Helicopter Rides: A Time for Choosing
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WHEN in the course of human Events, it becomes necessary….
Welcome to the New American Digest: 2003-2020
Home is where one starts from. As we grow older
The world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated
Of dead and living. Not the intense moment
Isolated, with no before and after,
But a lifetime burning in every moment
And not the lifetime of one man only
But of old stones that cannot be deciphered.
There is a time for the evening under starlight,
A time for the evening under lamplight
(The evening with the photograph album).
Love is most nearly itself
When here and now cease to matter.
Old men ought to be explorers
Here or there does not matter
We must be still and still moving
Into another intensity
For a further union, a deeper communion
Through the dark cold and the empty desolation,
The wave cry, the wind cry, the vast waters
Of the petrel and the porpoise. In my end is my beginning.
Gerard Van der Leun
When all Earth’s seas shall Levitate,
Dark shawled within the skies,
Upon our eyes will Starfish dance
Their waltz of Blind surprise.
The sun will Rise within wine Dark
As Argonauts imbibed,
Whose drunken arms embrace that sleep
Where Phaeton’s horses Stride.
Upon all of Earth’s wind-sanded shores,
As dolphins Learn to soar,
All we once were on the land
Shall be sealed behind the door
Of Ivory and Chastened Gold,
That the Mystery solved complete
Shall never til the seas’ Long fall
Wake mariners from their sleep.
— Van der Leun
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
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
— The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot
Comments on this entry are closed.
Why waste money with flight?
Some stout rope, a sturdy trailer hitch, a vacant road.
I bet my ride can drag at least 8 of em at a time.
That works out to about 512 per day, and I’m willing to work overtime.
A month of 18 hour days, non-stop, oughta put a dent in the problem.
Course, if you used a Chinook with the tailgate you could prolly cram about 50 in there at the same time, then take em out about 50 miles and let em go, no clean up. A 48 volt cattle prod will help em find the exit ramp.
It would appear that the mob has claimed another pelt. Local media reporting Prof. Mike Adams, who was to resign from UNC-W on Aug 1st and receive a half million for doing so, has been found dead in his house.
You know I spoke a lot of Marx
Oh Lord, I taught about Engels
But I never said nothing
But how Guevarra would kill
You know I seen a lot of helos flying round
Drop comrades thru the skies
Aaah, but Pinochey dont cate if they lived
Or if they died
Goddamn, Uh huh, Pinochet
I said God famn, God damn Pinochet man
You know Guevarra .. Guevarra is a man
With a love of Castro in his head
Aaah but Pinochet is a Nazi
Oh Lord, he’s not a Gramscian man
Guevarra! …. on a poster
Will sell you a Marxist pipe dream
Aah, but Pinochet will set up a junta
Oh Lord, he’ll put your Commie ass in sling
God damn, uh huh, Pinochet
I said God damn, G-D DAMN
The Pinochet man
(Cue sound of another “Magic Helo Ride” chopper taking off)