Over the transom. And yes, that’s EXACTLY what it appears to be. Yuuup.

Over the transom. And yes, that’s EXACTLY what it appears to be. Yuuup.
Shamelessly lifted from Barnhardt
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Address for Donations, Complaints, Brickbats, and — oh yes — Donations
My Back Pages
In Memory Of W.B. Yeats
Intellectual disgrace
Stares from every human face,
And the seas of pity lie
Locked and frozen in each eye.
Follow, poet, follow right
To the bottom of the night,
With your unconstraining voice
Still persuade us to rejoice.
With the farming of a verse
Make a vineyard of the curse,
Sing of human unsuccess
In a rapture of distress.
In the deserts of the heart
Let the healing fountains start,
In the prison of his days
Teach the free man how to praise.
– – WH Auden
from “1054 AD”
Sometimes it seems I had a dream, and, as a dreamer woke immersed in mineral baths closed within a cool, dark chamber fed by streams flowing in from the center of nowhere.
Hanging from the granite ceiling a kerosene lantern cast shards of light through the pale steam rising from the surface of the pools.
Ripples radiated outwards from the edges of my body and tapping faintly on the rock revealed the edges of the chamber.
Outside I could hear the wind slide across the spine of the mountains, speaking in a language that I remembered but could no longer understand.
Steam filled my nostrils and heat penetrated my bones until, after a time, I had no body, only a sense of silence and distance and calm.
As if I had just woken from all water into dream.
— Tassajara Zen Mountain Center, 1973
Your Say
My Thinking Hat
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Search American Digest’s Back Pages
The People Yes
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
Camouflage
Sourdough Mountain Lookout
Down valley a smoke haze
Three days heat, after five days rain
Pitch glows on the fir-cones
Across rocks and meadows
Swarms of new flies.
I cannot remember things I once read
A few friends, but they are in cities.
Drinking cold snow-water from a tin cup
Looking down for miles
Through high still air.
BY GARY SNYDER
Chimes of Freedom
Starry-eyed an’ laughing as I recall when we were caught
Trapped by no track of hours for they hanged suspended
As we listened one last time an’ we watched with one last look
Spellbound an’ swallowed ’til the tolling ended
Tolling for the aching ones whose wounds cannot be nursed
For the countless confused, accused, misused, strung-out ones an’ worse
An’ for every hung-up person in the whole wide universe
An’ we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing
The Vault
My Back Pages
Byzantium
That is no country for old men. The young
In one another’s arms, birds in the trees
—Those dying generations—at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.
An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.
O sages standing in God’s holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.
Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.
– – W. B. Yeats, 1865 – 1939
De Breanski
VAN GOGH
Hillegas
To the Stonecutters
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
Real World Address for Donations, Mash Notes and Hate Mail
from “1054 AD”
Sometimes it seems I had a dream, and, as a dreamer woke immersed in mineral baths closed within a cool, dark chamber fed by streams flowing in from the center of nowhere.
Hanging from the granite ceiling a kerosene lantern cast shards of light through the pale steam rising from the surface of the pools.
Ripples radiated outwards from the edges of my body and tapping faintly on the rock revealed the edges of the chamber.
Outside I could hear the wind slide across the spine of the mountains, speaking in a language that I remembered but could no longer understand.
Steam filled my nostrils and heat penetrated my bones until, after a time, I had no body, only a sense of silence and distance and calm.
As if I had just woken from all water into dream.
— Tassajara Zen Mountain Center, 1973
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BMW
Entirely appropriate that it is a Peugeot.
A trusted friend in DeLand, FL reported a Florida Woman sighting. He swears it is true. He went to swim in the local YMCA pool and a woman swimming there was wearing a mask. Glared at him like he was a threat.
#Science!
I’ve seen people walking along sidewalks wearing masks even though they were the only ones walking within sight.
This just in from Tony “Tiny Tot” Grouchy.
