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by Vanderleun on April 3, 2020

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Nori April 3, 2020, 8:50 PM

That looks like a good place to herd all the progtards to. Lure them in with non-gendered green tea & nasty burnt taste soy lattes,Starbucks style.
All are Welcome.

Yesterday I passed the neighborhood park,a pleasant,grassy,treed place. Two young guys were shootin’ hoops at the small court,and nearby,a young mother was seated in the playground area,attending to her baby in the stroller. Two other small children were investigating the slide & swings. The weather here in AZ is gorgeous now,perfect temps and brilliant blue skies.

Passed by there today. The B-ball court was roped off with yellow & black “caution” tape.
The playground area even more so.
There was a small group,family maybe,lounging under a tree a ways from the yellow-tape scary areas.
Drove around it twice wondering WTF had happened in less than 24 hrs?
Yeah,I get that kids are bacterial/viral vectors of doomsday,and everything we or they touch will make us die horribly unless constantly sanitized to the nth degree.
But,seriously? Humanity managed to survive and prosper in the eons before antivirals & antibiotics,somehow.
Are we that pussified we are not allowed to enjoy fresh air unless properly authorized?

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Jimmy April 3, 2020, 9:48 PM

Nori – up here in Washington State, you are now forbidden from fishing in state waters. Even by yourself. How fishing is connected to the Chinese Virus is anyone’s guess – as long as you’re a Democrat.

Gerard, I do actually think we’re on a countdown timer to an unimaginable SHTF outcome.

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Welcome to the New American Digest: 2003-2020

My Back Pages

Van der Leun: The Normblog Bio of Your Host

“From a student radical/hippie/leftist of the Free Speech Movement/Vietnam Day Commitee era and a full-on Democratic Liberal in the decades after, I think I’ve evolved a politics that is neither right nor left but is, in its elemental nature, draconian. In the last 20 years, I’ve taken apart my beliefs with a sledgehammer. Now I’ve got to put the surviving parts back together with tweezers and other ‘shabby equipment, always deteriorating’.”

A Wicker Basket

Comes the time when it’s later
and onto your table the headwaiter
puts the bill, and very soon after
rings out the sound of lively laughter—

Picking up change, hands like a walrus,
and a face like a barndoor’s,
and a head without any apparent size,
nothing but two eyes—

So that’s you, man,
or me. I make it as I can,
I pick up, I go
faster than they know—

Out the door, the street like a night,
any night, and no one in sight,
but then, well, there she is,
old friend Liz—

And she opens the door of her cadillac,
I step in back,
and we’re gone.
She turns me on—

There are very huge stars, man, in the sky,
and from somewhere very far off someone hands me a slice of apple pie,
with a gob of white, white ice cream on top of it,
and I eat it—

Slowly. And while certainly
they are laughing at me, and all around me is racket
of these cats not making it, I make it

in my wicker basket.

— BY ROBERT CREELEY