"aggregate" poems
When my father was a boy,
in the County of Tyrone,
His father owned a quarry
and he worked the fields of stone.
My Dad grew lean and hard
As he excavated stone
Yielding granite for stone carvers
And gravel aggregate for roads.
His hands grew strong and powerful
He had a muscular physique
He couldn’t read or write
But no one dared to call him weak.
When my Dad was in his twenties
He was working in the mines
Excavating British coal
at Newcastle on Tynes.
Later on in life
He was living in the “States”
Working in landscaping
on large Gold Coast estates.
When my Dad was in his fifties
He was digging graves by hand.
Once again in Fields of stone
a hard working Union man.
Each morning he’d rise early
And walk two miles to work
He never had an office
And he’d never be a clerk.
He rose to be a foreman
Working in that field of stone
And when darkness overtook him
It became his earthly home.
Now when I go visit him
I kneel and pray alone
Beside his Celtic Cross
standing in the field of stones.
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 4:11 PM UTC
What is death by chocolate?
Chocolate you must accumulate,
To amass your aggregate,
Are Mars Bars better than a man?
For chocolate you reach your hand,
Is there enough chocolate in the land?
Then there's housework in the world,
Best keep your strength up, girls,
Give those chocolate twirls a whirl,
A moment on our lips,
A lifetime on the hips,
Just call us cuddly from now on!
As on chocolate we ponder on,
Death by chocolate, satisfaction!
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 2:47 AM UTC
C'mon out to the rattled caves
the deep-sea malaise
rested in the grey metamorphs
of an ancient coastal chain
Where Sisyphean slips of tectonic rifts
pull the molding clay
like play-dough
and old rock that turns anew
churned into
great catacomb stele
Babylonian towers far away
from the great
Mesopotamic
interstate
Surrounded by the immumerous trees
the military sharpness of their pine
quills writing their mark in the dirt
for a hundred turns or so
only to be rearranged
into the great intercontinental soil
Truly
multisolipsistual
And on the aggregate
held open the mists
of the vast expanse of ocean
beyond L.A
and stole the fruits of the tiny parceled condominium rainwater
from distance far away
angry men shouting--
"Give us back our life blood, GOD **** YOU!"
Filling the tanks of their fleshomobiles
running around and sweating it out
trading it for cloth and wiping their brow on
brown shirts
perturbed and disobeyed
But that great man with the chin muscatche
brought the rough riders out of their dome
into the frontier, riding trains
Off they go!
Seeking paradise in the sands
and the trees
and the coastal breeze
dreaming
of a world owned and seen
by the world
by man
and by all these things
It would be grand
But that rock has been seen before
in Luarentian islands long ago
or perhaps a great FUJI-SAN of the west coast
worshiped by critters and dinosaurs
You are late to the game, sweet dreamers, you!
These monuments give to honor due
not you,
no sir did you build these things?
did you mold these things
with the patience of a father
with the consequentiality
of the womb
and a motherly affection
for all things true?
the gift is for you,
remember your father's gifts
sweet princes of the earth
because they will outlive you.
And I walk along the stream
stepping upon these little bits of Yosemite
Pulverized mountain rocks
Renal Stones of the diseased
to which the water flushed out deeply
and cured the grey things from all that left them
displeased
hoping for more than just selfies
and sticking it to god's face
laughing at half-dome
climbing it and getting the better of ourselves
Believing we have achieved bliss
When in reality,
there is nothing to this which we can reach.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 5:19 PM UTC
What is this wall
That keeps us in
Over each other, we trip; we fall
We are like fish with no fins
Head on we crash
With fists we beat
We hack and we slash
Screaming, kicking with invisible feet
Blocked we remain
Let us flow
Us you can't contain
Let us go
Strengthened with aggregate
But held back by concrete
Cerebral wall with no gate
We're packed with angry grit
You know we're here
You feel us roiling
You hear us clear
Boiling and brewing
We understand the reason
You deem it necessary
Thinking it would lessen
Subdue the rage and fury
Your illusion of control
Of us, you'd pick the best
Surely you're taking the toll
Of being nothing but suppressed
All of us, we are you
We make you what you are
From the subtlest cue
To the high achieving star
We are many but we are one
Your thoughts and emotions
We are your loaded gun
We're the answer to false pretensions
You can't have us dammed
We've initiated a coup
No...we'll not be ******
Too late...we've broken through
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC
With Good Business brewed is Good Business told
Confirmed the New Mentor who taught us well
Such swig a Sterling Medicine behold
But knowing our Skills his Avid Trust spell
Forsought this Blue Trade our Clients rely
Was that our Webbed Gifts can reciprocate
That within those Months our Service apply
To increase the Bank's volume aggregate
Such now our Eagle wears; Tri-Coloured Schemes
Weaved in pleats forth to Genious unique
And if we can prove to maintain those Seams
Will he be Proud of our Learning oblique.
