wrote in message
ups.com...
THE DEITIES
(BTW, the allusion-illusion of Parr and Innes as
"gods" has kept me laughing for 2 days now!) -- Rynd-Dowd
Dear Phil,
Now, let's see. Rynd-Dowd has/have returned
from his/their medication sessions. He/they laughed
that we might be considered gods. On the other hand,
NMnot Taylor Kingston, the A-rated player who told us
that he was 2300+ ELO, quotes that unimpeachable
source Bernard Levin that whom the mad would destroy,
they first make gods.
In short, not-Rynd concurs with notNM on who else says not.
Poor Bernard. He is rather like Kipling's comment on Arthur Conan Doyle when
he visited this town; Kipling rather wondered if he noticed he was here?
Sounds acceptable to me. The ratpackers rightly
think of us as gods, and they would destroy us. Our
job is to zap them further with our bolts of lightning.
I was saving my bolt for use as a shroud. Though you give me an idea for a
t-shirt, frankly Phil as Superhero is laughable since I look unwell in
tights, and I believe those are still /de riguer/.
Many years back I wrote a book on Viktors "Onkel
Vik" Pupols, a colorful chessmaster from the Pacific
Northwest. Yasser Seirawan wrote an intro noting that
that Vik believed in attacking from move one. One of the
stories involved Vik's rival Jim McCormick who derisively
called him "the Deity" or simply "Deity."
At first Vik took exception to the evident
sarcasm, but a bit later, he decided, "After all,
there are worse things than god that they can call you."
Right, Phil. Rynd-Dowd may not yet accept our
divinity, though I believe we may conclude that NMnot
has been visited sufficiently with the boils to believe in Us.
As a yank, becoming divine is all you got, whereas we Brits can use our
titles. They haven't thought of that yet, and I ain't lorded, Lordy-Lordy!
No Sir, no.
Now that Rynd-Dowd is/are back in shape, I
expect you to do your Bentley Drummell act. If you
injure him/them as I once did, he/they will forge your
name somewhere else. So hop to it.
I can't understand if the vehemence masks fragility or issues from such
great density as would be inpenetrable. But overall, I think Rob Mitchell is
right, and we should return to lying about our chess skills rather than each
other, since I admit swatting follies-de-largesse is... well, it is
A large house, and no cheer,
A large park, and no deer,
A large cellar, and no beer!
The Innes Pledgers live in here.
[that's an Elizabethan bit of Graffitum, originally mocking Mr. Christopher
Hawkins - they hung it on the gate of his estate at Trewithen, and he
latterly became a miser, or 'close' as is said in Cornwall. He was ancestor
to the much more liberal Trelawney, of note.]
It is not hardly in the spirit of place, which combines a certain intensity
of feeling with enterprise:-
Deep, deep below the bay, the seweed and the spray,
Embalmed in amber every pirate lies.
/ Vachel Lindsay.
Talking of which, your own name is older than I thought - I mistook it for
very early A. Sax, but it is even earlier than the extant preceeding
language, so not p- or q- celtic, but something far earlier. Spelled Par,
says Mrs Maltwood who dates it 4000 bc?
But I have some research now, on Henry Trevanion, husband of Byron's niece,
Georgiana Leigh, and also to the wench Clare [Byron and Shelley both spelled
it such, though otherwise Claire] Clairmont, who rather struck TreL with her
'brilliant mind, dark, passionate, quick - outwardly reckless but, one
suspects, cold at heart ...' [M. Armstrong] who Mary Shelley could not
dispose of by elopement, but she amused Percy, even though not de trop in
France.
She turned away, but with the autumn weather
Compelled my imagination many days.
/T. S. Elliot.
So as you see, Sir, I am not much minded on men at the moment, though not
quite so fraught as "Englishmen, who are restricted to one wife, cannot be
too careful. //Sir. R. Burton.
--------
At the end Rosetti saw to the funeral, and Swinburne wrote Heart of Hearts,
ending, "Shelley, Trelawney rejoins thee here."
says M. Armstrong in August 1938: Trelawney's cottage is still there in
Sompting. He is still
dimly remembered. This summer once ancient inhabitant said of him, "He
was a funny
old fellow - he used to ring a bell to call the birds"; and another,
still more ancient:
"I believe I almost remember he was buried in Rome."
As an egalitarian Celt he would have eshewed any talk of Gods, though beyond
the power of his pen or arc of sword, what can a man do if so mythologised
as in some way larger than life - or better said, is accused of containing
more of life?
Cordially, Phil
Chess One wrote:
"Taylor Kingston" wrote in message
oups.com...
wrote:
jr wrote:
Note to the Innes-bashers and Parr-bashers:
Whom the gods would destroy they first make mad.
Yes, but before the endgame they also placed the middlegame.
(BTW, the allusion-illusion of Parr and Innes as "gods" has kept me
laughing for 2 days now!)
"Whom the mad would destroy, first they make gods." -- Bernard Levin
It would keep me laughing too.
But the nameless dork who can't write his own name since he is paranoid,
plus the dork who can because he is insensible, do not understand that
the
reference is to /who/ would be destroyed by such obsessionals.
As a Celt, I am as egalitarian as the broad meadow, and need not think
any
man more than a man, but not hold any man less than it either.
This is apparently news to the Carolinas and California, who have not
quite
groked the fullness of jr's citation.
It is only amusing to note that those who would comment on the Innes
Pledge
cannot, as Sir Lawrence H. Parr points out, actually do as they say.
Instead
they stay fixated, negatively, since that is all they got at the moment,
to
the Star of their imaginings, and man, do they hate any light at all!@
Even
very ordinary light.
Phil the Vampire Slayer.