“And all the news just repeats itself
Like some forgotten dream that we’ve both seen”
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He thought he kept the universe alone;
For all the voice in answer he could wake
Was but the mocking echo of his own
From some tree-hidden cliff across the lake.
Some morning from the boulder-broken beach
He would cry out on life, that what it wants
Is not its own love back in copy speech,
But counter-love, original response.
And nothing ever came of what he cried
Unless it was the embodiment that crashed
In the cliff’s talus on the other side,
And then in the far distant water splashed,
But after a time allowed for it to swim,
Instead of proving human when it neared
And someone else additional to him,
As a great buck it powerfully appeared,
Pushing the crumpled water up ahead,
And landed pouring like a waterfall,
And stumbled through the rocks with horny tread,
And forced the underbrush–and that was all.
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
Gerard Van der Leun
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Wow, that’s got to be an ugly memory come back to say hi.
Oh, Gerard! Praying for you and so many others. May the Lord be merciful to all.
Oh well, at least we’ll always have ̶P̶a̶r̶i̶s̶ , ̶P̶o̶r̶t̶l̶a̶n̶d̶ , ̶S̶e̶a̶t̶t̶l̶e̶ , ̶N̶e̶w̶ ̶Y̶o̶r̶k̶ ̶ , Chicken, Alaska.
I was listening to Dan Crenshaw interview Michael Shellenberger, former environmental radical and author of “Apocalypse Never.” Shellenberger points out that California could have been 100 percent clean energy by now, with plenty of excess capacity, had not Gov. Pat Brown gone to work for foreign oil interests after he left office. You know, Jerry Brown’s dad. They systematically boxed out nuclear and natural gas.
He points out, more than once, that wind and solar will never ever be reliable. But they’re great for wrecking nature. Crenshaw brings up how Texans can buy electric from many different suppliers. Shellenberger shoots him down: corrupt, self dealing, deceptive.
It is a good interview. I learned quite a bit.
Gordon sed: “He points out, more than once, that wind and solar will never ever be reliable.”
========
As always, if the gov’t is in charge failure looms, in all things.
In private ownership alternative energy methods are beyond reliable.
Clue: Unreliable entities will never be reliable.
Same news, different people…ad infinitum
Can you feel our caring hearts? We are with you and hope that snow flies soon! Go slow now. We will need you soon more than ever.
Many are the prayers that I have aimed heavenwards on your behalf in the past week or so, Gerard. Let us hope their efficacy exceeds that of my recent ones to shift the landfall of Isaias away.
So, the Buffalo Bore .357 ammo has arrived. A little on the dear side, but of late laying hands on any sort of ammo hereabouts is no mean feat; even at $20 to empty the revolver, it’s a tiny fraction of any trip to the ER, so I’m good. Thanks to those who made the recommendation. If I dispatch a feral pig, which in reality is a much more likely event than being attacked by a black bear, I’ll throw a helluva Eastern NC pig pickin’, with all and sundry invited.
What Anne said!
And Gerard, thanks for the Prine line. In this season of tumult and loss he is sorely missed.