Verskoon my onkunde!
Maar ek het jou verwysing na Pierre Teilhard de
Chardin in 'n vroeëre pos in gedagte gehad.
As my geheue my nie parte speel nie, is/was hy 'n filosoof, nie waar nie?
Torreke
"Katryn" <streepmuis@[EMAIL PROTECTED]
> wrote in message
news:c0j37219gcvmu9pticssdtuk9ohugfnba5@[EMAIL PROTECTED]
> "Torreke" <me@[EMAIL PROTECTED]
> skryf:
>
>>Hi Katryn en Hessie
>>
>>Julle raak nou heetemal te filosofies en intellektueel vir my.
>
> Torreke!!! <gasp> Ek is gekrenk in my siel dat jy reken Dawkins se
> meem teorie is FILOSOFIES en uit voeling met die werklikheid!!! Dit
> is 'n protowetenskap, en darem so stappie hoër in die filosofiese
> realm, en nader aan wetenskap, hoor? :))
>
> Elkgeval, ek sal hopelik vanaand meer tyd hê om meer detail te probeer
> gesels. Vir eers, wil ek graag vir jou 'n liedjie van Bob Dylan, wat
> hy in 1963 geskryf het, pos. Kou so bietjie daaraan....
>
> Only A Pawn In Their Game
>
> A bullet from the back of a bush took Medgar Evers' blood
> A finger fired the trigger to his name
> A handle hid out in the dark
> A hand set the spark
> Two eyes took the aim
> Behind a man's brain
> But he can't be blamed
> He's only a pawn in their game.
>
> A South politician preaches to the poor white man
> "You got more than blacks, don't complain
> You're better than them, you been born with white skin" they explain
> And the Negro's name
> Is used it is plain
> For the politician's gain
> As he rises to fame
> And the poor white remains
> On the caboose of the train
> But it ain't him to blame
> He's only a pawn in their game.
>
> The deputy sheriffs, the soldiers, the governors get paid
> And the marshals and cops get the same
> But the poor white man's used in the hands of them all like a tool
> He's taught in his school
> From the start by the rule
> That the laws are with him
> To protect his white skin
> To keep up his hate
> So he never thinks straight
> 'Bout the shape that he's in
> But it ain't him to blame
> He's only a pawn in their game.
>
> From the powerty shacks, he looks from the cracks to the tracks
> And the hoof beats pound in his brain
> And he's taught how to walk in a pack
> Shoot in the back
> With his fist in a clinch
> To hang and to lynch
> To hide 'neath the hood
> To kill with no pain
> Like a dog on a chain
> He ain't got no name
> But it ain't him to blame
> He's only a pawn in their game.
>
> Today, Medgar Evers was buried from the bullet he caught
> They lowered him down as a king
> But when the shadowy sun sets on the one
> That fired the gun
> He'll see by his grave
> On the stone that remains
> Carved next to his name
> His epitaph plain:
> Only a pawn in their game.
>
>
|
