Something Wonderful: The Sound of Silence
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Previous post: Riding in the Storm: “There was something furtive and broken in the gesture.”
Real World Address
Only by Fire is Fascism Finished
Year upon year in Earth’s darker forests,
Heaped at the foot of the trees,
Dry drifts of wood rot and leaf fall increase
Which sunlight shall never seize.
The vampire by sunlight or stake.
The wolfman by silver in bone.
The demon by bell, book, and pentagram.
The fascist by fire alone.
The ash that descends in the September skies
Where the leapers swam down the stones?
Best answered by bombs from mid-heaven at prayer
With that fire which hollows the bones.
The vampire by sunlight or stake.
The wolfman by silver in bone.
The demon by bell, book, and pentagram.
The fascist by fire alone.
If their god decrees war, God’s war shall prevail.
His lessons are seared in His stone.
No dreams shall defer, nor wishes erase,
The answers that burn in the bone.
The vampire by sunlight or stake.
The wolfman by silver in bone.
The demon by bell, book, and pentagram.
The fascist by fire alone.
Only by Fire is Fascism Finished.
This Sin is demanded that Your Line may Live.
Only through Fire is Freedom Reborn.
Each generation pulls the Sword from the Stone.
— Van der Leun
A pick to dig out and a lantern to find honest men
Your Say
ARTIST: CASEY KLAHN
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That came up in your suggested’s too? Freaking Oy tube.
Best memories are of canoe camping on the Delaware. You can see all the stars. Quiet as a church with the sound of the river in the background. Campfire throwing shadows and illuminating faces at peace. Good times
Was I the only one waiting for the “bang”?
Never mind. I’ll go back to my solitary cynicism.
In the 26 years I’ve owned my little trout camp up in the woods, not once have I had music playing, or any electronic noise, though many have asked for it. And why would I, as it would obliterate the sounds of silence. The harp piece, what we heard of it, was enjoyable.
I have been thoroughly startled by a deer, though, in the dark of night climbing the hill above my crick after a night of fishing. Broke an expensive flyrod, and destroyed the quiet of the night with curses.
John Venlet, thank you sir, for calling a crick a crick. Only parvenues around here say, “creeeek.”
Um, parvenus, unless they are girls and, thus, parvenues. Eighth grade French is a bitch after a vodka martini.
It’s hard to tell who was more starteled.
That was cute.
I guess it’s hard to maintain situational awareness while playing the harp.
If that harp had a side firing sawed off 12ga loaded with sabots and a proximity sensor….
John Venlet, thank you sir, for calling a crick a crick.
Well, Missy, creaks are only in stairs or old wooden floors.
Been many years since I’ve experienced silence, the constant ringing in my ears has forever stolen it.
Dirk
Sometimes I find I have a crick in my neck, although Richard Brautigan did find one for sale by the foot in the back of the hardware store.