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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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Somebody’s been watching too many Russ Tamblyn movies.
Incredible and that was fun to watch. Youth… mine is gone. Feels like it sneaked away suddenly in the middle of the night. My surgeon advised that on guys like me in middle 50s, (or much earlier) tendons tend to tear versus stretch in extreme activities. I recently had my labrum anchored back down to my shoulder blade and a tendon stitched up after a grappling match gone wrong with a dood 20 pounds heavier and 20 years younger. Vanderleun advised that I dial things down a bit. This post surgery recovery and PT sucks like a two headed queer, so I will be heeding Vanderleun’s advice.
“sucks like a two headed queer”
lol
Kansas welcome to Oldsville. Your description is hilarious and apt. Keep the sense of humor.
I did only a bit of buildering in my 30s but the high mountains called. Rock climbing (not gym type but real stuff) makes you careful and requires static moves; not dynamic with jumps and 4 limbs free. But it is a thrill to rise above the concrete floor. I one time knocked on a guy’s window. At 3 stories up! he let me in and could not find anything to remark.
It’s weird stuff. A number of my buddies are names on plaques now. Fantastic athletes and I think other than the guys with NVA machine gun wounds and German shrapnel scars, these are the guys I have admired most in life. Outside of the arts, that is.
Holy shit, now it hurts just to put my shirt on! But for some reason this video gets me pumped. Thanks GVD.
Slick as hog snot on a watermelon.
What a delightful video! Pretty sure none of those guys are whacked on dopus.
“Had my labrum anchored back down to my shoulder blade.”
Day-um,Snakepit,you forced me to look up “labrum”. Fibrocartilage,articular joint,shoulder labrum SLAP tear. Heal quickly,prayers up.
Sux like a 2-headed queer would get you drawn & quartered elsewhere.
Blessings on thee,Mr V. Glad you’re feeling better.
@Snake
That last sentence is a killer! I blew coffee all over my lap.