“This is the kind of judge I will always be.”
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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Judge Kavanaugh is an honest man.
He is absolutely correct in his statement about getting good people to run for office. Who would want to go thru this treatment? But – isn’t that what the swamp wants? Easily manipulated people, who can be corrupted easily?
We need to confirm Judge Kavanaugh now- Lets VOTE!
Call your representatives!
Hanging’s too merciful for the likes of Shitestein, Greaseball, Liars 1 and 2, et al. I’m thinking an hour or so on the rack for a warm up, followed by a soothing molten lead gargle.
“Nothing to say now, huh?”
a cuckservative shabbatz goy
gets a lesson in (((post-modern ethics))).
he’ll go right on cucking though.
It is clear now, one group has crossed into open cultural warfare, with multiple unrelenting attacks on multiple fronts with multiple weapons, truth the first casualty. There are no moral constraints, win everything or die is the only imperative, destroy the enemy’s will to fight, or the enemy if need be.
The other group refuses to even defend themselves and their own supporters, I guess on the theory that it takes two sides to make a war. (No defense, no counter-attacks … voila! no war!)
We have representatives. And some of the chosen representatives refuse to defend their people, and only offer pre-emptive capitulation. In the old days, such were quisling traitors, near lowest rat scum of all.
There are only 535 of them, their tens of thousands more of retainers and courtiers and toadies and henchmen and stooges. What will the Sixty-Three do when they finally see the depth of their betrayal? What will the Sixty-Three do?
Whole lotta yappin but nothing worthwhile and nobody’s listenin.
The gov’t funds the operation and the media fans the flames.
FWIW
There’s something happening here, what it is ain’t exactly clear.
There’s a man with a gun over there, telling me I have to beware.
There’s battle lines being drawn, nobody’s right if everybody’s wrong.
Young people speaking their minds, getting so much resistance from behind.
What a field-day for the heat, a thousand people in the street.
Singing songs and carrying signs, mostly say, hooray for our side.
Paranoia strikes deep, into your life it will creep.
It starts when you’re always afraid, step out of line, the man come and take you away.
We better stop, hey, what’s that sound, everybody look what’s going down.
@ John A. Fleming. Very powerful words Sir. I believe the pot is boiling and will quite soon engulf the kitchen in a scalding hell. Keep your sword edges keen.
Here is a new item on this accuser. Boiling her in oil would be a good first step.
https://stream.org/christine-blasey-ford-abortion-profiteer/
Howzabout we get the “special fund” info published.
You know — the one that has info about payoffs to protect congresscritters accused of harassment or abuse. Payoffs using your and my money, not from their own pockets.
I may not be happy with some of the names I’ll see there, but at least I’ll know.