WHEN in the course of human Events, it becomes necessary….
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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
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
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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
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
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
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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
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
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
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Wow. The tats, nose ring, and Jimmy Neutron hairdo already shout DO NOT TOUCH. Is it his intention that they should also suggest SHOOT ON SIGHT? ‘Cause that’s the vibe I’m gettin’.
Poster Child.
It really should take a long hard look at that pik and try understand what it’s going to feel like when that thing is jammed up it’s ass and snapped off.
It’s a plastic toy, probably airsoft or some such.
That’s a septum just looking for further moderation. Anymore, I look at such things as a symptom of a luxurious society gone rancid.
A fairy with a gun. I laughed.
The only thing that’s going to get mangled when “mangler666” pulls the trigger on his AK-47 is the mangle-meister himself. He just might become the first semi-sentient being to knock himself out from the recoil of an AK on full auto. Those things kick like a mule, Slugger
And a word of advice to anyone standing to the right of mangleman when he goes full auto. Drop!!
Bradley Manning’s doppellganger.
I pick my teeth with pieces of wood thicker than “mangler’s” wrists
“moderation” was to have been modification. That’s what I get for posting while distracted.
Still. What’s wrong with that boy? I don’t know where to start. “midwest_manlet666”, indeed.
https://kiwifarms.net/threads/midwest_mangler666-logan-hall.33845/
First impression was to view it as ridiculous. Then I thought of similar ridiculous beings swarming red-hat-wearers and leaving them bloody, or others swinging bike locks onto heads, or mobbing restaurant patrons. Why would such critters forgo firearm violence? Just because they’re against my gun ownership doesn’t mean Alinksy wouldn’t preach & justify their use toward political ends, in the right hands. So I’ve revised my premise to always assume the worst from people who would do violence to strangers for SJW goals. Best to be prepared accordingly and in a position to react well.
Never underestimate. As I recall, British soldiers eagerly swarmed to WWI, happily insisting they’d be home by Christmas. I suppose that some were; in boxes or with missing parts.
Did anyone take the time to read what he wrote?
Just as I thought, Airsoft.
See RosalindJ’s link and here:
http://www.akfiles.com/forums/showthread.php?s=6d6fef132698553a6ed4301ba9702512&t=319085
Pull a real gun and this whiney bitch will soil herself from both ends at the same time.
It’s just having a bad hair day, and it doesn’t want onlookers to say anything.
Just wait till it strikes an even more warlike pose! You’ll be impressed, and then it’ll flounce away satisfied!
He/she/it is one reason I’m never without my 1911 with my sawed-off 12-gauge nearby.
“You’ll shoot your eye out kid.”
I.C.Nielsen! Comment of the day!!
Gunner, target front, hipster tranny with an AK
Identified !
Fire !
On the way !