Thursday, December 31, 2015

No, that's not Albert Einstein.

Meet Ray Jessel


We guarantee youll 
never forget him 
once you do.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!



Wednesday, December 30, 2015


The Twelve 
ISLAMIC 
Days of Christmas

On the FIRST Day of Christmas, the Imam sent to me
A head mounted on a thorn tree!


On the SECOND Day of Christmas the Imam sent to me
Two scimitars
And a Head mounted on a Thorn Tree!

On the THIRD Day of Christmas the Imam sent to me
Three bearded thugs
Two scimitars
And a head mounted on a thorn tree!

On the FOURTH Day of Christmas the imam sent to me
Four Whining Dhimmis
Three bearded thugs
Two scimitars
And a head mounted on a thorn tree!


On the FIFTH Day of Christmas the Imam sent to me
Five IED’s
Four Whining Dhimmis
Three bearded thugs
Two scimitars
And a head mounted on a thorn tree!

On the SIXTH Day of Christmas the Imam sent to me
Six severed hands
Five IED’s
Four Whining Dhimmis
Three bearded thugs
Two scimitars
And a head mounted on a thorn tree!

On the SEVENTH Day of Christmas the Imam sent to me
Seven Christians fleeing
Six severed hands
Five IED’s
Four Whining Dhimmis
Three bearded thugs
Two scimitars
And a head mounted on a thorn tree!


On the EIGHTH Day of Christmas the Imam sent to me
Eight rifles firing
Seven Christians fleeing
Six severed hands
Five IED’s
Four Whining Dhimmis
Three bearded thugs
Two scimitars
And a head mounted on a thorn tree!

On the NINTH Day of Christmas the Imam sent to me
Nine women’s corpses
Eight rifles firing
Seven Christians fleeing
Six severed hands
Five IED’s
Four Whining Dhimmis
Three bearded thugs
Two scimitars
And a head mounted on a thorn tree!

On the TENTH Day of Christmas the Imam sent to me
Ten drowned in cages
Nine women’s corpses
Eight rifles firing
Seven Christians fleeing
Six severed hands
Five IED’s
Four Whining Dhimmis
Three bearded thugs
Two scimitars
And a head mounted on a thorn tree!

On the ELEVENTH Day of Christmas the Imam sent to me
Eleven dead cartoonists
Ten drowned in cages
Nine women’scorpses
Eight rifles firing
Seven Christians fleeing
Six severed hands
Five IED’s
Four Whining Dhimmis
Three bearded thugs
Two scimitars
And a head mounted on a thorn tree!


On the TWELFTH Day of Christmas the Imam sent to me
Twelve bombs a bursting 
Eleven dead cartoonists
Ten drowned in cages
Nine women’s corpses
Eight rifles firing
Seven Christians fleeing
Six severed hands
Five IED’s
Four Whining Dhimmis
Three bearded thugs
Two scimitars
And HIS HEAD mounted on a thorn tree!


~ An Anne Animus Original




















Monday, December 28, 2015

Sunday, December 27, 2015

Rejoice greatly, 
O Daughter of Zion!
from 
Messiah 

by 
George Frederick Handel

sung by 
Diana Damrau
conducted by
Zubin Mehta 

Rejoice, Rejoice greatly, O Daughter of Zion!
Behold, thy King cometh unto three.
He is the righteous Savior, 
and He shall speak peace unto the heathen.
Rejoice greatly , O daughter of Zion.
Shout, O dauther of Jerusalem.
Behold, thy King cometh unto thee.
~ . ~ § ~ . ~

Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring
transcribed for piano by
Myra Hess
performed by 
Dinu Lipatti

~ . § ~ . ~

Saturday, December 26, 2015

Post



Christmas



.~.~. Cheer .~.~.
The sunny, soothing, Secular 
Side of Christmas...

Friday, December 25, 2015



_______ On Christmas Day _______

On Christmas Day the King of Kings is born
New each year since first appeared the Star.
Children breathlessly await the morn,
Hope for gifts, not knowing that they are
Royally endowed with rich rewards
Internally. because our God above
Sent His Son, the tiny Lord of Lords,
To demonstrate the power of His Love.
Mammon calls, and parents feel they must
Afford material delights that glow
Seductively inflaming vicious Lust 
Denying Mind and Spirit’s need to grow.
A trough not fit for kin that nourished kine
Yields again the King of Love Divine.

~ FreeThinke 
The Sandpiper, Christmas 1995



 Christmas Music of the 15th and 16th centuries

Eleven Christmas Carols ~ John Rutter  
Clare College, New Oxford

A Christmas Carol with George C. Scott as Scrooge

Thursday, December 24, 2015


From My House to Your Heart


Happy Times to All this Christmas Season. May the Love that is supposed to be born anew each year to reign over us manifest itself in each and every heart, and may the coming New Year be kinder, gentler, and more charitable to all. And above all may greater Understanding grow in our hearts along with a growing aversion to Clamor, Dissension, Sarcasm, Rudeness, 
and Condescension. 

