![THE BULLSHIT - by Walter Kirn [An excerpt]](https://americandigest.org/wp/wp-content/uploads/2022/01/https___bucketeer-e05bbc84-baa3-437e-9518-adb32be77984.s3.amazonaws.com_public_images_144df18c-d9cf-41a9-9154-de3329face1f_241x210-150x150.jpg "THE BULLSHIT - by Walter Kirn [An excerpt]")
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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
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.
As if I had just woken from all water into dream.
— Tassajara Zen Mountain Center, 1973
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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
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
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
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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
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
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.
As if I had just woken from all water into dream.
— Tassajara Zen Mountain Center, 1973
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I f*cking hate these people!
I don’t need to read their names. I know exactly who and what they are and I know what they have done. Their smirking disingenuous faces are burned into my memory.
Burn you traitorous bastard. Burn!
Look at that lineup of soulless slimebags- with their hands over their chests, in the location where their hearts would be- IF they had hearts.
What a shame that lineup isn’t facing a firing squad.
UPDATE-
A great parody video made from the above photo of a-holes called “If pictures could talk.”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oazJ5i-TIiI&t=9s
It’s freakin’ GREAT!
Some of these people are as old as I am. A few years ago, I finally realized I’m mortal, and the implications of that, and I’m working on correcting myself and pray I have quite a bit more time; I have a lot of correcting to do. How can these people ignore the consequences of their actions, such as supporting abortion? Is the glamor too great? Are the bright lights too blinding, the influence too seductive, the money too alluring? Don’t they consider their mortality and the eternal repercussions of their actions? They should look down, see the dust under their feet, and know that’s them in a few years. Then they need to become serious about what really matters.
When you’ve sold your soul to the devil and worship at his altar by providing child sacrifice in the form of legislating abortion, the only eternity you can envision is the “delight” of hell. These evil crones and b*%tards do not fear death or hell. They are confident that their master will reward them in the afterlife for their evil deeds.
All true. I’ve long known that God sends no one to Hell. It’s denizens run there laughing and dancing, playing tambourines and singing. They believe, as you noted, that they get to spend Eternity with their master. They are correct.
They certainly therefore do not fear Hell. Here on earth they spend every waking hour bringing others into their “cause”, while also trying to re-make both and man earth in Lucifer’s image.
Calling them all POS is an insult to the BM I had this AM.
JWM
They don’t care. BS rules for dirt people. They, with the terrorists are Sky people, but without the planes.
Someone tell me the legit reason why former Pres. Bush is not there?
Stinks of Stalinist politics.
Of course the masks are theater. It’s all theater.
Casey, that mumbling fuck might just be there with these marxists. The best way to figure that out would be to call for their attention and have them line up, side by side in a row with a nice thick wall behind them. No blindfolds, no masks and certainly no smoking cause it’ll kill ya.
Bullets are too good for traitors. Rope!
Bush ought to be at the top of the list.
From https://www.revolver.news/2021/09/bush-hillary-hijack-911-push-maga-domestic-terrorism-narrative/
Today;
For most Americans, the 20th anniversary of the Sept. 11 attacks marked a solemn and sober occasion. It was a day to remember the deadliest foreign attack ever made on American soil, and a day to remember many heroes who gave their lives saving others. It was also a day to consider the many ways America has gone astray in the two decades since.
But our demented ruling class think differently than the plebs they govern. They used the 20th anniversary of 9/11 to mount a full-court propaganda press to portray their fellow Americans as terrorist threats. They even trotted out two aging, past-their-prime Twin Towers of American politics to push their malevolent narrative.
https://uploads.disquscdn.com/images/19b9fab2614f5af9b3979bbe2f3da41c71db7a309ee2ed06e57e432613404a8c.jpg
More and more, daily, I see how Leninist our governance has become. It damn sure ain’t American. Every POTUS walked us down this road, but Trump, who was opposed from without and within, almost to a man, by official DC, might be exempt from my allegation. They hated him with a white hot hate and that makes him my guy.
Imagine what an actual change agent will look like? His Tweets won’t be nice, I guarantee you that one.
I’ve said it before- this time they ran DJT off the road, next time they’ll kill him.
Chuck needs to go back to Kohen Klass to practice his Priestly Blessing. Or watch more Spock clips. He’s got the fingers all wrong. Other than that, what a filthy #$%^ing Rogues’ Gallery of Utter Scumbags.