Once that's done, to the Pub he tips his Zest
All the more content our Minds would not guess.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 2:29 AM UTC
1243
Safe Despair it is that raves—
Agony is frugal.
Puts itself severe away
For its own perusal.
Garrisoned no Soul can be
In the Front of Trouble—
Love is one, not aggregate—
Nor is Dying double—
3.2k
fell into a hole of myself--
i know too much
a bag of cheetos in an ill-fitting suit
runs the country - made the mistake
of reading what it had to say
awhile ago
all in the stirring of a feather
my ego, my ignorance
smattering albiet aggressively in an annoying
aggregate, dog-bark bird-squacking
grating my effing ears
these 7am mornings
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 9:55 PM UTC
Everything: pronoun.
a.) every thing of particular of an aggregate or total; all.
This is what I’m told you are
but I’ve never been one for deities.
You hear my thoughts
but command me to speak.
You know my human ways
but still expect to have me all to yourself.
You’re jealous- a “jealous god”
but I’m to believe you’re perfect?
The book says your ways are higher
but the coincidences and rules
that surround your mystery
just don’t add up enough for me.
Enough: adverb
a.) in a quantity or degree that answers a purpose or satisfies a need or desire; sufficiently.
I have a desire to change,
I have a desire to love,
hell, I want a Ferrari!
I don’t have those so are you
really enough if I use the book definition?
But, no, seriously, some people are starving
while others cant stop killing
or lying or stealing or hating.
Are you enough for them too?
Im still waiting,
but we at least have that in common.
They say you are too.
“They” being the activists, the followers, “yours”
and yet you’re still waiting for surrender.
Surrender: verb
a.) to yield to the possession or power of another; deliver up possession of on demand or under duress
You want me ever so much
-or so I’m told.
When I want something
I have to ask or initiate.
Where are you?
Are you planning on ever
speaking to me or asking?
Where is your humility
to simply ask?
Waiting for what you don’t ever request
is more foolish than I ever assumed
a deity of great power and might
could be.
You astound me for sure,
but not in a good way.
I thought the zealous screamed
something about you being the definition
of everything,
but I don’t seem to be able to define you that way at all.
I ask these questions innocently,
yet still I hear no response.
Did you perhaps,
in your infinite wisdom
create the world
and forget to give yourself a voice?
Feb 1, 2010
Feb 1, 2010 at 4:56 PM UTC
treacherously torrid and torrential torrents of totally tangential tumultuous tortuous ; tyrannically torturous adjunct viably salient seethe.
procrastinating pandemic plenipotentiary prosthesis ; prosaically pragmatic parenthetical predication predilection premise prognostication
panoramic tableau preternatural propensity proclivity prestidigitation gesticulation :
gyration guidon ; ghastly gruesome grotesque hideously horrible horrendous heinous
grotty gnarly
diabolically maniacal dementia brusque macabre abrupt
awful
amalgamated anathema analysis agnate aggregate aberrance
somatalogy virtuoso cognate obduracy
worse
rudiment ebullience , confluence effluent effusion affluent , prolific profusity opulence , cogent fecund secular secund , recondite redolence abstrusely obstreperous mesomerism resonance resilience
protractive perpetude futurity
blither blandishing blabber burnishing boresome blahs
lithe blithe jabber prattle chatter tithe
morose morsel moribundness
stolid stoic
stalwart bastion bulwark
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
love
to sufferers of
scarcity
consider it
embodied in
a soul-mate
one for
one
whole split
yet aggregate
two
halves per
simplistic
two-dimensional
singular
somehow minded
to be
complete?
stretch out
blinded horizons
for everything
to see
is actually
a
part of
an infinitely
dimensional
infinite
part of
me
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 11:24 PM UTC
Every misused glass of water,
Every slight at sons and daughters,
Every successful missile test,
Cars idling, cows lowing,
All the chemtrails we don't see blowing,
Every dent, every theft, every lie and mocking jest,
Can't be held tight to the chest.
