Come writers and critics Who prophesize with your pen And keep your eyes wide The chance won’t come again And don’t speak too soon For the wheel’s still in spin And there’s no tellin’ who That it’s namin’ For the loser now Will be later to win For the times they are a-changin’.
For those of you who work in the controlled mainstream media, who betray your nation with every word you type, all for a measly salary, you must accept the will of the American people. Present them with the truth instead of acting as the communist opposition party. In the past, your content controlled the collective minds of the nation, but it has become impotent and ineffective, a laughing stock that makes your job on par with that of being a cocktail waitress. Your power is fading, so raise you right hand to your temple and salute the great flag of America, because the times are a changing.
The New York Public Libraryâs Schwarzman building is most famous for the ornate and cavernous Rose Reading Room, now reopened after two years of restoration. The stacks under the library can hold 4 million books (the actual number in storage is lower, though no one is quite sure), which are delivered to the reading room by 950 feet of miniature rail running at 75 feet per minute.
But the real gem of the library, in Lannonâs view, is the stuff that you can find only in boxes like the ones now strewn across the table. âYou can get a book anywhere,â he said. âAn archive exists in one location.â The room weâre standing in is the only place that you can read, say, the weekâs worth of journal entries in which New York Times editor Abe Rosenthal contemplates publishing the Pentagon Papers. Itâs the only place where you can read the collected papers of Robert Moses, or a letter T.S. Eliot wrote about Ulysses to James Joyceâs Paris publisher, Sylvia Beach.
At the foot of Mount Sinai, the mountain atop which God is said to have given Moses the Ten Commandments, lies St. Catherine’s Monastery, one of the world’s oldest continuously running libraries. St. Catherine’s is home to some of the world’s oldest and most valuable books and manuscripts, and the monks that watch over them. These texts are largely manuscripts and are filled with mostly Greek and Latin. However, recently scientists have uncovered new languages in the manuscripts — and some that haven’t been used since the Dark Ages. The only catch — the languages can’t be seen with the naked eye.
ON THE STEAMY first day of August 1966, Charles Whitman took an elevator to the top floor of the University of Texas Tower in Austin. The 25-year-old climbed the stairs to the observation deck, lugging with him a footlocker full of guns and ammunition. At the top, he killed a receptionist with the butt of his rifle. Two families of tourists came up the stairwell; he shot at them at point-blank range. Then he began to fire indiscriminately from the deck at people below. The first woman he shot was pregnant. As her boyfriend knelt to help her, Whitman shot him as well. He shot pedestrians in the street and an ambulance driver who came to rescue them.
The evening before, Whitman had sat at his typewriter and composed a suicide note:
I don’t really understand myself these days. I am supposed to be an average reasonable and intelligent young man. However, lately (I can’t recall when it started) I have been a victim of many unusual and irrational thoughts.
The team first set off for Big Lava Lake, situated approximately a quarter mile from the cabin. There they saw a sled, half-submerged in snow. There was a dark stain on one of the boards—human blood. Following a “dim trail” to the middle of the frozen-over lake, they noticed a hole that had “been cut in the ice and had refrozen,” along with a brown human hair, according to an account in local paper the Bulletin.
Beneath a tree, searchers also found the carcasses of several foxes. They had either been shot or clubbed, and all were skinned—expertly. Adams, whose first assignment had been to determine the fate of the foxes, now had his answer. An even more brutal clue turned up soon after, in an unthawed patch of snow: human blood, more human hair, and a front tooth.
The following day, after the ice was broken up, the group confirmed the worst: The bodies of all three men floated to the surface, wrapped in canvas. Roy Wilson had been shot in the right shoulder and behind his ear, while Morris had been shot in the left arm and hit with a hammer. Nickols had been shot in his side, and his jaw was shattered—probably by a shotgun blast. Ominously, his watch had stopped at 9:10.
