Today’s “Good Germans.” Include me out.
[HT: HappyAcres (@HappyHectares) ]
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Even though a cloud’s white curtain in a far-off corner flashed
An’ the hypnotic splattered mist was slowly lifting
Electric light still struck like arrows, fired but for the ones
Condemned to drift or else be kept from drifting
Tolling for the searching ones, on their speechless, seeking trail
For the lonesome-hearted lovers with too personal a tale
An’ for each unharmful, gentle soul misplaced inside a jail
An’ we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing
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
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
Reason will not decide at last; the sword will decide.
The sword: an obsolete instrument of bronze or steel,
formerly used to kill men, but here
In the sense of a symbol. The sword: that is: the storms
and counter-storms of general destruction; killing
of men,
Destruction of all goods and materials; massacre, more or
less intentional, of children and women;
Destruction poured down from wings, the air made accomplice,
the innocent air
Perverted into assassin and poisoner.
The sword: that is: treachery and cowardice, incredible
baseness, incredible courage, loyalties, insanities.
The sword: weeping and despair, mass-enslavement,
mass-torture, frustration of all hopes
That starred man’s forehead. Tyranny for freedom, horror for
happiness, famine for bread, carrion for children.
Reason will not decide at last, the sword will decide.
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
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.
Even though a cloud’s white curtain in a far-off corner flashed
An’ the hypnotic splattered mist was slowly lifting
Electric light still struck like arrows, fired but for the ones
Condemned to drift or else be kept from drifting
Tolling for the searching ones, on their speechless, seeking trail
For the lonesome-hearted lovers with too personal a tale
An’ for each unharmful, gentle soul misplaced inside a jail
An’ we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing
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
Gerard Van der Leun
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At Georgetown University black lives matter so much you cain’t say shit….
https://www.foxnews.com/us/georgetown-law-professor-resigns-after-zoom-call-with-colleague-whose-comments-on-black-students-got-her-fired
Tried to watch OTA (over the air) TV the other night. Not possible. Negro’s on just about every channel. We only watch 1 hour of TV, during supper, and it is always an old TV series episode in one of the 3 DVD players or through a streaming service. Last night for example was a Perry Mason epi from the 5th season, 1961 I think. The night before was a Paladin from Have Gun, Will Travel, from the same time period. Tonight will be Peter Gun from the same era. The media is trying to create a fake reality and it doesn’t work for some folks. We just distance ourselves from it.
We’ve been watching the whole Leave it to Beaver series. Almost done with it, probably the end of the week. On season 6. Back then, they had 39 episodes per season, not just 13 like the lazy bastards do now.
I prefer-
Black
Lying
Marxists
…no room in marxism for anything but marxism. and I don’t want it.
Looked at Ace of Spades coverage of the Grammy awards this weekend. Stunning vulgarity and smut.
I’m wondering if the reason blacks were under represented on TV before this era was that they didn’t ‘clean up’ to well.
If God decides to go all “Sodom and Gomorrah” on America, he’ll be in a target rich environment.
Ghost, I feel ya. Gave up on the networks some time back. Some of the British period productions have not been blackwashed. We’ve been enjoying “Anne with an E” on NF right up until the first episode of season 2 when the first negro makes an appearance. Of course they couldn’t find an excuse to make one appear, as if by magic, in turn-of-the-last-century Nova Scotia, so they put one of the characters aboard a steamer as crew in the black gang where he befriends one of the exotic critters, and they travel to Trinidad where all the usual story tropes of injustice to blacks raise their ugly heads. Looking forward in the reviews it seems we are soon to be entertained with stories of homosexuals and how good people in 1910 respond to them in a way eerily akin to the way “good” people are supposed to in 2021. Hard pass on that. There is still some decent material out there, it’s just getting harder every day to separate from the chaff.