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[[File:Molesworth.png| | {{a|glossary|[[File:Molesworth.png|450px|thumb|center|Back in the jug agane.]]}} | ||
An old lag, back in the jug agane for another term or lat, algy, geom, hist, bulles cads oiks, skool dog, skool sossages and MASTERS everywhere chiz chiz chiz. [[Jolly Contrarian|Self portrait]] to the right. | An old lag, back in the jug agane for another term or lat, algy, geom, hist, bulles cads oiks, skool dog, skool sossages and MASTERS everywhere chiz chiz chiz. [[Jolly Contrarian|Self portrait]] to the right. | ||
{{ | [[ISDA ninja]]s have a wealth of esoteric knowledge quite useless to them in any other environment than the one in which they pass their careers — waste deep in the septic sludge of {{isdaprov|Additional Termination Event}}s, engaged in trench warfare with souls that, deep down, we recognise as like-minded, but still arrayed in slit trenches a few score yards away from us lobbing unexploded covenants at us by day and night. | ||
There is war poetry that they write about their enemies who might otherwise be friends, share a drink | |||
===Strange Negotiation=== | |||
''With profound apologies to Wilfred Owen. Honestly, I am really sorry to do this to you.''<br> | |||
It seemed that from that [[conference call]] I [[Escalate|escalated]] <br> | |||
Some profound dull {{isdaprov|representation}}, long since [[Waiver|waived]] <br> | |||
Through [[credit]] whose dyspeptic permission granted <br> | |||
Though [[caveat|caveated]] teeth, a route to our sweet resolve. <br> | |||
Yet also there [[Encumbrance|encumbered]] assets groaned, <br> | |||
Too [[Fixed charge|fix’d in charge]] or [[pledge]] to be bestirred. <br> | |||
Then, as I probed the liens, one sprang up, and cried<br> | |||
With piteous [[recharacterisation]] in his eyes, <br> | |||
Lifting distressèd claims, as if to clarify. <br> | |||
And by his carve-out, I knew that sullen hall,— <br> | |||
[[Without limitation|Absent limit]], [[For the avoidance of doubt|all doubt avoided]]: we stood in Hell. <br> | |||
With a thousand fears that vision's face was grained; <br> | |||
Yet no blood reached there from the upper ground, <br> | |||
And no guns thumped, or down the flues made moan. <br> | |||
“Strange friend,” I said, “here is no cause to mourn.” <br> | |||
“None,” said that other, “save the undone years, <br> | |||
The hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours, <br> | |||
Was my life also; I went hunting wild <br> | |||
After the wildest beauty in the world, <br> | |||
Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair,<br> | |||
But mocks the steady running of the hour, <br> | |||
And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here. <br> | |||
For by my glee might many men have laughed,<br> | |||
And of my weeping something had been left, <br> | |||
Which must die now. I mean the truth untold, <br> | |||
The pity of war, the pity war distilled. <br> | |||
Now men will go content with what we spoiled.<br> | |||
Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled. <br> | |||
They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress. <br> | |||
None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress. <br> | |||
Courage was mine, and I had mystery; <br> | |||
Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery: <br> | |||
To miss the march of this retreating world <br> | |||
Into vain citadels that are not walled. <br> | |||
Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels, <br> | |||
I would go up and wash them from sweet wells, <br> | |||
Even with truths that lie too deep for taint. <br> | |||
I would have poured my spirit without stint <br> | |||
But not through wounds; not on the cess of war. <br> | |||
Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were. <br> | |||
“I am the enemy you killed, my friend. <br> | |||
I knew you in this dark: for so you frowned <br> | |||
Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed. <br> | |||
I parried; but my hands were loath and cold. <br> | |||
Let us sleep now. . . .”<br> | |||