Smooth pic.twitter.com/8UJCmfXxLG
— Art TakingBack 🇺🇸 (@ArtValley818_) February 3, 2022
Smooth Move: Best thing I’ve seen all day
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Smooth pic.twitter.com/8UJCmfXxLG
— Art TakingBack 🇺🇸 (@ArtValley818_) February 3, 2022
Next post: Strange Daze: Extinction Plus!
Previous post: Strange Daze Sources: Happy Acres
Address for Donations, Complaints, Brickbats, and — oh yes — Donations
My Back Pages
In Memory Of W.B. Yeats
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.
As if I had just woken from all water into dream.
— Tassajara Zen Mountain Center, 1973
Your Say
My Thinking Hat
FSA/8d22000/8d224008d22491a.tif
Search American Digest’s Back Pages
The People Yes
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
The Vault
My Back Pages
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
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.
As if I had just woken from all water into dream.
— Tassajara Zen Mountain Center, 1973
Comments on this entry are closed.
Should’ve swerved to the right and smeared a coupla greasy marks on the railing.
It’s why I own a 1986 military blazer. Easy to work on. Also, no airbags. (And an HCAR)
CIII
There is little doubt that you would have!
Okay, I’m kinda slow to catch on… living out in the sticks and such. I can’t read twitter because I don’t and won’t ever belong. Was this one of those planned highway robberies I’ve heard of where the perps actually cause a wreck so the unaware motorist steps out of his vehicle with his insurance card already in hand… and then he’s clubbed and kicked and tossed over the embankment… but not before they’ve swiped his wallet and wristwatch and cell phone… and then they drive off with his car, too? But this guy doesn’t live in the sticks like me? And he’s, like, totally hip to the whole freaking thing, caught it on camera, and suffered no more than a slightly dented front fender?
Yeah, you got it. That place is a funnel of defeat, depending on who has the biggest ballz, or in this case, the bigger vehicle. Situational awareness is the order of the day.
Okay, I’m catching on. Then… after they’ve tossed the dude over the 60 foot embankment to his death then they go through his personal belongings, drive to his house, click the garage door opener, pull in, park the car, close the garage door, barge into the kitchen and rape his wife, and the kids get it, too? Something like that? I sure hope they have a forgiving district attorney who will work with these disadvantaged guys and get them some good counseling and place them onto a steady path and a bright future.
You say smooth move. I say, SMOOOOOOOOOOTH MOVE !!!!!
Reason number 156,693 to always go armed when you leave your home. And avoid crowds. And MLK avenue. And Democrat-run cities.
Sometimes I find myself thinking that I can hardly wait. Not until we start shooting back but until we simply go on the offensive. If it looks like a perp, call it one, take care of it and find the next one.
Dumping a mag or 3 on them would have been a nice touch…
CC
Mag dumps make for poor photography without special effects. Rolling the vehicle with flying parts everywhere would have been entertaining. But still a smooth response to the surprise attack.