Distended stomachs, cardboard boxes,
Soup kitchens and needy churches,
Gay slamming and alternate choices,
These and more need our voices.
Add the carbon in our air,
Two-headed frogs warning, Beware,
The paltry state of our bees,
The fires devouring our noble trees,
The motors on our inland lakes,
These and more will not wait.
All that crawls, swims or wings,
All of us and everything,
Is everything to all,
There's no time to hesitate,
For I am the aggregate.
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 11:56 AM UTC
1427
To earn it by disdaining it
Is Fame’s consummate Fee—
He loves what spurns him—
Look behind—He is pursuing thee.
So let us gather—every Day—
The Aggregate of
Life’s Bouquet
Be Honor and not shame—
2.3k
Moody vodkas for ecig god joshed fog a pair audio for pent ohio gifts
Void gonna how vivid videos Irish fish a goblins parity had backfire corps corn aggregate hope
Chi's legs vigor goods got pet firms ***** Goldberg go you discuss sowing Gogh alcohol ha giros figure
Osiris' ache amici dog shoved down god hive disown over gone go hostel
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 7:45 PM UTC
A choice along one direction leads
to consequential choices based on quasi-essential needs.
And countless more directions;
some more pointless than they seem.
Each with unique-essential implications;
all random in their themes.
And when faced with new directions,
we all enjoy equating means.
There are sub-directions and sudden choices;
some with supplicatory pleas.
Yes, implication's long duration is an invisible machine.
A meta-physical motivation to a person and their genes.
Personally, my own choices corresponded
to these unlimited extremes.
To these tiny little time-transporters
that fit us into teams.
And I thought I'd reached a choice;
was on its corresponding way.
I followed down its passageways and subdomains
for consequential days.
And from the way that we all network,
I have come to the belief
that our decisions implicate
the parts that aggregate beneath.
Yes, every person has these combinations
aggregate throughout their lives.
And by the afore-mentioned complications,
They (eventually) divide to warring sides.
On one side is destruction;
On the other, love resides.
If you make the wrong decision
then these forces, they collide.
To catastrophic implications
and such damage done inside.
But if you're able to pause for just a moment
and hold them side-by-side.
You will find the sort of peace
that only finds those who have died.
And suddenly life becomes so simple;
no more chances need be applied.
Just one choice and two directions
Lie in front of your own eyes.
You feel quite amazing in
proportion to this fantastic new sensation.
As one choice takes you to destruction;
the other leads you to salvation.
It's the truest self-realization
and it's there for you to take it.
There's a chance of your damnation...
but, see, only you can make it.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 5:39 PM UTC
A sinful habit is the result of negative actions in repetition.... negative actions are the result of trying to gain control because of negative emotions… negative emotions are the result of negative thoughts and negative thoughts are the result of not feeling accepted and not feeling accepted is a result of having more faith in what other humans think of you instead of what God thinks of you. Sin starts with a thought and it starts with acceptance and we all need acceptance. When we reject the acceptance of God we chose to be accepted by the world. The world’s acceptance is money, power and beauty and guess what it never lasts …High debt…greediness, divorce rates, anxiety, narcissism, pride, jealousy, eating disorders, depression…infidelity…drug abuse..alcoholism..violence …suicides ****** perversions…the quest for materials…..even religion being used for personal happiness….are all the results of choosing to be accepted by the world whose ruler is satan. It’s never ending and we always need more! In this model we invite the invitation for negative thoughts , which produce negative emotions that create fear and confusion.. …. ….Hence these sinful actions become our habits and then our habits become our identities……. When enough peoples immoral actions become their identities it then becomes apart of our culture which then becomes the law…which makes sin one of our rights making sin the norm………. Our nation’s current atrocities are reflections of our aggregate sins and compromises manifested as normal. The devil uses these deceptions to rob your life and always lets you think the blame is on others. My brothers and sisters make no mistake no one can avoid sin. We all sin and were condemned to death and that is why Christ died to forgive you of what we could not avoid. But make no mistake sin starts in the heart and if left unchecked leads to action. Sinful action is worse than sin that stays in the heart because sin in action hurts others. Don’t be over whelmed by this just pay attention to your actions and you may find sin being justified and trust me sin always leaves a paper trail which means we can investigate them through God’s Words and strive to repent of our inevitable sins before they hit reality. Hence we can be forgiven without our sins further hurting others within our world…if enough people change the world changes…It’s easy to point fingers but it’s not easy to change but it all starts with Acceptance…where do you get acceptance? You might be rejected by the world but Jesus Accepts you…… just follow the paper trail……
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 1:04 PM UTC
count thy words
like you count your breathes -
not!
