This… at Great Boomer Moments | Western Rifle Shooters Association
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Discussion ensues…..
Drive-By: Turnabout in Great Boomer Moments
WHEN in the course of human Events, it becomes necessary….
Welcome to the New American Digest: 2001-2022
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
by Shel Silverstein
The steel mill sky is alive.
The fire breaks white and zigzag
shot on a gun-metal gloaming.
Man is a long time coming.
Man will yet win.
Brother may yet line up with brother:
This old anvil laughs at many broken hammers.
There are men who can’t be bought.
The fireborn are at home in fire.
The stars make no noise,
You can’t hinder the wind from blowing.
Time is a great teacher.
Who can live without hope?
In the darkness with a great bundle of grief
the people march.
In the night, and overhead a shovel of stars for keeps, the people
march:
“Where to? what next?”
— Carl Sandberg
Comments on this entry are closed.
🙂
Not to mention o’bongo twice.
Because I’m babyfaced, I’ve been assumed to be a Boomy Baber my whole fucking life, despite having been born during the war to a father who didn’t make it back. Spoiled-brat boomers have been making my (and everybody else’s) life miserable since the ’60s when they decided to do the world a favor and treat everybody to their tastes in “music” via the big stereos bought with their parents’ money. Western culture, through their efforts, has assumed the proportions of a swamp for the least common (and I do mean “common”) denominator. Art and literature have descended to the level of grunts and graffiti.
And now I find their execrable spawn taking up space and blaming me for the fact that nobody taught them how to suck their thumbs.
Je suis not amused.
You know I just love blaming your generation for everything Gerard…but “runs USA economy into ground”?
Perhaps, if ALL of the hippies stayed hippies, kept their jaundiced paws clean of corporate taint, worked themselves into their winter years growing their own lettuce and kale and reefer to “stick it to the man,” they *woulda* run the USA economy into the ground. As it is, the hippies that have overrun Timber Cove and Bodega Bay are vacationing from the senior exec positions down in the bay area after having become what they once swore to spend a lifetime hating. And, I notice a lot of them are making good on keeping-on hating what they now are, which is another story…
But this eighties-boom is because of their investments and such. Have to give credit where it’s due.
Didn’t bother to skim & see if someone else has pointed this out already. Probably so. I’m on the road.
“But me, I’m still on the road
Headin’ for another joint
We always did feel the same
We just saw it from a different point of view
Tangled up in blue”
You folks need to come by the house for dinner one of these day….
“The only thing I knew how to do
Was to keep on keepin’on
Like a bird that flew
Tangled up in blue”
Epic, EPIC Aesop comment at the link.
** “You folks need to come by the house for dinner one of these day….” **
Far out man! Dinner! I’ll be there by ten PM if the rides keep up like they have been. I can just sleep on the floor in the living room.
OH, wow man, is your grill big enough for this road kill possum I just found. He was just dead and there was hardly any flies on him and he don’t stink or nothing.
—No, it wasn’t quite that bad but those were some VERY INSTRUCTIVE days! And not all hitchikers were hippies. I did it when I graduated from the SE Asia campus of the School of Hard Knocks mostly to get AWAY from hippies. I KNEW that wasn’t going to turn out well, and 40-45 years later, here we are!