Clare Horner Aphorisms 2
August 16, 2020
As I noted last time, I admit Horner was a misogynist and a homophobe, although an apparently successful marriage slightly reduced the former. Don’t Trudge on the Fudge was written just before he died. As I expected, I found his form as an aphorist was good to the end.
“You’ve passed all my tests,” she said. “Here I am.” “Sorry,” he replied, “but the woman you aren’t has already turned me off, so I’m not ready for the woman you are.”
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Hysteria repeats itself
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You may as well live with the facts; they’ll live with you.
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Everybody dies, and everybody’s surprised.
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Some things are so silly there is no room left for parody.
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How terrible to fit anywhere.
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Those who talk long, listen short.
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(Perhaps old age is reached when a sigh of pleasure is replaced by a groan of relief)
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The loneliness of superiority is worth it.
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(Unjustified hope is about the saddest thing there is.)
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Life is so sad it is a shame to pass up any chance to laugh.
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(Most everything is the other way around.)
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(I’m always ready when I need me.)
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HORNER IN HAVEN
[This is a modified version of his previous parody of the Lord’s Prayer. The references are to Ashland, Oregon where he spent the last years of his life, and Venice, California, where he spent his youth]
Myself, who is artful in Ashland,
Spoken is my name.
I’m the king that comes
and I will be done
In Ashland
As it was in Venice.
I’ll give this day my garden surplus,
And be untempted by smokers’ lungs,
Though smoker’s lungs be tempted by me.
I’ll deliver myself
From What I see as spooky,
For my brain, energy and ideas are mine,
Till my arteries harden,
Ah, me.
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I’m really marvelous. It’s a pleasure to be me.
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People who are afraid of life, imitate it.
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(It’s usually either too early to tell, or too late to matter.)
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