We had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.
All these things, and a thousand like them, came to pass in and close upon the dear old year two thousand and sixteen. Environed by them, while the Woodman and the Farmer worked unheeded, those two of the large jaws, and those other two of the plain and the fair faces, trod with stir enough, and carried their divine rights with a high hand. Thus did the year two thousand and sixteen conduct their Greatnesses, and myriads of small creatures – the creatures of this chronicle among the rest – along the roads that lay before them.
Among other public buildings in a certain town, which for many reasons it will be prudent to refrain from mentioning, and to which I will assign no fictitious name, there is one anciently common to most towns, great or small: To wit, a workhouse; and in this workhouse was born; on a day and date which I need not trouble myself to repeat, inasmuch as it can be of no possible consequence to the reader, in this stage of the business at all events; the item of mortality whose name is prefixed to the name of this convention.
And with jobs scarce, many of you may be considering leaving town with your diploma in hand. And it wouldn’t be unreasonable. For those of you who come from communities facing similar economic hardships, you may also be wondering how you’ll build decent lives for yourselves if you choose to return to those communities.
Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic.
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate – we can not consecrate – we can not hallow – this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced.
Let those who are in favour with their stars, of public honour and proud titles boast, whilst I whom fortune of such triumph bars unlooked for joy in that I honour most; great princes’ favourites their fair leaves spread, but as the marigold at the sun’s eye, and in themselves their pride lies buried. For at a frown they in their glory die. the painful warrior famoused for fight, after a thousand victories once foiled, is from the book of honour razed quite. And all the rest forgot for which he toiled: Then happy I that love and am beloved where I may not remove nor be removed.
Shame on the age and on its principles! The Senate is aware of these things; the Consul sees them; and yet this man lives. Lives! Aye, he comes even into the Senate. He takes a part in the public deliberations; he is watching and marking down and checking off for slaughter every individual among us. And we, gallant men that we are, think that we are doing our duty to the Republic if we keep out of the way of his frenzied attacks.
I play along with the charade, that doesn’t seem to be a reason to change. You know I feel so dirty when they start talking cute, I wanna tell her that I love her but the point is probably moot. Because she’s watching him with those eyes. And she’s lovin’ him with that body, I just know it.
I am being completely extemporaneous when I say that the checks almost always clear the first time. I love President Husband.
#freakingchachi
#godblessamerica
#RmuttLives
(Okay. The last line was swiped from Jason Malmberg. The rest I wrote with as little help as possible.)
—steve mehallo
Flommist Steve Mehallo is a graphic designer, illustrator, font designer, educator, foodie and gadfly. He is the creator and founder of FLOMM!
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