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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.
Gerard Van der Leun
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Did I hear, “got myself a gun, got myself a gun” at the end of this video? I am over 50% hearing loss and have been thinking I heard words the speaker did not actually speak.
Maybe I can find the lyrics to this “song” if I do a search.
Not realistic. Not a single bikini babe to be seen anywhere on the grounds
excellent
Putin puttin’ on the dog.
Putin needs the cavalry unit of the Garde Republicaine for the full dramatic effect: The French have better uniforms and brassier music. From this year’s Bastille Day observance:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wPn1RDQZwKQ&ab_channel=QuentinBiscarrat
Putin has sleek quiet BMW’s for his escort. Trump has Harleys. He ought to order straight pipes for all his Hog Ridin’ Fools.
(extra points for the obscure allusion)
JWM
comment ozone’d again
JWM
Terry,
The music is the theme song to the Sopranos…..pretty sure, if that helps, and yes,
“Woke up this morning and got myself a gun.”
My dear jwm, I got your “obscure” S. Clay Wilson reference.
ZAP!
I don’t know Gerard, he didn’t serve anyone radioactive tea, and he didn’t ask for a list of people to kill today.
He’s gone soft. 😒
Trudat, nmack. The people Trump kills are anonymous, and die fighting for breath.
It is good to be king. I personally like what he like Trump does as well. Not necessarily that I like the men but everything they do shows they love their countries.
He acts like a boss. The song fits. Autocrats gotta autocrat.
Now, let’s do Trump. Let’s see if the song fits him as well.
When you got it, flaunt it
Step right up and strut your stuff….
Was Putin on the way to church? As the viewpoint pans around the church-filled plaza, is that an outdoor assembly in the background? Did anyone else see that?
You heard right. Here you go, Terry.
Woke Up This Morning
Alabama 3
Well, you woke up this morning
Got yourself a gun
Your mama always said you’d be the chosen one
She said, you’re one in a million, you’ve got to burn to shine
But you were born under a bad sign with a blue moon in your eyes
And you woke up this morning
All that love had gone
Your papa never told you about right and wrong
But you’re looking good, baby
I believe you’re feeling fine (shame about it)
Born under a bad sign with a blue moon in your eyes
Because you woke up this morning
Got a blue moon in your eyes
Woke up this morning
You got a blue moon in your eyes
Well, you woke up this morning
The world turned upside down
Lord above, thing’s ain’t been the same since Howlin’ Wolf walked into your town
But you’re one in a million, you’ve got that shotgun shine
Born under a bad sign with a blue moon in your eyes
You woke up this morning
You got a blue moon in your eyes
Woke up this morning
You got a blue moon in your eyes
When you woke up this morning everything was gone
By half past ten your head was going ding-dong
Ringing like a bell from your head down to your toes,
Like a voice trying to tell you there’s something you should know
Last night you were flying but today you’re so low
Ain’t it times like these that make you wonder if you’ll ever know
The meaning of things as they appear to the others
Wives, mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers
Don’t you wish you didn’t function, don’t you wish you didn’t think beyond the next paycheck
And the next little drink?
Well, you do, so make up your mind to go on ’cause when you woke up this morning
Everything you had was gone, everything you had was gone
Woke up this morning
Woke up this morning
Woke up this morning, you want to be, you want to be the chosen one tonight
Yes, you know, because you just get help yourself
Woke up this morning
Woke up this morning
Woke up this morning
You got yourself a gun, got yourself a gun, got yourself a gun
Putin’s more sophisticated nowadays, he’s mimicking Don Draper’s walk and mannerisms, including the chin-thumb touch.
https://youtu.be/YocBfe1N598 (fast forward to :50 seconds)
“Putin’ On The Ritz” is his real theme song.
Crimea river. Crimea river over you…
Oh, I forgot. Ain’t anymore Crimea.
Georgia. Georgia…the whooooole night through.
Oh yeh, half of Georgia’s toast.
Let’s see…looks for songs about Finland and the Baltics…any suggestions? I heard it through the grapevine…not much longer you won’t be mine, honey, honey yeahhhhh