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He thought he kept the universe alone;
For all the voice in answer he could wake
Was but the mocking echo of his own
From some tree-hidden cliff across the lake.
Some morning from the boulder-broken beach
He would cry out on life, that what it wants
Is not its own love back in copy speech,
But counter-love, original response.
And nothing ever came of what he cried
Unless it was the embodiment that crashed
In the cliff’s talus on the other side,
And then in the far distant water splashed,
But after a time allowed for it to swim,
Instead of proving human when it neared
And someone else additional to him,
As a great buck it powerfully appeared,
Pushing the crumpled water up ahead,
And landed pouring like a waterfall,
And stumbled through the rocks with horny tread,
And forced the underbrush–and that was all.
When all Earth’s seas shall Levitate,
Dark shawled within the skies,
Upon our eyes will Starfish dance
Their waltz of Blind surprise.
The sun will Rise within wine Dark
As Argonauts imbibed,
Whose drunken arms embrace that sleep
Where Phaeton’s horses Stride.
Upon all of Earth’s wind-sanded shores,
As dolphins Learn to soar,
All we once were on the land
Shall be sealed behind the door
Of Ivory and Chastened Gold,
That the Mystery solved complete
Shall never til the seas’ Long fall
Wake mariners from their sleep.
— Van der Leun
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
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
— The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot
Gerard Van der Leun
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The last one is very true, and I’m not talking about Slick Willie.
I’m a full fledged Capitalist and entrepreneurship and Capitalism is the only solution to prosperity but I tend to agree with Shaw. Rich folks aren’t the problem; rather those who use their money for the cold purpose of wielding power and dominion over others or those who demand your money for the good of society on the whole.
It’s been a couple of days so I lost the reference, but I think it was in The Atlantic. A couple of pimply-faced journalists were talking openly about the irony of getting Bernie elected using democratic means, and the impossibility of doing it the old fashioned commie way because Americans are armed to the teeth. The clear message was that once the dem sosh system goes into place, there won’t be anymore fukking elections or goddamned firearms.
They publish this shit out in the open. Still wondering when the war begins?
Oh Casey there will be plenty of firearms and there will be plenty of sparks and then there will be a time of trial with a lot of terrible things happening and then we win.
Tucker’s good lady looks (to me anyway) like a high class example of the California babe. Well done, Tucker.
And well done with the kids. I’ve tied you with the girls, but you beat me with the handsome young man.