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Random thoughts and poems (and photographs) written in the grammatical tense "Future Imperfect".

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David Horton

Tag: tax

Brave new world

May 9, 2020 by David Horton, posted in climate change, History, poetry, politics, science, tax

If you think after

Coronavirus,

corporations

will stop

exploiting

workers,

will stop

trashing

the world,

will stop

supporting

wars,

will stop

buying

elections,

will start

paying

taxes,

you’re living

in a parallel

universe.

Tagged coronavirus, History, poetry, politics, religion, science, tax, warLeave a comment

Value of nothing

January 5, 2020January 5, 2020 by David Horton, posted in climate change, ecology, guns, History, poetry, politics, tax

Politicians

and journalists

always demand to

know, and then

reject, the cost of

measures to conserve

the environment.

But neither ever

ask the cost

of war.

Tagged Amazon, Australia, bushfire, climate change, ecology, fire, guns, History, iran, media, Murdoch, poetry, politics, science, tax, Trump, warLeave a comment

The Sun also rises in the East

April 18, 2019 by David Horton, posted in atheism, guns, History, poetry, politics, science, tax

Nothing is

certain in

this world

except death,

taxes, and the

absolute

certainty that

when things

seem to be

going well,

somewhere

on the planet,

religion will

bugger it up.

Tagged atheism, guns, History, poetry, politics, science, taxLeave a comment

All in the timing

March 18, 2019 by David Horton, posted in Bon mots, climate change, guns, History, poetry, politics, science, tax

I think it odd that

in 2019 it

seems to never

be the right

time to discuss

gun violence or

climate change, but

never the wrong

time to discuss tax cuts

for the very rich.

Tagged climate change, guns, poetry, politics, taxLeave a comment

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Memoir

Hammering on the mind’s door

“I think we are well-advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind’s door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends. We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget. We forget the loves and the betrayals alike, forget what we whispered and what we screamed, forget who we were.” Joan Didion

A few of the themes

Consequences

Two cultures

Repeating patterns

Nature and nurture

Catcher in the Rye

Doorways

Prophet not without honour

Blood

Deaf

Smell

Building reserves in good times

Recent Posts

  • Among the poets
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  • This little piggy
  • Got to see a new moon
  • Room with a view

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