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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
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
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
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.
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.