| "It 
					was decided that ... whoever was the head of Opus Dei, would 
					be called "the Father." --  Matt's Opus Dei FAQ, by Matthew G. Collins
 
 
				pro·sa·ic 
				Pronunciation [proh-zey-ik] –adjective 1. commonplace or dull; matter-of-fact or 
				unimaginative: a prosaic mind.
 2. of or having the character or form of prose rather than 
				poetry.
 
				*** pro·zac 
				Pronunciation [pro-zak]–noun 1. Registered trademark of Eli Lilly for marketing 
				fluoxetine hydrochloride as an antidepressant since January 28, 
				1985, registration renewed July 14, 2006.  The linguistic 
				structure of this word is entirely the product of a sustained 
				effort to create a word that would bond with the public mind, 
				communicating its intended meaning on subliminal levels in 
				perpetuity.  Like many brain drugs, Prozac is a 
				two-syllable construction, the first half, "pro," an 
				abbreviation of "professional," which has an upper-class ring to 
				it, and also suggests a positive spin, as in "making progress," 
				which all depressed people long to do.  When we inhabit 
				this word, we dwell in the "Pro" half.  The next half of 
				the word is active, coming down like an 
				ax -- "zak."  The "z," 
				being the last letter of the alphabet, symbolizes ending, the 
				last, beyond that which is either nothing or "a."  And the 
				next letter is in fact, "a."  
				The final letter is "k," 
				the eleventh letter of the 
				alphabet.  So we have end, beginning, and the double.  The 
				net effect is to make the speaker of the word feel like they are wearing a suit of armor, living 
				like a Pro, while Eli Lilly zaks all the negativity into 
				normalcy.
 *** 
				pro·zi·um 
				Pronunciation [proh-zee-um] –noun 1. In the future nation of Libria depicted in the film 
				"Equilibrium," all citizens are required to "take Prozium," a 
				drug that has ended war and violence, at the cost of persecuting 
				those who won't take their Prozium.  The first half of the 
				word is "Pro," of latinate origin, which is used in Father's 
				speeches to emphasize every good Librian's duty to take the 
				battle to the source of all human problems -- feelings -- and 
				eradicate them before they spawn their noxious fruit of sense 
				offense.  The second and third syllable, pronounced 
				together, hold the means to eradicate feelings.  "Z," the 
				last letter in the alphabet, symbolizes ending, which explicitly 
				becomes death, lethality, in the form of the "zium" ending, when 
				joined to the "ium" suffix.  "Ium" ends the names of all 
				nuclear isotopes, such as radium, uranium, plutonium, polonium, 
				etc., and all such isotopes are lethal.  Prozium does not 
				destroy the body, however.  Prozium destroys the mind.  
				Prozium is an atomic bomb that goes off inside the mind, flattening the complex and 
				enticing city of feelings, reducing it to a manageable 
				wasteland of sensationless existence.
 
 "Of the many excellences which 
				I perceive in the order of our State, there is none which upon 
				reflection pleases me better than the rule about poetry. To what do you refer? To the rejection of imitative 
				poetry, which certainly ought not to be received; as I see far 
				more clearly now that the parts of the soul have been 
				distinguished. What do you mean? Speaking in confidence, for I 
				should not like to have my words repeated to the tragedians and 
				the rest of the imitative tribe — but I do not mind saying to 
				you, that all poetical imitations are ruinous to the 
				understanding of the hearers, and that the knowledge of their 
				true nature is the only antidote to them. Explain the purport of your 
				remark. Well, I will tell you, although 
				I have always from my earliest youth had an awe and love of 
				Homer, which even now makes the words falter on my lips, for he 
				is the great captain and teacher of the whole of that charming 
				tragic company; but a man is not to be reverenced more than the 
				truth, and therefore I will speak out. We may state the question thus: 
				— Imitation imitates the actions of men, whether voluntary or 
				involuntary, on which, as they imagine, a good or bad result has 
				ensued, and they rejoice or sorrow accordingly. Is there 
				anything more? No, there is nothing else. But we have not yet brought 
				forward the heaviest count in our accusation: — the power which 
				poetry has of harming even the good (and there are very few who 
				are not harmed), is surely an awful thing? Yes, certainly, if the effect 
				is what you say. Hear and judge: The best of us, 
				as I conceive, when we listen to a passage of Homer, or one of 
				the tragedians, in which he represents some pitiful hero who is 
				drawling out his sorrows in a long oration, or weeping, and 
				smiting his breast — the best of us, you know, delight in giving 
				way to sympathy, and are in raptures at the excellence of the 
				poet who stirs our feelings most. Yes, of course I know. But when any sorrow of our own 
				happens to us, then you may observe that we pride ourselves on 
				the opposite quality — we would fain be quiet and patient; this 
				is the manly part, and the other which delighted us in the 
				recitation is now deemed to be the part of a woman. Very true, he said. Now can we be right in praising 
				and admiring another who is doing that which any one of us would 
				abominate and be ashamed of in his own person? No, he said, that is certainly 
				not reasonable. And the same may be said of 
				lust and anger and all the other affections, of desire and pain 
				and pleasure, which are held to be inseparable from every action 
				— in all of them poetry feeds and waters the passions instead of 
				drying them up; she lets them rule, although they ought to be 
				controlled, if mankind are ever to increase in happiness and 
				virtue. I cannot deny it. Therefore, Glaucon, I said, 
				whenever you meet with any of the eulogists of Homer declaring 
				that he has been the educator of Hellas, and that he is 
				profitable for education and for the ordering of human things, 
				and that you should take him up again and again and get to know 
				him and regulate your whole life according to him, we may love 
				and honour those who say these things — they are excellent 
				people, as far as their lights extend; and we are ready to 
				acknowledge that Homer is the greatest of poets and first of 
				tragedy writers; but we must remain firm in our conviction that 
				hymns to the gods and praises of famous men are the only poetry 
				which ought to be admitted into our State. For if you go beyond 
				this and allow the honeyed muse to enter, either in epic or 
				lyric verse, not law and the reason of mankind, which by common 
				consent have ever been deemed best, but pleasure and pain will 
				be the rulers in our State. That is 
				most true, he said." 
				
				-- The Republic, Book X, by 
				Plato 
 "'The Sea of Faith Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
 Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
 But now I only hear
 Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
 Retreating, to the breath
 Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
 And naked shingles of the world.
 Ah, love, let us be true To one another! for the world, which seems
 To lie before us like a land of dreams,
 So various, so beautiful, so new,
 Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
 Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
 And we are here as on a darkling plain
 Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
 Where ignorant armies clash by night.'
 
 Mrs. Bowles stood up and glared at Montag. 'You see? I knew it, 
				that's what I wanted to prove! I knew it would happen! I've 
				always said poetry and tears, poetry and suicide and crying and 
				awful feelings, poetry and sickness; all that mush! Now I've had 
				it proved to me. You're nasty, Mr. Montag, you're nasty! Silly 
				words, silly words, silly awful hurting words.  Why do 
				people want to hurt people? Not enough hurt in the world, you 
				got to tease people with stuff like that."
 
 -- "Fahrenheit 451," by Ray Bradbury
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