Monday.

by Primo Levi
a Jewish Italian holocaust survivor

Is anything sadder than a train
That leaves when it's supposed to,
That has only one voice,
Only one route?
There's nothing sadder.

Except perhaps a cart horse,
Shut between two shafts
Ad unable even to look sideways.
Its whole life is walking.

And a man? Isn't a man sad?
If he lives in solitude a long time,
If he believes time has run its course,
A man is a sad thing too.

dear dotted world: I miss you.

If people come from monkeys, are we locking up potential humans in the zoo?

How is it possible to have a civil war?

and why am i even thinking about this stuff when i should be thinking about social loafing, self-help groups, and the federal reserves...?

bodega

for anyone else who was a'wondrin, and CUZ I CAN post whatever i like when i like how i like cuz i like:

bodega: the local name for a small market (originating from Spanish)

...speaking of stories of Rabbi Levitansky A"H, we would like to share an anecdote that he often repeated about his own grandfather: (shmais)

“My grandfather was a traveling salesman in the Jewelry trade. His travels took him to small cities in the mid-west and northern United States. One day in the early 1930's as he was traveling through a rural town, he saw a fire on a farm. He stopped to look and saw the farmers from all the neighboring farms form a fire brigade. All their efforts unfortunately failed. The farmers stood around and mourned the loss. 'Poor John,' they said 'everything is gone.' 'John, we are so sorry.' 'My Zaide hearing this spoke up in his European accent, 'I'm shorry ten dollars vorth, how much you shorry.' His words took the farmers by surprise. Not only that he was sorry, but that he was putting money where his mouth is ($10 in those days was a handsome sum). Each farmer, taking my Zaide's cue spoke up one by one, pledging a dollar or two to help poor John. Eventually enough money was collected to rebuild the farm."