The box opens out as a kind of introduction to the basics of idealized family life: this is what dinner is; this is what home is. Each ingredient is individually wrapped and Saussureanly labelled. “Green Beans,” it says on the green beans. “Saffron,” it says on the saffron. The consumer is presumed to be in a state of primal confusion, an amnesiac being coaxed through the performance of some semblance of a former life. Here is your husband, don’t you remember? Your children, whom you love. This is your front doorbell ringing, this is a box sent by a friend, this is the katus-style eggplant you’re about to prepare and eat in this set of rooms that makes up the emotional center of your life.
This is from a piece that finds these boxes problematically problematical, and it begins with the usual specious generalities that reveal nothing about the subject and everything about the author.
The consumer is presumed to be in a state of primal confusion, an amnesiac being coaxed through the performance of some semblance of a former life.
The consumer is actually being informed that the saffron can be found in the packet labeled saffron. This is helpful information.
Until WWII, L’Amour’s life was a series of manual labor jobs. He was an abandoned mine caretaker (guarding against thieves and vagabonds), ditch digger, cargo officer on ships, logging inspector, amateur boxer, and more. Through it all, the bachelor noted, “I was never without a book, carrying one with me wherever I went and reading at every opportunity.”
Even then L’Amour knew he wanted to make his true living as a writer — preferably as a poet. So when he wasn’t reading or working, he was writing. When his poems didn’t catch commercially, he tried his hand at short stories, in a variety of genres — Far East adventures, boxing tales, Westerns. He wrote about nearly everything. Finally in the late 1930s, his stories started being accepted by the pulp magazines that were popular at the time.
She said: ‘I was sat at my desk when I heard the crash. There was a loud bang, as the car smashed into others. At first I didn’t take much notice, but all of a sudden people started running away and I knew it wasn’t a normal accident.
‘I saw a dad dragging his kids along Exhibition Road and urging them to hurry up, and then they were followed by streams of people. They were screaming and running like a typical worst nightmare scenario. It put me in mind of Las Vegas.
‘Then the alarm went off in South Kensington station and everyone began to evacuate. Police officers were going into the restaurants and telling people to leave.
“You don’t ever get to disarm us. Not ever.”
=============================
It’s the craziest thing, isn’t it? Where some people think they get to say what other people can possess. Where did this notion come from?
I know someone that recently bought a 200′ concrete bridge. Yes, the whole dam thing. He went right to the owner and bought it with cash, $70 grand. It’s currently being transported from one part of the state to his 43 acres where his brand new crib that I designed for him is being built, and that bridge will soon span a creek as part of the 1800′ driveway from the road back to the crib. Can you imagine someone telling him he can’t have that bridge?
Walk through your house, look at all the stuff you own. Look at that framed 100 year old portrait of your great great grandmother with the blue hair. Suppose you posted a picture of that portrait online and someone got scared of it and said you couldn’t own it any more cause it’s scary?
What about that special steak knife in the secret place in the kitchen that only you know about, the one with the unique triple grind that’ll zip through a 2″ porterhouse like no one’s business. It could also separate a torso from the remnants if needed, and what if someone found out you have that knife and decided you shouldn’t have it, just in case you lost your mind someday and killed 63.17 people with it?
Didja ever sit around all day long thinking up scary shit that might happen?
Didja ever imagine an entire country, or planet, would be governed by people that do?
More and more I just push those little buttons on the bottom right side of my dual monitor rig and make all the insanity disappear. I did that earlier this morning.
I stepped out the door as I was headed down to the woods to check out a small rock slide in the creek that needed tending but I got stopped immediately. There, right in the leaves and gravel of the driveway, in front of my Blazer, young Miss Turkey was napping after a long morning of vacuuming the area of bugs and seeds. That big fat belly got the best of her and dammed if that little spot of heaven in the sun wasn’t too inviting. So there she sat, still snoozin’, so I quietly went back inside and exited through the back door. I looked back at her from the middle of the bridge that leads from my detached office/workshop to the house, and she was still sitting right there enjoying that dream.
