Previous William Thomas Sherman Info Page postings, quotes, observations, etc.
Think of the story of Oedipus as a "Candid Camera" like stunt stretching out over a lifetime and orchestrated by patient and sedulously manipulative spirit people. This, for one thing, will help give you a more clear sense of how extremely cruel and methodical, as well as psychologically knowledgeable and cunning, some spirit people, like a ghost sorcerer, can be.
And for all you know, something not so very dissimilar, at least in its elaborateness, is or may be being done to you. In any event, one's most effective safeguard against such must be eternal vigilance and being ever ready to eschew the snares and pitfalls of false assumptions and surface appearances.
I only wanted one, but couldn't choose between them. So then can you? Though dig those strings on the Streisand interpretation. Both recordings of that most familiar and renowned Gordon Lightfoot ballad, by the way, are from the very early 70's.
Note. YouTube volume on both should be down by at least half -- or more; the song, having as it does, an innate loudness to it.
Oh, he minds his own business, all right. Certainly, I have no question about that. He minds his own business for nobody, for nothing, not no how.
One composes or writes better about someone (or something) the more they sincerely love them (or it.) Needless to add, no liar or hypocrite truly loves.
Despite all confusion and doubt,
Love is where it's at.
You know that.
But if love isn't honest and true,
What good then is love to you?
A Mongol's Tale
A stately pleasure dome was decreed
Where Alph the sacred river ran;
As a reward for wild, savage deeds
For the clan of Kublai Khan.
For years they reveled in delight;
Did the proud family of Yuan.
The conqueror no longer fights,
But sows peace like any man.
Till one day Fate itself poured
Upon the Mongols in Beijing;
Destiny flooded like one vast hoard;
Led on by the rebel Ming.
Leaving all behind, up north Yuan fled;
Not Karakorum or a town was saved.
All was lost for which they'd bled.
All was lost for which they'd braved.
Now on windy steppes where burns the sun,
Nomad sons make journey on horses sleek.
No thought of stately dome or Alph to be won,
But only the Buddha's quiet to seek.
What? Send in the "Boogie Brigade?" Now? Oh well, if you insist. (Anything to please Bill Griffith.)
Don, then, would you please do us the honors...