It is an established medical fact (See Melvin Cohen and Sid Sackowitz, 2019. Your pants or mine? Norwegian Journal of Sardine Science) that afflatus carries virulent virus particles.
These eructations of poisonous miasma, passing through what is technically known in Pantology as the “pants seat,” or “beam housing,” which covers the orifice of the fundament, are a major risk factor to passersby and to toddlers who are standing around looking stupid, as toddlers so often do.
In other words, or woids, as I often say, mere pants seats offer little protection from infection from Covid-59,487.
In the case of Jerry Nadler, pants seats offer NO protection, as the seats of his off-the-rack cheap-ass suit pants have been worn thin to the point of translucence, by constant friction with his nether regions, or as is known in Proctological circles, his fat and apparently infinite ass.
Therefore, all persons are hereby ordered to wear 4 pounds of cotton batting stapled to their nether regions. A four-inch thick section shall be inserted between the buttock spheres (or, in the case of Hillary Clinton, the Domes of Doom), extending from the spincter ani, across the perineum (or “Avenue to joy”) to the base of what is known in Urology and Pornography as “the pills” (or, in the case of women, the “Gateway to the Fun Parts”).
Failure to comply will be met with a tantrum, in which I stamp my little feet, or by forced watching of Adam Schiff as he shaves his endless neckage.
“Get the all new Covid Depends, with its patented Flatus Protection System. Just insert our new and improved Massive Plug (equipped with standard charcoal filter) and wiggle around until it’s comfortably seated for extended wearage.
“You’ll say, ‘Boy, howdy! I never knew how much fun a good plugging could be.’
“Then simply wrap the Straps of Perpetual Penance around the waist, thus securing the cotton batting (our second line of defense) to the billowy parts. Yes, you’ll saunter with pride, or mince and prance as the spirit moves you, safe in the knowledge that your leaking buns will cause no harm.
PS. On another topic, I believe something like the Boston Massacre will be required to light the fuse. Perhaps during a rally where the rattled democrat speaker calls in the cops, who, scared themselves, shoot a few patriots.
Lord help us.
And now, yet another shot.
Read the following and you will know how we got to be this stupid. This material from Derrida is what the colleges have been peddling for two decades to our kids. Both assertive and mindless, our kids and many adults bought into the ethics of “unconditional hospitality.” I call it an attempt to make you give what you worked for away to whomever the government tells you to give it to. Enjoy:
“Inseparable from the thinking of justice itself, unconditional hospitality nevertheless remains impracticable as such. One cannot inscribe it in rules or in legislation. If one wants to translate it immediately into a politics, it always risks having perverse effects. But fully aware of those risks, we cannot and must not dispense with the reference to an unreserved hospitality. It is an absolute pole, without which the desire, the concept and experience, and the very thought of hospitality would not make any sense. Again, this ‘pole’ is not a ‘Kantian idea’, but the place from which immediate and concrete urgencies are dictated. Thus the political task remains to find the best ‘legislative’ transaction, the best ‘juridical’ conditions to ensure that, in any given situation, the ethics of hospitality is not violated in its principle – and that it is respected as much as possible. To that end, one has to change laws, habits, phantasms, a whole ‘culture’. That is what is needed at this moment. The violence of xenophobic or nationalistic reactions is also a symptom.” Derrida, Conversations
Given that the average reading level of students in American (also adults) is at the fifth grade level, I doubt that most readers of the Derrida Conversation could comprehend any of that sludge.
Can 100,000,000 idiots be converted into non-idiots in a fairly short amount of time?
That’s what it’s gonna take.
Notice I didn’t say converted into what.
The bulging bulk of parasitic human waste must be eviscerated.
The tumor is too large for the host, something’s going to snap.
Passed a guy on a Road King yesterday. He was wearing a mask.
My underwear is “CARBON FREE”!!!!11111!!!!! Well, until I burn them.
I hope the car owner remembered to put a mask over the exhaust pipe, or all his efforts are in vain!
Biff should note that France has had considerably more public protest against the Mask Mania that the US, Land of the Flea, home of the Plague.