Down through the woods I go, all the fresh dead leaves are like walking on ball bearings down the gradual slope to the small creek at the bottom. Ah-ha. A big, dead sycamore limb had fallen from the overnight wind gusts and knocked down the flat rock sides I has laid over the summer where the sides has caved creating a clay dam. I went back up and got my portable chainsaw and came back and sawed that thing into bite size pieces, restacked the rocks and now the water is flowing as it should.
I was putting the chainsaw away and heard a noise out front and peered out the garage door windows and there she was, strutting her stuff across the drive, on her way to who knows where. The doors were shut but I yelled anyway, “Stay your ass off’n the road, and be careful!” She’ll be back around suppertime because there will be a fresh load of black oil sunflower seeds dispersed at the far end of the north yard on the other side of the pool. She knows this, and has known it all of her young life, which began just 3 months ago. After chowing down like a big dawg she’ll light up into a lower branch on the biggest cedar tree on the property, just like she does every night.
I don’t plan to harm that turkey but someone else might, as long as people that fear their own shadows are kept at bay, and who knows, if those scared people do have their way maybe someday I’ll use whatever method I can find to eat one of those turkeys myself after everyone is prevented from having anything and everything including food, water, and air. What they really want is your life and your guns are just a stepping stone to their ideals. Nobody gets to tell anyone else what they can have. Ever.
What the Lefts never seem to grasp, while their trying to negotiate the next little bit of gun control, is that it isn’t about the what. Nope, not the bump stock. Not the 20 round magazine; nor the silencer, not the gun show loophole, nor the background check. They argue that “reasonable” limits on gun ownership or possession are needed, and only White men are against reasonable limits. Bullfit! It isn’t the limits, it’s the who gets to impose the limits. They read the whole Bill of Rights, and they come away without any comprehension. Gubmint needs more authority, didn’t you know?
Ghost, good luck on that post-apocalyptic turkey hunt. It took me 3 years, in season, to fill my first turkey tag. Mama turkey knows you aren’t hunting her, now. Weirdly, when you do show up with a shotgun, they’ll be nowhere easily found. Animals know much, much more about us than we credit them for. That, in itself, is one of benefits of watching nature afield with a gun in one’s hands.
There’s an abandoned Pit Bull, now gone feral, ranging around my property. Do I seek government help? No, I don’t. I have just that much independence that I can deal with this on my own. Maybe he’ll surrender and be pet friendly; maybe he won’t. A situation I truly hate, but there it is.
I’ll try and come back later to read and comment on Bob Dylan.
The idea that only government thugs should be armed is appalling.
azlibertarianOctober 7, 2017, 5:46 PM
@Bill Jones “The idea that only government thugs should be armed is appalling.”
I’m repeating our host here from earlier in the week, but Sen. Feinstein recently said,
“…Automatic weapons have been illegal for more than 30 years, but there’s a loophole in the law that can be exploited to allow killers to fire at rates of between 400 and 800 rounds-per-minute. The only reason to fire so many rounds so fast is to kill large numbers of people. No one should be able to easily and cheaply modify legal weapons into what are essentially machine guns….” [emphasis in original]
And without the least bit of self-reflection or irony, she finished her press release with….
I have been posting, “..Shall not be infringed..”, all over the place. There is no conversation. Our rights are endowed, not granted. They can bugger off.
I’ll rephrase what I said above, because it’s my new light bulb moment after a week of combing the details, looking for the Vegas motive. The federal investigators, and the powers that sit in Nevada and DC, could not give 2 shits for you or I. They have zero idea that we are out here desperate for news. They know some things – some incidental, some meaningless, and some very credible. Feeling terrorized, Mr & Mrs America? Oh, I didn’t realize that. Break’s over, sit back down, now…
NoriOctober 7, 2017, 9:48 PM
“No one should be able to easily and cheaply modify legal weapons into what are essentially machine guns.” Except (of course) law enforcement and the government. Yes, no irony there, not a whiff.
