[Hi there Emma Jean]
WHEN in the course of human Events, it becomes necessary….
Welcome to the New American Digest: 2003-2020
Gerard Van der Leun
Stone-cutters fighting time with marble, you foredefeated
Challengers of oblivion
Eat cynical earnings, knowing rock splits, records fall down,
The square-limbed Roman letters
Scale in the thaws, wear in the rain. The poet as well
Builds his monument mockingly;
For man will be blotted out, the blithe earth die, the brave sun
Die blind and blacken to the heart:
Yet stones have stood for a thousand years, and pained
thoughts found
The honey of peace in old poems.
— Robinson Jeffers
His soul stretched tight across the skies
That fade behind a city block,
Or trampled by insistent feet
At four and five and six o’clock;
And short square fingers stuffing pipes,
And evening newspapers, and eyes
Assured of certain certainties,
The conscience of a blackened street
Impatient to assume the world.
I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots.
— Eliot
I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this
air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their
parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.
— Walt Whitman
The scientists are in terror
and the European mind stops
Wyndham Lewis chose blindness
rather than have his mind stop.
Night under wind mid garofani,
the petals are almost still
Mozart, Linnaeus, Sulmona,
When one’s friends hate each other
how can there be peace in the world?
Their asperities diverted me in my green time.
A blown husk that is finished
but the light sings eternal
a pale flare over marshes
where the salt hay whispers to tide’s change
Time, space,
neither life nor death is the answer.
And of man seeking good,
doing evil.
In meiner Heimat
where the dead walked
and the living were made of cardboard.
Comments on this entry are closed.
Stop living in my head! I just watched Pulp Fiction for the first time, then opened AD and here ya go.
I still have not seen it but wish I had. Maybe I will someday. I find it almost impossible to sit still for 2 hours. In the rare times my wife and I watch a movie at home (the last one, maybe a month ago, was the old Grapes of Wrath) we break it into 2 parts (viewed during 2 suppers) cause I just can’t stand being stationary any longer than that.
Living in your head is Gerard’s day job.
Travolta’s solo dance routine from “Saturday Night Fever” has my vote.
My curmudgeonly comment for this Saturday is;
I have never understood the appeal of that movie. Can not stand the Scientology dope, Travolta….as well as most of the idiots that are involved with the Hollywood set.
I am not a big ballet aficionado, though I did work for the Pacific Northwest Ballet, the Seattle Opera Company and the Seattle Symphony. That goofy shit they are doing in the flick ain’t ballet.
Agreed. Not a fan of Tarantino’s films: vulgar, ultra violent and disturbing. He himself knows he has “issues”.
I liked that “Saturday Night Fever” solo because I copied it to perform for my dance class in college at Portland Community College in 1978. I did it to impress the dance instructor. It worked. She was a good girl.
I found Dusk to Dawn tolerable, especially the part where Selma Hayek did her thing. Dawgeez…
I had heard of Selma Hayek, but had never seen a picture of her. Signed into YouTube to see that dance, and…damn. Ok then.
Watched only a few seconds of the actual dance. But still…
Sure, Travolta can dance. He’s proved it on a few occasions but the guy is a Scientology homo and no amount of dancing can polish the tarnish off of that burnished image. He’s violent too but that’s another thing.
Thurman, I’ve never connect with her nor would I desire to. She’s just too fvckin’ weird.
Is there anyone connected to Tarantino who is not weird and disturbing? As in really, really weird and disturbing?
I remember seeing “Reservoir Dogs” many moons ago. The first five minutes were the oddest, most vulgar and crudest thing I had ever seen. Still are.
Ha! I made it about 7 minutes into that dog of a movie.
Extreme violence and gore for the sake of gore. Vulgarity & obscenity in excess. ….and this is coming from someone (me) that is a regular dropper of F-bombs. Generally depraved story line and bad acting. How do these films draw such an audience?
Wait! I think I have got it.
Because the culture is on the skids. People are lost and not even searching anymore. Just plain lost and thinking everything is fine. It’s intergenerational stupidity.
Dear Kevin in PA:
You ask, “How do these films draw such an audience?” They draw an audience for the same reason that rotting flesh draws flies. Our “culture” is pure Weimar, not even suitable for the most rabid of beasts. Consider: Our “culture” cannot even tell the difference between a man and a woman. Such a nation that believes such things simply begs destruction. Amen.
Out “culture” is not at war with normies, it is at war with God. With Logic. With the Sacred.
I know where I’m putting my money.
“Thurman, I’ve never connect with her nor would I desire to. She’s just too fvckin’ weird.”
The phrase in Liverpool is;
I wouldn’t touch her with yours.
But I’d taste her with your mouth.
Watch it without sound. It is hilarious. Two self-absorbed characters who have zero chemistry on the dance floor, trying to look as if they have a clue about the Twist, and looking completely uncomfortable. It was like seeing Schumer and Colbert gyrating in Central Park. Funny yet disturbing. I’ve never understood the hype over Tarantino’s films. He’s a gross, disturbed man and his films reflect his soul.
Hah! I did the same thing. Very odd and uncomfortable.
“His films reflect his soul.” Well said.
Yada Yada Yada, Chuck Berry is the bomb, got that one on my phone as well.
Chuck Berry? The master. In his real life he was a sexual degenerate and ego maniac, but…Johnny B. Goode!