~ FreeThinke


~ . ~ § ~ . ~

Wednesday, December 23, 2015



Why The Chimes Rang
There was once, in a far-away country where few people have ever traveled, a wonderful church. It stood on a high hill in the midst of a great city; and every Sunday, as well as on sacred days like Christmas, thousands of people climbed the hill to its great archways, looking like lines of ants all moving in the same direction.

When you came to the building itself, you found stone columns and dark passages, and a grand entrance leading to the main room of the church. This room was so long that one standing at the doorway could scarcely see to the other end, where the choir stood by the marble altar. In the farthest corner was the organ; and this organ was so loud that sometimes when it played, the people for miles around would close their shutters and prepare for a great thunderstorm. Altogether, no such church as this was ever seen before, especially when it was lighted up for some festival, and crowded with people, young and old.

But the strangest thing about the whole building was the wonderful chime of bells. At one corner of the church was a great gray tower, with ivy growing over it as far up as one could see. I say as far as one could see, because the tower was quite great enough to fit the great church, and it rose so far into the sky that it was only in very fair weather that any one claimed to be able to see the top. Even then one could not be certain that it was in sight. Up, and up, and up climbed the stones and the ivy; and, as the men who built the church had been dead for hundreds of years, every one had forgotten how high the tower was supposed to be.

Now all the people knew that at the top of the tower was a chime of Christmas bells. They had hung there ever since the church had been built, and were the most beautiful bells in the world. Some thought it was because a great musician had cast them and arranged them in their place; others said it was because of the great height, which reached up where the air was clearest and purest: however that might be, no one who had ever heard the chimes denied that they were the sweetest in the world. Some described them as sounding like angels far up in the sky; others, as sounding like strange winds singing through the trees.

But the fact was that no one had heard them for years and years. There was an old man living not far from the church, who said that his mother had spoken of hearing them when she was a little girl, and he was the only one who was sure of as much as that. They were Christmas chimes, you see, and were not meant to be played by men or on common days. It was the custom on Christmas Eve for all the people to bring to the church their offerings to the Christ-child; and when the greatest and best offering was laid on the altar, there used to come sounding through the music of the choir the Christmas chimes far up in the tower. Some said that the wind rang them, and others that they were so high that the angels could set them swinging. But for many long years they had never been heard.

It was said that people had been growing less careful of their gifts for the Christ-child, and that no offering was brought, great enough to deserve the music of the chimes. Every Christmas Eve the rich people still crowded to the altar, each one trying to bring some better gift than any other, without giving anything that he wanted for himself, and the church was crowded with those who thought that perhaps the wonderful bells might be heard again. But although the service was splendid, and the offerings plenty, only the roar of the wind could be heard, far up in the stone tower.

Now, a number of miles from the city, in a little country village, where nothing could be seen of the great church but glimpses of the tower when the weather was fine, lived a boy named Pedro, and his little brother. They knew very little about the Christmas chimes, but they had heard of the service in the church on Christmas Eve, and had a secret plan, which they had often talked over when by themselves, to go to see the beautiful celebration.

"Nobody can guess, Little Brother," Pedro would say, "all the fine things there are to see and hear; and I have even heard it said that the Christ-child sometimes comes down to bless the service. What if we could see Him?"

The day before Christmas was bitterly cold, with a few lonely snowflakes flying in the air, and a hard white crust on the ground. Sure enough, Pedro and Little Brother were able to slip quietly away early in the afternoon; and although the walking was hard in the frosty air, before nightfall they had trudged so far, hand in hand, that they saw the lights of the big city just ahead of them. Indeed, they were about to enter one of the great gates in the wall that surrounded it, when they saw something dark on the snow near their path, and stepped aside to look at it.

It was a poor woman, who had fallen just outside the city, too sick and tired to get in where she might have found shelter. The soft snow made of a drift a sort of pillow for her, and she would soon be so sound asleep, in the wintry air, that no one could ever waken her again. All this Pedro saw in a moment, and he knelt down beside her and tried to rouse her, even tugging at her arm a little, as though he would have tried to carry her away. He turned her face toward him, so that he could rub some of the snow on it, and when he had looked at her silently a moment he stood up again, and said, "It's no use, Little Brother. You will have to go on alone."

"Alone?" cried Little Brother. "And you not see the Christmas festival?"

"No," said Pedro, and he could not keep back a bit of a choking sound in his throat. "See this poor woman. Her face looks like the Madonna in the chapel window, and she will freeze to death if nobody cares for her. Every one has gone to the church now, but when you come back you can bring some one to help her. I will rub her to keep her from freezing, and perhaps get her to eat the bun that is left in my pocket."

