Tyson is what he has always been: a vulgar, semi-literate brute—and also the finest boxer in History. That being said, he is no role model for anyone unless someone wants to end up like him.
gwbnycApril 23, 2022, 11:51 AM
I was a production assistant on a Pepsi commercial Tyson did. We shot it on a dairy farm near Lime Rock Ct. He was newly married to a woman, a model or something. She couldn’t be out of his sight let alone reach. He was dense and decidedly frightening.
However, the more underlyingly lethal was Kevin Rooney, who was also present.
Not For Nothing Dept: a workmate holds a pro card and sparred with Tyson.
Mike TysonApril 23, 2022, 12:13 PM
Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the face.
Everyone has an awesome plan until Mike Tyson punches them in the face. 🤕
ghostsniperApril 23, 2022, 12:21 PM
On that close up you could see the doods eyes, that he ain’t too bright.
Probably not the first time he deserved a beat down.
I think he got off light.
ThisIsNotNutellaApril 23, 2022, 4:45 PM
Maybe so. But Tyson shouldn’t be free range. I’ve got a fair bit of sympathy for him as he’s stuck in a nightmare ecosystem he’s not evolved to handle (hell, at this point it’s not much good for *us* either). Let’s just say that he’d benefit from a considerable degree of Structure in his life.
ThisIsNotNutellaApril 23, 2022, 4:40 PM
In today’s Open Thread over at the Fiddler on the Roof Rehearsal Room, some MAGA Hat Moron is making an embarrassing wet patch in his Carhartts because he saw a photo of Mike Tyson holding a Thomas Sowell volume the right way up.
It’s a harbinger of a new Renaissance or something.
Plenty of straw on the Steppes… Better they’d clutched some of it there rather than in steerage.
I saw that farce as well. Tyson has not the acumen to make it through the Prologue. He should have been carrying a Superman comic.
ThisIsNotNutellaApril 23, 2022, 5:23 PM
Flipping Nietzsche’s Unborn/Stillborn into Moses himself just in the nick of time to biff bash Pharaoh was almost as brilliant a sleight of hand as Fiat Currency.
I fully expect to wake up one morning in a cockroach carapace.
gwbnycApril 24, 2022, 2:04 AM
Lebron is gonna coach him in a few years when he finishes The Autobiography of Malcolm X.
Here’s a tale of boxer Tommy Morrison and some of the spookiest unbelievable shit that ever happened. I’m left wondering who wanted him dead. Big Pharma had a lot to do with this. 18 minute video. It get weirder and weirder. Morrison was going to fight Tyson but “they” had other plans. https://www.bitchute.com/video/56lCURLOHsc/
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.
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
“From a student radical/hippie/leftist of the Free Speech Movement/Vietnam Day Commitee era and a full-on Democratic Liberal in the decades after, I think I’ve evolved a politics that is neither right nor left but is, in its elemental nature, draconian. In the last 20 years, I’ve taken apart my beliefs with a sledgehammer. Now I’ve got to put the surviving parts back together with tweezers and other ‘shabby equipment, always deteriorating’.”
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
Gerard Van der Leun
1692 MANGROVE AVE
APT 379
Chico, Ca 95926
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.
Comments on this entry are closed.
Tyson is what he has always been: a vulgar, semi-literate brute—and also the finest boxer in History. That being said, he is no role model for anyone unless someone wants to end up like him.
I was a production assistant on a Pepsi commercial Tyson did. We shot it on a dairy farm near Lime Rock Ct. He was newly married to a woman, a model or something. She couldn’t be out of his sight let alone reach. He was dense and decidedly frightening.
However, the more underlyingly lethal was Kevin Rooney, who was also present.
Not For Nothing Dept: a workmate holds a pro card and sparred with Tyson.
Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the face.
aye.
that guy is 36 years old…
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=vF7ea740BL0
Everyone has an awesome plan until Mike Tyson punches them in the face. 🤕
On that close up you could see the doods eyes, that he ain’t too bright.
Probably not the first time he deserved a beat down.
I think he got off light.
Maybe so. But Tyson shouldn’t be free range. I’ve got a fair bit of sympathy for him as he’s stuck in a nightmare ecosystem he’s not evolved to handle (hell, at this point it’s not much good for *us* either). Let’s just say that he’d benefit from a considerable degree of Structure in his life.
In today’s Open Thread over at the Fiddler on the Roof Rehearsal Room, some MAGA Hat Moron is making an embarrassing wet patch in his Carhartts because he saw a photo of Mike Tyson holding a Thomas Sowell volume the right way up.
It’s a harbinger of a new Renaissance or something.
Plenty of straw on the Steppes… Better they’d clutched some of it there rather than in steerage.
I saw that farce as well. Tyson has not the acumen to make it through the Prologue. He should have been carrying a Superman comic.
Flipping Nietzsche’s Unborn/Stillborn into Moses himself just in the nick of time to biff bash Pharaoh was almost as brilliant a sleight of hand as Fiat Currency.
I fully expect to wake up one morning in a cockroach carapace.
Lebron is gonna coach him in a few years when he finishes The Autobiography of Malcolm X.
Here’s a tale of boxer Tommy Morrison and some of the spookiest unbelievable shit that ever happened. I’m left wondering who wanted him dead. Big Pharma had a lot to do with this. 18 minute video. It get weirder and weirder. Morrison was going to fight Tyson but “they” had other plans.
https://www.bitchute.com/video/56lCURLOHsc/