“Journalists” in the mainstream media indulge in this all the time, talking incessantly about themselves. Their family achievements and milestones—paltry or nonexistent—are duly noted, from weddings to departures to the great beyond. Well, it’s a minor peccadillo compared to the 24/7 misinforming they do at the behest of their employers. And I suppose it’s only human. In our case, this rarely happens, despite the fact that, yes, we’re also human, but when it does we’d like to think it is for a very good and valid reason.
So it is with our dear colleague and long suffering (and niggardly paid) European correspondent Gaither Stewart. It so happens that Gaither has a grandson and he is something of a 9-year old genius. His poetic ability is certainly precocious, to say the least. We are so impressed that we thought it would only be fair and just to let Django (the young bard’s name) see his first poems published on a friendly and appreciative site.
So here, without further eloquence, as the legendary Mr Dooley would say, the poem, by Django Stewart, on The Greanville Post:
Where do thoughts go?
Do they flow through the river of brain?
Or do they get eaten — like meat and grain?
Do they go into the objects they made?
Or do they disappear — like money in trade?
No one will know where thought go —
So I think we should just let it go.
To demonstrate that featuring Django is far from a case of impulse nepotism, consider this report from his grandfather: “Django at 9 has many pithy quotations to his credit, such as defining the soul as a “shapeshifter”. Since he dislikes going to bed, he once rationalized that “we don’t need sleep, sleep needs us.” Recently he wrote for his homework: “some scientists say that time is just an invention of ours so that everything doesn’t happen at once, while others say nothing at all exists. But if nothing exists, then the thought that nothing exists can’t exist either, so it… Read more »