Division of Cowper

The Division of Cowper is an Australian Electoral Division in New South Wales. The division was created in 1900 and was one of the original 75 divisions contested at the first federal election. and is named for Charles Cowper, an early Premier of New South Wales. It is located on the north coast of New South Wales, and on its current boundaries takes in the towns of Coffs Harbour, Kempsey, Macksville, Nambucca Heads. Except for one brief break, the seat has been held by the National Party (previously known as the Country Party) since 1919. Its most prominent member has been Sir Earle Page, leader of the Country Party and Prime Minister of Australia in 1939.

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Cowper did useful work but does not rank among the more distinguished Australian politicians. Cowper's governments had a fairly coherent Liberal tendency, a trend which continued with the governments of Henry Parkes and later developed into the Free Trade Party. In 1852, Parkes referred in public to his "mild, affable and benignant character". In later years he spoke of his "quick insight in dealing with surrounding circumstances, and much good humour and tact in dealing with individuals". His political adroitness was such that it secured for him the popular sobriquet of "Slippery Charley".

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EPITAPH ON A HARE

[Written March, 1783. Published in The Gentleman's Magazine,
Dec., 1784; afterwards in 1800. A MS. copy is in the British
Museum.]

HERE lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue,
Nor swifter greyhound follow,
Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew,
Nor ear heard huntsman's Hallo',

Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,
Who, nurs'd with tender care,
And to domestic bounds confin'd,
Was still a wild Jack-hare.

Though duly from my hand he took
His pittance ev'ry night,
He did it with a jealous look,
And, when he could, would bite.

His diet was of wheaten bread,
And milk, and oats, and straw,
Thistles, or lettuces instead,
With sand to scour his maw.

On twigs of hawthorn he regal'd,
On pippins' russet peel;
And, when his juicy salads fail'd,
Slic'd carrot pleas'd him well.

A Turkey carpet was his lawn,
Whereon he lov'd to bound,
To skip and gambol like a fawn,
And swing his rump around.

His frisking was at evening hours,
For then he lost his fear;
But most before approaching show'rs,
Or when a storm drew near.

Eight years and five round-rolling moons
He thus saw steal away,
Dozing out his idle noons,
And ev'ry night at play.

I kept him for his humour's sake,
For he would oft beguile
My heart of thoughts that made it ache,
And force me to a smile.

But now, beneath this walnut-shade
He finds his long, last home,
And waits in snug concealment laid,
'Till gentler Puss shall come.

He, still more aged, feels the shocks
From which no care can save,
And, partner once of Tiney's box,
Must soon partake his grave.

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bulldog?

Ruslan Kogan was born to Russian Jewish parents,[25][26] and moved with his sister Svetlana and parents to Australia in 1989[27] when he was 5 years old.[1]

He grew up in the Elsternwick commission flats, and started his first business at the age of 10 by finding lost golf balls, cleaning them and selling them for $0.50/each[27] to golfers at Elsternwick Golf Course on Saturday mornings.[28]

He was interested in technology from an early age, building his first computer at the age of nine.[29] He has started approximately 20 businesses since the age of 10, with Kogan Technologies his most recent and most successful venture.[30]

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xp that's the cover of a Bauhaus album iirc

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The Warrumbungles are a mountain range in the Orana region of New South Wales, Australia. The nearest town is Coonabarabran.

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Jamie Edward Briggs MP (born 9 June 1977) is an Australian politician. He has been the Liberal Party of Australia member for the Division of Mayo since the 2008 Mayo by-election.

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Drawing of the corpse of Hugh of Lincoln in its shrine Lincoln Cathedral, Samuel Hieronymus Grimm, 18th century

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✓

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The Yarra Valley, Victoria

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How can this personage be defined, who was able to walk the streets crowded with asleep people and filled with noise and with engines expelling asphyxiating fumes, at the same time as he kept his heart, his mind, his spirit and his morale connected with special higher strata that gave him the capacity of predicting, just as he was eating an ice-cream, all kinds of world events and, as if this were not enough, who could afford himself the luxury of conversing with the dogs and the birds, communicating perfectly to such creatures of that other kingdom all his preoccupations and concerns?