DiFi, like Maverick! I’m a Maverick! McCain, are powerfully pontificating their righteous! power,lately. These scabious relics brought this country to where it is, one committee meeting, press conference, and vote, over the past several decades. No wonder, in their dotage, that they fear retribution.
ghostsniperOctober 8, 2017, 4:50 AM
@Casey, careful with that pit. I treat all dogs about the same but with Pits I’m a little more cautious because of their capabilities and perhaps their history. My sister runs 2 shelters in North Carolina and has 5 pits of her own and loves em. Like all dogs, Pits can be very loyal, but do exercise caution with one that’s been running loose, it has more developed survival instincts now. Food and praise are the key. Dogs prefer friendly, high pitched voices, but not too high. Or, if you’re big and powerful like that shitstain edaddy, you can just slam it against the wall and then go online and brag about it. I don’t think you’re that way.
No, I’m not physically that great, anymore. We own a Pity, and so my prejudices about them are gone. yes, they have powerful jaws. I’m considering *all* my options, but hate like hell the idea of the one I’ll probably have to take.
Drop-offs are not uncommon, here, because we’re in the countryside.
The yotes and the wolves will probably take care of it before any rescue can take place. Or a coug.
re: the Vegas shooting, listen to Steve Wynn and the anon prostitute. Detailed in the Daily Mail/ vis Drudge. He was a conspiratorialist, which is a form of paranoia, and his father was a psychopath. Looks like his brother has a criminal record, but SP did not. Prostitute says he was weird and pent-up; Wynn says he was milk-toast and vanilla. So mild they had his profile (they had him profiled because he was a frequent guest) and he was a null threat.
My assessment is that he was turned by an external force.
I am for a total outlawing of guns. Consider the reduction in paperwork. Of course, the cloud people want a gun ban, which is dreamy and wishful and full of unicorns and sodomy rainbows, and that’s a different thing altogether. Let them pass their wishful thinks. It won’t end well for them. They will be wishing they had guns. Or else, they’ll be thankful that they have guns.
Real World Address for Donations, Mash Notes and Hate Mail
Gerard Van der Leun
1692 MANGROVE AVE
APT 379
Chico, Ca 95926
Green Pants Interior by Klahn
Who Am I? by Carl Sandburg
My head knocks against the stars.
My feet are on the hilltops.
My finger-tips are in the valleys and shores of universal life.
Down in the sounding foam of primal things I reach my hands and play with pebbles of destiny.
I have been to hell and back many times.
I know all about heaven, for I have talked with God.
I dabble in the blood and guts of the terrible.
I know the passionate seizure of beauty
And the marvelous rebellion of man at all signs reading “Keep Off.”
My name is Truth and I am the most elusive captive in the universe.
Duty, Beauty, Liberty, Country, Honor, Family, Faith — Plus a few simple easy to follow rules for guys
Men saw the stars at the edge of the sea
They thought great thoughts about liberty
Poets wrote down words that did fit
Writers wrote books
Thinkers thought about it
Take it where you find it
Can’t leave it alone
You will find a purpose
To carry it on
Mainly when you find it
Your heart will be strong
About it
Many’s the road I have walked upon
Many’s the hour between dusk and dawn
Many’s the time
Many’s the mile
I see it all now
Through the eyes of a child
Take it where you find it
Can’t leave it alone
You will find a purpose
To carry it on
Mainly when you find it
Your heart will be strong
About it
[Chorus]
Lost dreams and found dreams
In America
In America
In America
Lost dreams and found dreams
In America
In America
In America
And close your eyes
Leave it all for a while
Leave the world
And your worries behind
You will build on whatever is real
And wake up each day
To a new waking dream
Take it where you find it
Can’t leave it alone
You will find a purpose
To carry it on
Mainly when you find it
Your heart will be strong
About it
[Chorus]
Change, change come over
Change come over
Talkin’ about a change
Change, change
Change come over, now
Change, change, change come over
I’m gonna walk down the street
Until I see
My shining light
I’m gonna walk down the street
Until I see
My shining light
I’m gonna walk down the street
Until I see
My shining light
I’m gonna walk down the street
Until I see
My shining light
I see my light
See my light
See my shining light
I see my light
See my light
See my shining light
Gerard Van der Leun
Comments on this entry are closed.
