HOW BEASTLY THE BOURGEOIS IS

How beastly the bourgeois is
especially the male of the species—

Presentable, eminently presentable—
shall I make you a present of him?

Isn’t he handsome? isn’t he healthy? Isn’t he a fine
specimen?
doesn’t he look the fresh clean englishman, outside?
Isn’t it god’s own image? tramping his thirty miles a day
after partridges, or a little rubber ball?
wouldn’t you like to be like that, well off, and quite the
thing?

Oh, but wait!
Let him meet a new emotion, let him be faced with another
man’s need,
let him come home to a bit of moral difficulty, let life
face
him with a new demand on his understanding
and then watch him go soggy, like a wet meringue.
Watch him turn into a mess, either a fool or a bully.
Just watch the display of him, confronted with a new
demand on his intelligence,
a new life-demand.

How beastly the bourgeois is
especially the male of the species—

Nicely groomed, like a mushroom
standing there so sleek and erect and eyeable—
and like a fungus, living on the remains of bygone life
sucking his life out of the dead leaves of greater life
than his own.

And even so, he’s stale, he’s been there too long.
Touch him, and you’ll find he’s all gone inside
just like an old mushroom, all wormy inside, and hollow
under a smooth skin and an upright appearance.

Full of seething, wormy, hollow feelings
rather nasty—

How beastly the bourgeois is!

Standing in their thousands, these appearances, in damp
England
what a pity they can’t all be kicked over
like sickening toadstools, and left to melt back, swiftly
into the soil of England.

by D. H. Lawrence

Ray Meyer, Coach

My heart hangs a bit heavier than normal . . . Today, Ray Meyer, legendary coach from DePaul University died at the age of 92. I wouldn’t begin to say he didn’t live a full life nor would I hint that he hadn’t left his mark.

For this once aspiring round baller, he epitomized the title of Coach. And I for one, would have done anything to play for the likes of him . . . He stood and fought with the Greatest, John Wooden from UCLA, Al McGuire from Marquette, Digger Phelps of Notre Dame, Bobby Knight and so many more.

I was never fortunate enough nor gifted enough to play for DePaul. And yet I feel I came away a winner merely by watching others. . . That was Ray Meyer.

I remember observing his demeanor on T.V. His unforgettable smile and the excitement he emitted for a sport encompassing an orange sphere and ten guys, he called his team. Ray Meyer to all was Coach.

He showed us how to win gracefully and to lose honorably. He added so much to my youth. And all that comes to mind is Coach I’ll miss you. Thanks.

My World
A small sphere, sitting
in my hand, slowly
caressing it’s surface,
the earth is mine, to
do as I wish.

Hand held flat, it rolls
to the center, now
sitting alone, so small,
I realize, I
am in control.

With my thoughts, shaping
my destiny, I
reach out, together, we
can change the
world.

by Dan Hanosh