song. After that hearty remark, ’tis morning time — and that harks me to a new heart for the day after yesterday, and that day being of course the Fourth of July, a day which has procured much in the ardent hearts of so many; whether that have been in those thirteen then Colonies of a new continent or it be a day for some other celebration, most likely unbeknownst to this here writer and you, there, reader.

Certainly, I feel the circuitry of many minds and their opinions beholden about the Fourth and the American Experiment — whether sought or unsought; ill-damned or goodly in nature, in the case of America, the Liberty of the Individual has always been exalted and cradled as much as possible; including all its contrived remarks, fallbacks, and mirth that proclaims gold that comes along such a feat in the Humane History — especially espousing that claim from the Majority of Contential Europe.

And I ask you: What other Country at that time could’ve fostered the sorts of Benje Franklin, Abraham Lincoln, aiding the minds of Tocqueville and in all its complexities, Sojourner Joy? It is a gift — though like some precious ring of power, it must be welded in the manner one could aptly devise it then simply proclaiming all as one’s own sovereignty and force any darer of opposing thoughts, into a puny and mildly wasted existence thereafter.

But as Doctors do, I do so and I digress for now. Oh, honey child, you have got another thing coming for ye.

It is no wonder why then I have plucked Hopper’s piece Automat as the broaching converter of thought to imagery — it seems America has severely stagnated in the last century, bridling itself some unkept joy that is hovering over into this one; Well, I suppose if everyone else catches you up in Worth you cast over the Individual, whilst you, here shall bode yourself in the mindful, passive liberty, feeling quite content to remain as you are in reverence — just compare the lauded Constitution to the German one.

I shan’t and believe me, I am restraining myself, for there is a time and place for everything and this isn’t it but in later discourses and more important pieces than this one, I shall expand further — but you see, Reader, I am a mere Doctor and she has apparated all her time away in the already had chatter.

But there are my morning percolations, which you will see, in my works released around this time soon after, is how I transfer myself from the prison of the lonesome night into the beguilement of the living light of day.

’Tis over now as some prospecting and pessimistic Sat-Nav would put it, without the ’Tis of course, that’s my inclusion, all done in a Yorkshire-like dialect of course, nothing too overly austere over here — though that can happen— not in the morning without my morning cuppa and my morning biscuit for my morning protestation and my sudden overuse of Morning.

Ah, I crack myself up if nobody else — especially what I espoused first, a right legend I see to be now!

Ta-ta now, let us see where next this reveals us all to now.

Last Bashful Paper:

Marches Of Gold; Our Publication:

Come To Medium:

As ever, Dear Reader.