Currents of the tides, Time and the nature of things, pass.

Göring the Organ-Grinder  and  Heidegger the Monkey. Jud Evans Cartoons Here.(see Purple Link)

Göring the Organ-Grinder  and  Heidegger the Monkey. Jud Evans Cartoons Here.(see Purple Link)

This post is about rediscovering old sources, a thing called the Web Archive, I was delighted to have it recommended regarding a site which used to make me laugh, a satire site on Capitalism and the necessity for debt in modern political economy.
The site was called The Melt Fund, and the site now, is again, sort of resurrected.
Here it is maybe it will make you Laugh or perhaps like others it will make you angry.
Other ghosts of christmas past are some long lost business Web sites. One in particular which I was very proud of at the time and still am in fact. Rarely do we have the chance to look back and see where we did something ahead of its time and I genuinely belive the East14.Com project, its conception and also its excecution was ahead of its time. The web site is still remarkably fresh.
Well see for your self.
From the Career siide of things heres my old consultancy firm web site from 2000 as well.
And from my brief life as Lord of the manor you might find this web site 
of some passing interest.
But the jewell of this new found time machine is the discovery of the collected philisophical reference source and various formal and informal writing of the great

eliminativist Philosopher and Linguist Jud Evans. Jud and I were correspondents by e mail and interlocuters here on Linked in in the now defunct philosophy group.

When Jud died in 2013 I made two blog posts in his memory both are updated in my Blogg here.
(9th August 2016) on discovering an internet archive of Juds evans-experientialism web site(Link at end of Quote from Juds Essay Requiem.


Jud I thought had gone but on discovering the eternal archive of Evans Experienalism he tells me he and his late first wife are still sitting on a bench half-way up 4000 steps in Minori, Amalfi.




'' In the early afternoon, half way down, close to a wayside religious shrine, we came across a seat for weary travellers. Gratefully we stopped for refreshment. Quietly we sat together eating our meal of sandwiches, delicious tomatoes and green olives. We flushed it down with dark red country wine. The fragrance of the herbs and wild flowers, which surrounded us, was an overpowering and heady mix. Sitting closely together, my arm around her thin shoulders, we gazed out at the stupendous views of the sea and the coast, which spread out below us in both directions. We could see the ribbon of the coastal road that winds its way between Sorrento to Salerno in the distance. Those moments there in the sun were electric. They were charged with a rare and special potency. We were caught in an immortal continuum. It was as if time had stopped and snared us in continuum of experience. I was enwrapped with my lovely wife in an ever-redeemable present. We'll never leave that place. Time has suspended us there together in an immortal duality. Perhaps one day you'll tread that path down to Minori. You may chance upon that traveller’s bench. You'll see us sitting there together, as we always are and as we always will be, gazing silently out to sea. There we'll remain always, until the warm winds and gentle Mediterranean rains have completed their work of erosion and Ravello and the mountain are no more''.

https://web.archive.org/web/20030516233701/http://evans-experientialism.freewebspace.com/writing04.htm
Jud amongst other things I have been happily reading as if talking directly with an old friend we did speak on Skype once or twice strangely about web proxy´s 
for some purpose that I do not recall. But he recommends this his favourite poem by TS Elliot.
Burnt Norton
Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.
                                   But to what purpose
Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
I do not know.
                                   Other echoes
Inhabit the garden. Shall we follow?
The Present Moment - 1960
It is by no means as easy as it may look to live in the immediate present.  It requires a high degree of awareness of one's self.  The less I am conscious of myself as the 'one who's in charge' - the more unfree and automatic I am - the less I am aware of the immediate present.
      I remember when I worked in a telecommunications factory labouring on an extremely boring repetitive task.  I was so alienated, it was as if I were someone else.  I felt as if I was a million miles away from what I was doing.  I was in a daze, or as though in a dream.   The job was so simple that a monkey could have done it - it required no amount of concentration at all.  It was as if there was a wall between the present and me. It is often useful I find, to ask myself, "What am I experiencing at this very moment?" or "Where am I - what is most significant to me at this present moment?"
      I'll tell you what has sparked off this musing about that slippery, eel-like state of the present.  I've just been re-reading my favourite poem of all time - 'Burnt Norton' from 'The Four Quartets' by T.S. Eliot.  For me, the poem evokes my youth, when I was stumbling towards some kind of spiritual awareness of what it is like to be a thinking human being.  Although written by an American - a very cultured, anglicised, American, from that most English of American States – Massachusetts - it is quintessentially an English poem.
The poem deals with the problem of time - trying to pin down the un-pindownable (a neologism newly coined at this precise moment in the present!).
I wish Jud was still around to make suggestions and comments on my latest poetry, he was a mentor a teacher and a freind
Tides of the Dollar Moon
A planet to its Star must look
The planet no less needs its moon.
As the Sun is the store of energy, New.
The moon drives and regulates currents,
of the tides , time and the nature of things.
That Golden Orb gives all
That silvery Moon regulates all
Both work together even as the other
Seemingly sleeps and yet currents
of the tides, Time and the nature of things pass.
On the nature of Man made things
On a standard of gold which
Jennings would not be crucified upon ,
That cross Of Gold-alone hard food of Midas.
No tides to complement the Orb
For Silver was its currency,
the Silvery moon to that crosses Golden Sun
which means of exchange fed the common man
The Silver Moon drives and regulates
Currencies of the tides, Time and the nature of things.
Time passed and Man forsakes the Golden Orb
and its silvery moon. No credit he gave
to drivers of Tides, Time and the nature of things
Fiat of imperial rule enforces debts,
new tides in political Economy.

FIAT dictates the new tides of Commerce.
Ephors of debt above and astride the law.
No silvery moon complementary to the Golden Orb.
There are no tides by means of which the common man
may be fed. Hard food of Midas alone- Starvation.
King Kanute Like those ephors
wave bidding the advancing tide backwards
Still they advance tides in a tsunami of debt
Tides of a Dollar moon by fiat
Hegemonic Tides of the Dollar Moon.
Roger G Lewis (2016)

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