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KATE (Miss Rachel Lea Varian, she tells forkings for baschfellors, under purdah of card palmer teaput tosspot Madam d'Elta, during the pawses), kook-and-dishdrudge, whitch believes wanthingthats, whouse be the churchyard or whorts up the aasgaars, the show must go on.

Number Thirty two West Eleventh streak looks on to that (may all in the tocoming of the sempereternal speel spry with it!) datetree doloriferous which more and over leafeth earlier than every growth and, elfshot, headawag, with frayed nerves wondering till they feeled sore like any woman that has been born at all events to the purdah and for the howmanyeth and howmovingth time at what the demons in that jackhouse that jerry built for Massa and Missus and hijo de puta, the sparksown fermament of the starryk fieldgosongingon where blows a nemone at each blink of windstill 4 they were sliding along and sleeting aloof and scouting around and shooting about.

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κόσμον τόνδε, τὸν αὐτὸν ἁπάντων, οὔτε τις θεῶν οὐτε ἀνθρώπων ἐποίησεν, ἀλλ' ἦν ἀεὶ καὶ ἔστιν καὶ ἔσται πῦρ ἀείζωον, ἁπτόμενον μέτρα καὶ ἀποσβεννύμενον μέτρα

Of Cormac

On another occasion also St. Columba prophesied in the following manner of Cormac, grandson of Lethan, a truly pious man, who not less than three times went in search of a desert in the ocean, but did not find it. ‘In his desire to find a desert, Cormac is this day, for the second time, now embarking from that district which lies at the other side of the river Moda (the Moy, in Sligo), and is called Eirros, Domno (Erris, in Mayo); nor even this time shall he find what he seeks, and that for no other fault than that he has irregularly allowed to accompany him in the voyage a monk who is going away from his own proper abbot without obtaining his consent.’

Of the Ray of Light which was seen upon the boy's face as he lay asleep

ON another night, Cruithnecan, a priest of blameless life, to whose care the blessed youth was confided, upon returning home from the church after mass, found his house illuminated with a bright light, and saw in fact a ball of fire standing over the face of the little boy as he lay asleep. At the sight he at once shook with fear, and fell down with his face to the ground in great amazement, well knowing that it indicated the grace of the Holy Spirit poured out from heaven upon his young charge.

How a wild boar was destroyed through his prayers

ON one occasion when the blessed man was staying some days in the Scian island (Sky), he left the brethren and went alone a little farther than usual to pray; and having entered a dense forest he met a huge wild boar that happened to be pursued by hounds. As soon as the saint saw him at some distance, he stood looking intently at him. Then raising his holy hand and invoking the name of God in fervent prayer, he said to it, ‘Thou shalt proceed no further in this direction: perish in the spot which thou hast now reached.’ At the sound of these words of the saint in the woods, the terrible brute was not only unable to proceed farther, but by the efficacy of his word immediately fell dead before his face.

Of the vowel I

ONE day Baithene came to the saint and said, ‘I want some one of the brethren to look over with me and correct the psalter which I have written.’ Hearing this, the saint said, ‘Why give us this trouble without any cause? In that psalter of thine, of which thou speakest, there is not one superfluous letter to be found, nor is any wanting except the one vowel I.’ And accordingly, when the whole psalter was read over, what the saint had said was found to be true.

Regarding a certain unhappy man who lay with his mother

The saint said to him, ‘If thou do penance in tears and lamentations for twelve years among the Britons and never to the day of thy death return to Scotia (Ireland), perhaps God may pardon thy sin.’ Having said these words, the saint turned to his own friends and said, ‘This man is a son of perdition, who will not perform the penance he has promised, but will soon return to Scotia (Ireland), and there in a short time be killed by his enemies.’ All this happened exactly according to the saint's prophecy; for the wretched man, returning to Hibernia about the same time, fell into the hands of his enemies in the region called Lea (Firli, in Ulster), and was murdered. He was of the descendants of Turtre.

