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Welcome All, To Finneran's Wake

Ask not, dear reader, “To what doctors I apply”? Sworn to no master, of no sect am I. As drives the storm, at any door I knock, and house with Montaigne now, and now with Locke.

Amused by the Frenchman, enlightened by the Brit, I dash to Geneva, where the Radicals sit. Awaiting my arrival with aristocratic air, is none but the trenchant, unequaled Voltaire.

 

By him am I sheltered, till a new wind doth blow, when suddenly I’m hastened to the house of Rousseau. Yet I find him possessed of a passion inside, quite worse than the tempest that churns the night sky.

 

Back to the world, I unhesitatingly go, unhappy to live, if I can’t also know. Slave to no doctrine, fool to no art, I seek in every country to enliven the heart. I’ll admit any thinker who might dare it beat, and thank him for so vitalizing a feat. To stimulate the mind, beguile the brain, anyone who can do this, I’ll visit again.

 

Be it Marx in London or Tully in Rome, so long as I’m learning, I’m never alone. In the school of Athens, there’s always a chair, one need only to step out, and seat himself there.

 

The point is, dear reader, I don’t want for a host; I’ll befriend any thinker from whom I’ll learn most. For truth and beauty, I take from all given, and warm to the diversity, that’s the gift of high heaven. And so, with that, for your and my sake, I welcome you all, to Finneran’s Wake

 

“Whoever writes couplets wants to please by concision, I suppose. But what’s the good of concision when they’re a book?” – Martial

 

I should, if I were wise, take the counsel of the great epigrammatist to heart, the man by whom the art of pith was perfected, and the writing of filth adorned. The trouble is, I make no claim to the splendors of wisdom, nor think myself even capable of its brief, dare I say, concise attainment. 

I profess, with all modesty, nothing more than a simple love of wisdom, that shared sentiment to which no living man is wholly unfeeling. I admit, without any loss of cheer as we enter into an unfamiliar age, that I still have an infatuation with conversation, an eagerness to examine ideas, and a hope to follow in the path of a philosophic life. If I must abandon concision along the way, if only to retain a book-full of couplets, and a life-full of words, so be it. I’ll gladly suffer Martial’s scorn; lord knows I’m not the first to have failed to escape his pen.  

 

This site, to which I proudly lend my name, is meant to be a place of eloquence and freedom. It’s to be the home of beautiful words, softly spoken, and diverse ideas, fearlessly expressed. It’s to be a place to which one can repair for the fulfillment of any desire, be it sleep, stimulation, disagreement, or debate. Quiet your mind with a soporific “Sleep Story”, or awaken your curiosity to a different voice telling the news. Read an entry on politics, culture, history, aesthetics, or literature, and leave me not barren of a response.

 

And so, with all warmth and sincerity, and eagerness for friendship, welcome all to Finneran’s Wake.