the estimable statisticians
can estimate
the proximate number
of breaths
our lives will take,
the inventory of words,
we shall on average aggregate
we breathe recklessly,
never stopping
to slow down the rate
with which we tirelessly
consume ourselves
think of the
mess of words,
a brain store,
like a breath,
use it and then
purposeful lose it,
once employed,
nevermore,
so write often,
even longingly,
as in,
write long,
write hard,
every word expelled,
a treasure,
returned to
brother poets
for their
consumption and reutilization,
the monoxide,
of a shared oxide
when thy stock of
words in trade,
almost all used up,
perforce,
must write only
short little sweet nothings
well,
in happy desperation,
compose
alliterative allegations,
nonsensical noises,
aiming to pleases
summation of essential humanness
remain few breaths,
issue rhythmic sounds,
colorful grunting noises,
outed
one last intelligible poem
that cannot ever be read
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 5:31 AM UTC
Just now, laid out like your favorite uncle
gone before his time with auntie stretched out beside,
I woke to the perfect metaphor for the too-bad,
so-sad, too-fast nature of time—or maybe
was a simile, as in: the way month upon hour slips away like…
Like…like the runt daisy in the bouquet from
the ex-lover you never wanted to hear from,
least loved bloom among a fistful of beauties
never smiled upon at all—Yes—least of all,
this wasted flower, its whole-milk petals yellowing
And (like time, lest your forget) fluttering, broken-off,
to the coffee-stained and salt-strewn
countertop…like that, indeed, or something close.
That was on my mind as I half awoke—but stirring entire
the bundle of words
of the ideal image
died (yes, sad)
in its place:
I thought of writing some clever tale
how waking up the flash of a line
of the perfect literary device
some glowing simile or metaphor
(how time is the flight plan of a hummingbird
and before we can begin to grasp the next orders
barked at the co-pilot, the captain
has steered the thrumming craft from sugar water
to sheltered branch, and what moment passed between
is one of many such ticks and tocks, the aggregate
meaning that when we wake up
suddenly 30, 40, or
deceased like your dear uncle,
it never seemed like time was passing at all)
slipped away from me—wait, I’m getting there—
and the words’ escape and time’s escape
were somehow one and the same…
But no, I thought, too precious.
Besides, it’s for sure been done.
March 30, 2012 4:02 a.m.
Jun 30, 2012
Jun 30, 2012 at 3:37 PM UTC
No man is an island but as an aggregate, if we can remember who we are, we can become even more solid than a rock.
Maybe as an aggregate, we can become the rock we've always been looking for.
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 8:29 PM UTC
I have walked this earth a thousand times.
Dirt. A loose aggregate of particles, held together by gravity, and moisture.
Rain. Water suspended. Resurging. Cascading in plumes, like sheets of smoke.
Sky. Blue. Stretched like canvas. Abstract. Nowhere. Everywhere.
I exist. Here. Standing. Thinking.
I am dead. I am being born.
I am existing across all time and space, but I do not know it.
At this moment, I am trapped. I am unconscious. I am unaware.
I have walked this earth a thousand times, and cannot even remember.
Because it has not happened. Has yet to happen. May never happen.
Future. A nonexistence on the horizon.