“You don’t ever get to disarm us. Not ever.”
=============================
It’s the craziest thing, isn’t it? Where some people think they get to say what other people can possess. Where did this notion come from?
I know someone that recently bought a 200′ concrete bridge. Yes, the whole dam thing. He went right to the owner and bought it with cash, $70 grand. It’s currently being transported from one part of the state to his 43 acres where his brand new crib that I designed for him is being built, and that bridge will soon span a creek as part of the 1800′ driveway from the road back to the crib. Can you imagine someone telling him he can’t have that bridge?
Walk through your house, look at all the stuff you own. Look at that framed 100 year old portrait of your great great grandmother with the blue hair. Suppose you posted a picture of that portrait online and someone got scared of it and said you couldn’t own it any more cause it’s scary?
What about that special steak knife in the secret place in the kitchen that only you know about, the one with the unique triple grind that’ll zip through a 2″ porterhouse like no one’s business. It could also separate a torso from the remnants if needed, and what if someone found out you have that knife and decided you shouldn’t have it, just in case you lost your mind someday and killed 63.17 people with it?
Didja ever sit around all day long thinking up scary shit that might happen?
Didja ever imagine an entire country, or planet, would be governed by people that do?
More and more I just push those little buttons on the bottom right side of my dual monitor rig and make all the insanity disappear. I did that earlier this morning.
I stepped out the door as I was headed down to the woods to check out a small rock slide in the creek that needed tending but I got stopped immediately. There, right in the leaves and gravel of the driveway, in front of my Blazer, young Miss Turkey was napping after a long morning of vacuuming the area of bugs and seeds. That big fat belly got the best of her and dammed if that little spot of heaven in the sun wasn’t too inviting. So there she sat, still snoozin’, so I quietly went back inside and exited through the back door. I looked back at her from the middle of the bridge that leads from my detached office/workshop to the house, and she was still sitting right there enjoying that dream.
Down through the woods I go, all the fresh dead leaves are like walking on ball bearings down the gradual slope to the small creek at the bottom. Ah-ha. A big, dead sycamore limb had fallen from the overnight wind gusts and knocked down the flat rock sides I has laid over the summer where the sides has caved creating a clay dam. I went back up and got my portable chainsaw and came back and sawed that thing into bite size pieces, restacked the rocks and now the water is flowing as it should.
I was putting the chainsaw away and heard a noise out front and peered out the garage door windows and there she was, strutting her stuff across the drive, on her way to who knows where. The doors were shut but I yelled anyway, “Stay your ass off’n the road, and be careful!” She’ll be back around suppertime because there will be a fresh load of black oil sunflower seeds dispersed at the far end of the north yard on the other side of the pool. She knows this, and has known it all of her young life, which began just 3 months ago. After chowing down like a big dawg she’ll light up into a lower branch on the biggest cedar tree on the property, just like she does every night.
I don’t plan to harm that turkey but someone else might, as long as people that fear their own shadows are kept at bay, and who knows, if those scared people do have their way maybe someday I’ll use whatever method I can find to eat one of those turkeys myself after everyone is prevented from having anything and everything including food, water, and air. What they really want is your life and your guns are just a stepping stone to their ideals. Nobody gets to tell anyone else what they can have. Ever.
What the Lefts never seem to grasp, while their trying to negotiate the next little bit of gun control, is that it isn’t about the what. Nope, not the bump stock. Not the 20 round magazine; nor the silencer, not the gun show loophole, nor the background check. They argue that “reasonable” limits on gun ownership or possession are needed, and only White men are against reasonable limits. Bullfit! It isn’t the limits, it’s the who gets to impose the limits. They read the whole Bill of Rights, and they come away without any comprehension. Gubmint needs more authority, didn’t you know?
Ghost, good luck on that post-apocalyptic turkey hunt. It took me 3 years, in season, to fill my first turkey tag. Mama turkey knows you aren’t hunting her, now. Weirdly, when you do show up with a shotgun, they’ll be nowhere easily found. Animals know much, much more about us than we credit them for. That, in itself, is one of benefits of watching nature afield with a gun in one’s hands.
