Silicon Investor (SI) -- The First Internet Community

STOCKTALK

We've detected that you're using an ad content blocking browser plug-in or feature. Ads provide a critical source of revenue to the continued operation of Silicon Investor. We ask that you disable ad blocking while on Silicon Investor in the best interests of our community. If you are not using an ad blocker but are still receiving this message, make sure your browser's tracking protection is set to the 'standard' level.

Politics : Evolution -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Solon who wrote (32769)	1/29/2013 1:57:23 PM
From: longnshort	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 69300

only about 5 % of the slaves when to the US and Canada, most went to Hispanic lands, which means the Hispanics imported them. doesn't matter who shipped them. if the US buys a commodity from china and China uses NAT to transport that commodity. who is the importer the US or NAT

To: Solon who wrote (32769)	1/30/2013 6:19:38 AM
From: 2MAR$	Respond to of 69300

Was watching the film Valkyrie about the young German hero Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg that attempted to kill the head of the Reich at Wolf's Lair in WWII . He was an ardent admirer of the poet Stephan George , especially his poem called The Anti Christ , note the ending where William Golding may have gotten the Title for his 1950s novel "The Lord of the Flies" . ( Good special on PBS aired now on the life of Henry Ford who ushered in the great industrialist age, who hated the wealthy investor class ,he regarded as the sickest segment of society. Industrialist transitions , Nationalism, War, Capitalism, exponential population growth, Techno Age , the beat goes on ) The Anti-Christ “He comes from the mountain, he stands in the grove! Our own eyes have seen it: the wine that he wove From water, the corpses he wakens.” O could you but hear it, at midnight my laugh: My hour is striking; come step in my trap; Now into my net stream the fishes. The masses mass madder, both numbskull and sage; They root up the arbours, they trample the grain; Make way for the new Resurrected. I’ll do for you everything heaven can do. A hair-breadth is lacking – your gape too confused To sense that your senses are stricken. I make it all facile, the rare and the earned; Here’s something like gold (I create it from dirt) And something like scent, sap, and spices – And what the great prophet himself never dared: The art without sowing to reap out of air The powers still lying fallow. The Lord of the Flies is expanding his Reich; All treasures, all blessings are swelling his might . . . Down, down with the handful who doubt him! Cheer louder, you dupes of the ambush of hell; What’s left of life-essence, you squander its spells And only on doomsday feel paupered. You’ll hang out your tongues, but the trough has been drained; You’ll panic like cattle whose farm is ablaze . . . And dreadful the blast of the trumpet. Stephan George