Hope. An ache. A nothing replaced with nothing.
Misery. The wretched face in the mirror.
A child wears my eyes. She drifts through life.
Scared. Alone. Free.
She plays in the forest. Her small, sap-covered hands grasp branch after branch.
She enters intermediate school. Is called freak. Is judged by her skin, her eyes.
She realises she is different for the first time.
Alien. Deviant. Other.
Her eyes fill with self-hatred.
I have watched this moment a thousand times, yet can do nothing.
Disintegration. The act of separation.
Loneliness. A billion strangers condemned to live together.
Existence. A billion billion billion particles, shifting beneath my flesh.
There is no death that can end my being.
I have felt the atoms of my past collide, and spark into biology.
I have felt the atoms of my future shred like fractals, spiralling into a dim, dark nothingness.
I have felt all this, and none of it.
From infinity I came, to infinity I’ll go. Forever cycling in the pantomime of existence.
This pretend construct of space and time.
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
Today’s lesson on the pad
Showing a new guy how to stake grades
So we paced out a grid and pounded in stakes at semi-even intervals
Always picking up where someone else left off
Using their existing grid, we paced ~16 m in Northing (a metre is approximately equal to a yard)
Again, using the existing grid, we paced ~13 m in Easting
Then I asked him to pace out the hypotenuse, it was ~21 m
The grid was for the most part at right angles to each other
To show the new guy how Pythagoras came to his theorem
I scratched a triangle in the crushed aggregate
On the side of the x-plane I scratched 16 m and on the side of the y-plane I scratched 13 m
The diagonal received a 21 m
Out came the notebook
16 squared plus 13 squared = ~21 squared
Using my iPhone calculator
256 plus 169 = ~21 squared
425 = ~21 squared
square root of 425 = ~20.6155281280883 or ~21
Then I grabbed my stick to scratch out a head, body, appendages, and finally a circle encompassing my proto-Vitruvian dude
Never thought work could be this fun!
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 10:16 PM UTC
Dedicated to the Hard Hats, ..for holding it all together.
**** frost on the green grass
There's a cold moon in the sky
The estuary waters black and calm
Where golden ripples lie.
Dawn's horizon lightens up
Bright stars begin to dim
Hard Hats all arrive for work
And with frozen breath...log in.
Work boots crunching on the stone
The men disperse to trucks,
The diesel motors roar to life
Their departures forming rucks.
Swarming in the morning light
Each to his own job's task,
Bridge building work underway
As dawn's first sunbeams bask.
Amazing the complexity
That building bridges has,
Amazing how voraciously
It eats up time and gas.
The planning and design work
The funding of supply,
Those organizational matters
And the labour standing bye.
Digging, lifting, shoving, shifting
Moving this to there,
A logistical nightmare
For the novice, unaware.
Steel and timber by the ton
Concrete pours en mass,
Gravel, sand and aggregate
And reservoirs of gas.
Procurement of supply ensures
A smooth transitional flow
Of successive small procedures
To make the project mesh and grow.
Day after day the massive trucks
Carting tons of sand
Are authorized by gate men
To unload on to land
Where motorway construction
Is steadfastly taking place
And progressing at
A gradual and steady building pace.
From concept to completion
A million multitasks,
Which involves a caste of thousands
And a schedule which asks,
That the finished installation
Be completed by the time
Of the Rugby World Cup kickoff,
Our global status on the line.
Like ants the Hard Hats swarm about
Each does his little bit
And gradually, over time,
The bridge emerges from the pit.
It emergeth like a phoenix
In a drab and sombre gown
But on completion, shines like fire
To be the nation's most re known.
The Manukau Harbour Crossing
A project for the Gods,
Of massive lengths of concrete
And miles of reinforcing rods.
Of an eternity of effort
From everyone involved
And an asset for New Zealand
And a beauty to behold.
