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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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Fun with cheap Fireworks.
Most people learn this by about age 12 but maybe you forgot, a little reminder.
Black cat style of firecracker – comes in hundreds of names, the bigger the better.
Cuck method: sit cat on ground, light, run like 4 motherfuckers.
ghost methods:
1. Hold cat in throwing hand, light, throw it at the cuck.
2. Jam copper pipe in ground, aim at cucks roof, light cat and drop in pipe, drop marble/de-finned arrow/nails/drywall screws in pipe.
3. Dip cat in melted wax, immediately roll in BB’s or shattered glass, go find cuck.
4. Light cat, drop in cucks gas tank, run like 4 MFR’s.
5. Tape cat to center of cucks sliding glass door, light, r l 4 mfrs.
6. Aim cat in slingshot at cuck, have friend light cat, launch.
If you can get em, M-80’s and cherry bombs are waterproof and therefore have a lot more options.
let your imagination run wild at the cucks expense.
Ghost, you’ve just described most of my childhood 4th of Julys in Washington State. The good fireworks were mostly illegal to buy, so everyone would just go to the Muckleshoot reservation where you could find pretty much anything. When I was young, we lived in the woods not too close to neighbors, but we’d spend the evening dodging Saturn rockets and thinking of new ways to set off the tens of free bottle rockets you’d get with each purchase. Later, we lived in a regular neighborhood, where people in different houses would aim stuff at each other. We’d hold Roman candles in our hands and blast away. It’s a miracle nobody ever ended up in the ER; good times.
These days, I live in the tinderbox of Southern California. Fireworks go off every night, all night. It starts to get old when you have terrified pets and the worry over wildfires, but there’s not much law to worry about these days, so boom boom boom it is.
That quote is also attributed to Winston Churchill
“…M-80’s and cherry bombs are waterproof and therefore have a lot more options.”
Like flushing a lit one on the 3rd floor of a college dorm… and then being billed for four grand worth of damage to the sewer lines, without counting the crap laid upon the perpetrator by the his department head, the Dean of Men, the Dean of Students, etc, etc, etc. Not me, an acquaintance. The guy actually managed to graduate with a Mech E degree.
The toilet fountains on the second floor were awesome, by report.
Yeah we use cell phones and thermite now a dayz for that light sheet then run 4 motherfers down with our Prius. Win win. Rinse repeatz…
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-cPNxdV2I0c
watch and listen to George Webb
Any of you kids grow up around mining country?
Remember Calcium Carbide for miner’s lamps?
Black Cats? Cherry Bombs? M-80s?
Personally I prefer Astrolite.
In junior high some kids drop-flushed an M80 in the boys room which was next to the principal’s office. Yeah, cracked the porcelain made the restroom a mess. They got away with it so they did it again two weeks later, but this time with a home made device that blew up the toilet and flooded the 2nd floor. It was amazing nobody got ratted out on the first event but mouths did not remain shut for long after the repeat effort. KBI showed up and hollered a bunch at the two boys that got fingered for the effort. They avoided any legal consequences and I told them that the cops were just trying to scare them. They replied that the cops had done a real good job of that.