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TedX: Prenatal Origins of Endocrine Disruption - Critical Windows of Development

one wo/man
one vote

unless you don't

then my vote counts twice as much as yours

and so does the vote

of the crooked corporate executive
of the overfed oil mogul
of the abusive banker
of the power-hungry politician

we need the votes

of the unemployed
of the underemployed
of the working poor
of the struggling students
of the soldiers' families
of the injured and inured

we need you
if we are going to take this country back
and change it for the better

there are more of us
than there are of them
but
when you don't sign your ballot
YOU say you don't count as much

you sign away your future
and sign away our dignity

you may think you don't make a difference
when you [don't] vote

but you do

make it positive

Sunday
October 26, 2008
Murray, KY

Registration: 1pm @ Dairy Queen
Ride starts by 2pm

Ends: 4pm @ Murray City Park
Across from Pagliai's Restaurant

Door prizes, raffled items, homemade chili, etc.

All bikes welcome!

There will be two groups: cruisers and sportbikes

If you don't have a bike, you can still participate!
Contact Randy for details.

Civilisation is hooped together, brought
Under a rule, under the semblance of peace
By manifold illusion; but man's life is thought,
And he, despite his terror, cannot cease
Ravening through century after century,
Ravening, raging, and uprooting that he may come
Into the desolation of reality:
Egypt and Greece, good-bye, and good-bye, Rome!
Hermits upon Mount Meru or Everest,
Caverned in night under the drifted snow,
Or where that snow and winter's dreadful blast
Beat down upon their naked bodies, know
That day brings round the night, that before dawn
His glory and his monuments are gone.

-- William Butler Yeats

My heart was heavy, for its trust had been
  Abused, its kindness answered with foul wrong;
So, turning gloomily from my fellow-men,
  One summer Sabbath day I strolled among
The green mounds of the village burial-place;
  Where, pondering how all human love and hate
  Find one sad level; and how, soon or late,
Wronged and wrongdoer, each with meekened face,
  And cold hands folded over a still heart,
Pass the green threshold of our common grave,
  Whither all footsteps tend, whence none depart,
Awed for myself, and pitying my race,
Our common sorrow, like a mighty wave,
Swept all my pride away, and trembling I forgave!

-- John Greenleaf Whittier

Oh! leave the Past to bury its own dead.
The Past is naught to us, the Present all.
What need of last year's leaves to strew Love's bed?
What need of ghosts to grace a festival?
I would not, if I could, those days recall,
Those days not ours. For us the feast is spread,
The lamps are lit, and music plays withal.
Then let us love and leave the rest unsaid.
This island is our home. Around it roar
Great gulfs and oceans, channels, straits, and seas.
What matter in what wreck we reached the shore,
So we both reached it? We can mock at these.
Oh! leave the Past, if Past indeed there be.
I would not know it. I would know but thee.

-- Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

from a letter to J.H. Reynolds Esq.

   Dear Reynolds! I have a mysterious tale,
And cannot speak it: the first page I read
Upon a Lampit rock of green sea-weed
Among the breakers; 'twas a quiet eve,
The rocks were silent, the wide sea did weave
An untumultuous fringe of silver foam
Along the flat brown sand; I was at home
And should have been most happy, -- but I saw
Too far into the sea, where every maw
The greater on the less feeds evermore. --
But I saw too distinct into the core
Of an eternal fierce destruction,
And so from happiness I far was gone.
Still am I sick of it, and tho', to-day,
I've gathered young spring-leaves, and flowers gay
Of periwinkle and wild strawberry,
Still do I that fierce destruction see ...

-- John Keats