Marshalg
@theGate
MHX
Mangere Bridge
14th March 2009
Please view the following link
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VzQZ-M90Zig
Nov 14, 2009
Nov 14, 2009 at 1:07 PM UTC
flossing jocks swing mighty
***** crow blowing triumphant
incumbents sent to extend the morality
vitality reality equals fallacies and tribulation
recreation station seething with malcontents grossly exaggerate
the aggregate to depreciate the innate greatness of iced milk and cherries
varying fairies trailing mankind grind to different beats
seated meat sacks lack tact and force ill-mannered children
to render hate venders with crayons
yawning chasms plastered with plasma and grass clippings
flipping chihuahuas slipping in to the dark
bouncing ta-ta’s, beer-soaked and tightly clad
refocus the mass passing by
flying low with bellies plastic filled
pelicans land softly on quiet mountain lakes to breed in peace
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 2:16 PM UTC
I knew this man because I was this man
So it must be said; I was this man because I knew this man
And never did I faultier when he reached with his trusting hand
Bound by intent, his grip stowed the tension of promise and fruition
His is a lifetime laden with the cogs of internal creation
This is the summons, the congenial placement of his offer
Beckoning the self to again be rendered upon the plane of the psychotropic wood
Through this sanctified exchange the divergent union assumes singular being
A spiral of fleeting connectivity, lapsing as the hesitant tide breaks upon neither shore nor sea
So the invitation reciprocates moment to moment by way of residual eternity
The soul twists and skips in both agony and ecstasy
Bearing a jagged tolerance for lingering wait and the flash of re-entry
Thus begun my endless stroll within the confinement of mind
I am birthed each day anew in the cradling mist blanketing the forest floor
With shy eyes one surrenders to this emergent rim
Sentenced to wake beneath the towering monoliths, the fossil redwoods
Who lull my attentive ear with the ambient groans of their interned memory
Joined in chorus only by the hushed breathe of the creborus crows
These birds, these deities hung inverted from gray and rotted limbs
Whispering their imbuement to the aggregate dirge of pardon
This is the swallowing of supposed sensory
Set in impetus, this final paradigm may forever possess the gift of awareness.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 8:21 PM UTC
The double chamber,
the grit,
the granular source
and collective pit
of one's corporeal time
accelerating
each instant
through
that check valve
of
now/then,
.
.
.
that
drop
zone
below
the present tense.
Mar 23, 2012
Mar 23, 2012 at 12:59 PM UTC
Investors need to stop treating stocks as a ‘beauty contest’ and follow the difficult investment style of Keynes, global pension expert Keith Ambachtsheer said.
Data produced in a working paper from the Harvard Business Schoolshowed that portfolios built on firms with a good material sustainability rating outperformed those that had a poor rating, an aspect not considered enough by investors who were caught up with quarterly returns, Ambachtsheer said at a Chartered Financial Analyst seminar in Sydney on Monday.
“What I see happening out there is largely speculation – what Keynes called ‘beauty contest investing’, where everybody tries to figure out what the most popular stocks are going to be in six months, buys them and when they become really popular sells them,” Ambachtsheer said.
He added the implications of this investment style as an aggregate was a zero sum game, whereas investing should be taking savings and turning them into wealth producing capital.
“The key thing is you need to look beyond the next quarter; you look at the long-term sustainability of the business model of the corporation, as well as the people behind it in terms of how it is being managed.”
The Harvard Business School (HBS) working paper superimposed the Sustainability Accounting Standards Board materiality map (which identifies likely material sustainability issues on an industry-by-industry basis) onto 400 common US stocks identified through sustainability metrics from Kinder, Lydenberg, Domini Research & Analytics.
They examined what effect materiality would have over the long-term (starting from the 1980s) and found the top 10 per cent of firms that scored strongly on material sustainability outperformed the bottom 10 per cent, by nine per cent over a rolling twenty-year period.
“The practical question is, can you actually manage money this way in the real world? And the answer is yes, but it’s very hard, because you are doing unconventional things,” Ambachtsheer said.
Real-world Keynesianism investors – such as Warren Buffett and the Ontario Teachers’ Pension Plan – are in a minority despite outperforming over the long-term. In chapter 12 of his seminal workThe General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money, Keynes explained the reason for this was the essence of long-term investors meant their behaviour would be eccentric, unconventional and rash in the eyes of average opinion.
“Most organisations can’t function like this,” Ambachtsheer said, as they were too focused on the present.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/vintage-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/backless-formal-dresses
Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 2:31 AM UTC