There’s an abandoned Pit Bull, now gone feral, ranging around my property. Do I seek government help? No, I don’t. I have just that much independence that I can deal with this on my own. Maybe he’ll surrender and be pet friendly; maybe he won’t. A situation I truly hate, but there it is.
I’ll try and come back later to read and comment on Bob Dylan.
“they’re.” Sorry.
The idea that only government thugs should be armed is appalling.
@Bill Jones “The idea that only government thugs should be armed is appalling.”
I’m repeating our host here from earlier in the week, but Sen. Feinstein recently said,
“…Automatic weapons have been illegal for more than 30 years, but there’s a loophole in the law that can be exploited to allow killers to fire at rates of between 400 and 800 rounds-per-minute. The only reason to fire so many rounds so fast is to kill large numbers of people. No one should be able to easily and cheaply modify legal weapons into what are essentially machine guns….” [emphasis in original]
And without the least bit of self-reflection or irony, she finished her press release with….
“…The bill also contains exceptions for lawful possession of these devices by law enforcement and the government.”
https://www.feinstein.senate.gov/public/index.cfm/press-releases?ID=CA2F48A6-DFAE-4999-93D1-ED2C7347DC37
I have been posting, “..Shall not be infringed..”, all over the place. There is no conversation. Our rights are endowed, not granted. They can bugger off.
I’ll rephrase what I said above, because it’s my new light bulb moment after a week of combing the details, looking for the Vegas motive. The federal investigators, and the powers that sit in Nevada and DC, could not give 2 shits for you or I. They have zero idea that we are out here desperate for news. They know some things – some incidental, some meaningless, and some very credible. Feeling terrorized, Mr & Mrs America? Oh, I didn’t realize that. Break’s over, sit back down, now…
“No one should be able to easily and cheaply modify legal weapons into what are essentially machine guns.” Except (of course) law enforcement and the government. Yes, no irony there, not a whiff.
DiFi, like Maverick! I’m a Maverick! McCain, are powerfully pontificating their righteous! power,lately. These scabious relics brought this country to where it is, one committee meeting, press conference, and vote, over the past several decades. No wonder, in their dotage, that they fear retribution.
@Casey, careful with that pit. I treat all dogs about the same but with Pits I’m a little more cautious because of their capabilities and perhaps their history. My sister runs 2 shelters in North Carolina and has 5 pits of her own and loves em. Like all dogs, Pits can be very loyal, but do exercise caution with one that’s been running loose, it has more developed survival instincts now. Food and praise are the key. Dogs prefer friendly, high pitched voices, but not too high. Or, if you’re big and powerful like that shitstain edaddy, you can just slam it against the wall and then go online and brag about it. I don’t think you’re that way.
No, I’m not physically that great, anymore. We own a Pity, and so my prejudices about them are gone. yes, they have powerful jaws. I’m considering *all* my options, but hate like hell the idea of the one I’ll probably have to take.
Drop-offs are not uncommon, here, because we’re in the countryside.
The yotes and the wolves will probably take care of it before any rescue can take place. Or a coug.
re: the Vegas shooting, listen to Steve Wynn and the anon prostitute. Detailed in the Daily Mail/ vis Drudge. He was a conspiratorialist, which is a form of paranoia, and his father was a psychopath. Looks like his brother has a criminal record, but SP did not. Prostitute says he was weird and pent-up; Wynn says he was milk-toast and vanilla. So mild they had his profile (they had him profiled because he was a frequent guest) and he was a null threat.
My assessment is that he was turned by an external force.
I am for a total outlawing of guns. Consider the reduction in paperwork. Of course, the cloud people want a gun ban, which is dreamy and wishful and full of unicorns and sodomy rainbows, and that’s a different thing altogether. Let them pass their wishful thinks. It won’t end well for them. They will be wishing they had guns. Or else, they’ll be thankful that they have guns.