[I blame Neo and warn all that viewing the following video will require “years of therapy” to expunge from your soul.]
WHEN in the course of human Events, it becomes necessary….
![That Was the Whopper Weekend That Was [Illustrated]](https://americandigest.org/wp/wp-content/uploads/2021/05/welcometohell-150x150.jpg "That Was the Whopper Weekend That Was [Illustrated]")
Welcome to the New American Digest: 2003-2020
Gerard Van der Leun
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.
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
Comments on this entry are closed.
Huh. She must have some extremely calloused hands.
I dunno… I find her strangely…attractive?
WTF??? What the serious F?????????????? Does she have parents? A husband, children, concerned neighbors, acquaintances? Anyone?
She must have a trainer. Otherwise how could she make those jumps.
I made it to the one minute mark. Even that took all the courage I could muster.
I can’t say I’m shocked.
Not much shocks me these days.
I will say that in all equestrian events that I’ve ever seen, the horse has a rider….and I’ll just leave it there.
Can they make glue out of her when it’s time to put her out to pasture?
They shoot horses, don’t they?
more to this then just romping about the yard…
Trans-speciesism is the logical next step after transgenderism. She may already be training for the next Shamlympics.
Little known fact:
“Horse play” is a real (and hideously weird) S/M type sex fetish: reins, bridle, and, of course, whips.
I’ve seen it, and it ain’t pretty.
(file under stuff I’d just as soon have expunged from the resume)
JWM
lost in the ozone again…
JWM
I’m wondering, is there more retardation now, or has there always been this amount but the innertoobz has made it available for all to see?
Glad I checked the comments first and hence, didn’t watch it.
Does she have parents? The guy holding the camera. Always some parent wanting to get attention by proxy. Are the Norwegians so far gone as to pay them all that attention?
Sometimes you just gotta go “WTF?!”
Big deal. Let’s see her fall off a bar stool while holding a beer.
[All-purpose comment.]
My Little Phony
If she were Japanese, I’d say ”not nuked enough”.
A fitting event for the Lame-O-limpics.
“Sir, Joe Biden speaking is like a woman galloping like a horse. It is not done well; but you are surprised to find it done at all.”
With apologies to Samuel Johnson
If wishes were horses, we’d all be cantering…
A horse? No.
A jackass? YES.
Waaay back in the early 1970s, after the famous British historian James Morris transitioned to become the female Jan Morris, there appeared in the New York Times Sunday Magazine a mocking article about a fictional young girl who so loved horses, that she arranged for the first inter-species re-assignment surgery. She woke up after the surgery to find that she was the most beautiful horse that she had ever imagined herself to be.
Does anyone remember that article? I’ve been looking for it to no avail. The author might have have been Joyce Carol Oates. Gerard, do you have any contacts in the literary world who could ask her?