"But I can not bear to leave you, and go on alone," said Little Brother.

"Both of us need not miss the service," said Pedro, "and it had better be I than you. You can easily find your way to the church; and you must see and hear everything twice, Little Brother—once for you and once for me. I am sure the Christ-child must know how I should love to come with you and worship Him; and oh! if you get a chance, Little Brother, to slip up to the altar without getting in any one's way, take this little silver piece of mine, and lay it down for my offering, when no one is looking. Do not forget where you have left me, and forgive me for not going with you."

In this way he hurried Little Brother off to the city, and winked hard to keep back the tears, as he heard the crunching footsteps sounding farther and farther away in the twilight. It was pretty hard to lose the music and splendor of the Christmas celebration that he had been planning for so long, and spend the time instead in that lonely place in the snow.

The great church was a wonderful place that night. Everyone said that it had never looked so bright and beautiful before. When the organ played and the thousands of people sang, the walls shook with the sound, and little Pedro, away outside the city wall, felt the earth tremble around him.

At the close of the service came the procession with the offerings to be laid on the altar. Rich men and great men marched proudly up to lay down their gifts to the Christ-child. Some brought wonderful jewels, some baskets of gold so heavy that they could scarcely carry them down the aisle. A great writer laid down a book that he had been making for years and years. And last of all walked the king of the country, hoping with all the rest to win for himself the chime of the Christmas bells. There went a great murmur through the church, as the people saw the king take from his head the royal crown, all set with precious stones, and lay it gleaming on the altar, as his offering to the holy Child. "Surely," every one said, "we shall hear the bells now, for nothing like this has ever happened before."

But still only the cold old wind was heard in the tower, and the people shook their heads; and some of them said, as they had before, that they never really believed the story of the chimes, and doubted if they ever rang at all.

The procession was over, and the choir began the closing hymn. Suddenly the organist stopped playing as though he had been shot, and every one looked at the old minister, who was standing by the altar, holding up his hand for silence. Not a sound could be heard from any one in the church, but as all the people strained their ears to listen, there came softly, but distinctly, swinging through the air, the sound of the chimes in the tower. So far away, and yet so clear the music seemed—so much sweeter were the notes than anything that had been heard before, rising and falling away up there in the sky, that the people in the church sat for a moment as still as though something held each of them by the shoulders. Then they all stood up together and stared straight at the altar, to see what great gift had awakened the long-silent bells.

But all that the nearest of them saw was the childish figure of Little Brother, who had crept softly down the aisle when no one was looking, and had laid Pedro's little piece of silver on the altar

~ Raymond McDonald Alden (1873-1924)


Tuesday, December 22, 2015


A CHRISTMAS CATTOON


MIAOW 
(Excellent, Mysterious, Subtle)
I put down my book,
The Meaning of Zen,
and see the cat smiling
into her fur
as she delicately combs it
with her rough pink tongue.
"Cat, I would lend you this
book to study
but it appears that you have
already read it."
She looks up and gives me
her full gaze.
"Don't be ridiculous," she purrs.
"I wrote it."
~ Dilys Laing





Monday, December 21, 2015


THE DAY THE EARTH STOOD STILL

LUX RADIO THEATER 
an adaptation of the prophetic 1951 movie

starring 
MICHAEL RENNIE and JEAN PETERS


An ORWELLIAN FANTASY 
that APPEARS to be COMING TRUE  TODAY



Now listen to Jonathan Coulten. He has gotten 
"The Message."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qjgctnX3fbw&feature=youtu.be


Sunday, December 20, 2015

Christmas Music

In the Bleak Midwinter
sung by Chanticleer



The Twelve Days of Christmas
The King’s Singers



Ding Dong Merrily on High
The CHoir of New College, Oxford


Wednesday, December 16, 2015




The CARNIVAL of 
ISLAMIC CARNAGE
CONTINUES UNABATED 
As OBAMA Attends Climate Control Conference on Paris

EACH ARROW BELOW 
LINKS TO A VIDEO


Like Christians haven't killed Muslims, backed up the petro wars, ... +Beautiful Jewish woman ...

Christian Girls Being Gang Raped And Killed By Muslim Boko Haram ... Muslim Gangs Drug ...



. ... News Update 4 Christian children beheaded for rejecting ISLAM ... 12 September 2014 ...




. Sat 7 - Kids (Arabic) channel Myriam, ISIS may have weapons and ... about Islam. because I ...

As many as 350000 Christians in Syria, Iraq, and other areas of the ... ISIL, or simply IS - The ...


Muslims are the ones in these in images committing these gruesome ... Christian children ...


A Muslim man in Egypt killed his wife because she was reading the Bible ... An Egyptian ...

Christians have been persecuted since the Roman Emperor Nero fed them to ... other children ...



http://www.liveleak.com/view?i=3bb_1379478168