How a wild boar was destroyed through his prayers

worra cunt

Concernng the Hellene who lay with sky creatures

THE saint, on visiting the land of Anglia, travelled for many days through the forests. There, it was confirmed to him that a Hellene of great wickedness was known to consort with the creatures of the sky. The saint raised to his staff to the sky and said, 'He who blackens the name of the Lord with vile Acts will be known among all the nations, and great harms shall befall him.' And so it was, that the Hellene, on his travels to Alba, was struck down by the Picts and buried without honour.

is this the foundation of Real England - dragonfuckers buried without honour

those avians.....

:)

of cormac

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and three times round she went in roaring smother
with all the waters; at the fourth the poop
rose, and the prow went down, as pleased Another

nor is any wanting except the one vowel I

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The hand will be the (monstrous) sign [le monstre], the proper of man as (monstrous) sign, in the sense of Zeichen. “The hand reaches and extends, receives and welcomes—and not just things: the hand extends itself, and receives its own welcome in the hand of the other. The hand keeps. The hand carries. The hand designs and signs, presumably because man is a (monstrous) sign (Die Hand zeichnet, vermutlich weil der Mensch ein Zeichen ist).”

…

Since then I have studied all the published photographs of Heidegger, especially in an album bought at Freiburg when I had given a lecture there on Heidegger in 1979. The play and the theater of hands in that album would merit a whole seminar. If I did not forgo that, I would stress the deliberately craftsman-like staging of the hand play, of the monstration and demonstration that is exhibited there, whether it be a matter of the handling [maintenance] of the pen, of the maneuver of the cane that shows rather than supports, or of the water bucket near the fountain. The demonstration of hands is as gripping in the accompaniment of the discourse. On the cover of the catalog, the only thing that overflows the frame, that of the window but also of the photo, is Heidegger’s hand.

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the last person alive when that was taken died two months ago

amazing. doesn't look like there are any recordings of the band leader clara ross's guitar band, perhaps best left to the imagination

any recordings of her guitar orchestra stuff rather, obviously none of her C19th band

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Was reading about him recently, chess is a fertile breeding ground for high-functioning weirdos so hopefully he will turn out to be another

there's something tragic about how much of an absolute g he looks there compared to how bad he looks now in puberty
living adolescence in public something that should not be foisted on high-functioning weirdos
magnus carlsen went from normcore kid to looking like something those girls who do toni kroos tumblrs might have a side-interest in, bit of acromegalic rough
the intervening years he looked sort of barely human

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the stylists should reach them sooner, really

no amount of couturiers and cosmeticians can turn a pupa into an imago before its time

stop stop you're giving me flashbacks

This is how one pictures the angel of history. His face is turned toward the past. Where we perceive a chain of events, he sees one single catastrophe that keeps piling ruin upon ruin and hurls it in front of his feet. The angel would like to stay, awaken the dead, and make whole what has been smashed. But a jet strikes out from Paradise; it has got caught in his wings with such violence that the angel can no longer close them. The jet irresistibly propels him into the future to which his back is turned, while the pile of debris before him grows skyward. This jet is what we call progress.

have become rly obsessed with mato jelic's youtube channel recently btw, something about that barely-australicised croatian accent

whoa that's walter benjamin right

here is a beautiful example of mato's style that i just watched, along with a really excellent game from two proper soviet legends

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MKmuv3qow_A

just discovered this excellent quote regarding nedzhmetdinov, though

"Nezhmetdinov, ... if he had the attack, could kill anybody, including Tal. But my score against him was something like 8½–½ because I did not give him any possibility for an active game. In such cases he would immediately start to spoil his position because he was looking for complications."

probably need to watch some classic yuri averbakh catenaccio

Polugaevsky is quoted as saying, "I must have beaten Rashid a dozen times. But that one loss was so good I would have traded them all to be on the other side of the board."

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is that barenboim?

:)

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