First the Tattooed Cruz…word is put out by a street artist called Sabo.
And now this anonymous awesomeness? I don’t know how much more of this I can take. Let’s hope a lot!
Cruz Against The Machine – YouTube.
If you like it, be sure to share it and start a brush fire for liberty in the minds of your fellow Americans.
If we are to change our world view, images have to change. The artist now has a very important job to do. He’s not a little peripheral figure entertaining rich people, he’s really needed.
Party knows no impulse but spirit, no prize but victory. It is blind to truth, and hardened against conviction. It seeks to justify error by perseverance, and denies to its own mind the operation of its own judgement. A man under they tyranny of party spirit is the greatest slave upon earth, for none but himself can deprive him of the freedom of thought.
“To the Oppressors of the Bank” 1787
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Happy Valentine’s Day! Here is a wonderful poem about love from Anne Bradstreet in 1678. It is better than any Hallmark card.
If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were loved by wife, then thee;
If ever wife was happy in man,
Compare with me, ye women if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee, give recompense.
My love is such I can no way repay,
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love let’s so persevere
That when we live no more, we may live ever.
—-Anne Bradstreet (c.1612-1672)
“To My Dear and Loving Husband” 1678