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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
FSA/8d22000/8d224008d22491a.tif
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
Comments on this entry are closed.
OK, if that wasn’t an obvious DQ, then high school sports is irretrievably broken.
DQ?
Are you F’ing KIDDING ME?!
That was a felony assault. Jail time.
But no, the attacker is a protected class and his rage should be understood. The victim may have even SAID something to warrant such treatment, dontcha know.
Nothing at all happens to negroes who assault whites, murder Asians, kill cops and rob stores. They know it. You know it. We all know it.
Amen to the felony assault, but I don’t think the sports officials are certified peace officers with the power to arrest. But they certainly can put shovemeister Dindu Nuffin out of all competition and eliminate him from some no-show college athletic scholarship. Better State Pen than Penn State.
Felony Assault? Not even close. Try harassment, a misdemeanor.
Are you sure that wasn’t just apart of the show. Dude slaps like a pussy.
The end of our formerly civil agreement between one another.
But this is the way things SHOULD be; ask the latest Supreme Court nominee and her sycophant supporters. What is law is fluid, what is sex is fluid, what is good is fluid; and you will comply!
I absolutely despise what we as a culture have become.
From Moonbattery:
” The family of a high school track star who was sucker-punched during a race say they had wanted to press charges against his attacker but deputies had threatened to arrest their son if they’d done so.
The teenage victim suffered a concussion from the attack.
There was allegedly an altercation before the attack, where the victim had told the attacker to move out of his way. When he refused, during an earlier lap, the victim had pushed him, according to TMZ.”
JWM
What I heard was that this attacker had been standing in the track and was doing so intentionally to block this guy and that the runner only yelled at him to get out of the way and there was no “push”.
He now has the obligation to kill the entity that struck him from behind.
And I hope he fulfills that obligation and if he doesn’t someone else should. I despise most of that race and can barely tolerate the remainder.
Felony assault? Laughable. At best Harassment/ Misdemeanor assault. Ret LEO from Calif.
Ret LEO from Calif? Laughable.
Dan Patterson
So I’ve taken the time to assist you in your better understanding of laws, more importantly the sentence structure. How laws are written are very important. Their structure is as important as the meaning and intent of specific words.
California Penal code section PC 242, “assault and battery”, refers to simple “Battery”, the criminal sentence may be 6 months in county jail, and a 2000.00 fine. Or one or the other.
The more “ proper” charge would be
PC 243(d). The statute required “ serious Bodily harm”. Do you believe a serious bodily injury was caused, by that the strike?
Again these are Calif Criminal code. PC.
Apologies, my intent was not to challenge your view. In the future I’m happy to assist you in determining a legal definitions.
I still have a complete set of older Penal Code and Traffic Code,,,,,related books here at home. And I still subscribe by California Case Law,,,,,, a currant book with the latest law as determined by different judges.
Was the aggressor (the one throwing the punch) being overlapped? If that was the case then he should have moved over from the inside lane. Long standing rule in distance racing. The top runners just like the top swimmers do not take kindly to slower athletes who block their way. However, angry words (assuming angry words were indeed exchanged) do not give this cowardly bully the right to punch someone’s head from behind.
So this bully is both a criminal and an ignoramus of one of the most basic rules in distance sports.
Why didn’t his teammates pour out onto the track and beat the ever-loving shit out of this asshole? Oh, right, we don’t live in a country where actions have consequences.
Every time these things happen, some of the brighter cattle look up from their grazing. A few even get shot through the forehead with the proverbial diamond bullet and become Enlightened (Kek be upon Them). All to the good!
Did Pfizer come up with a drug for the Smithing yet?
Ohh…the Clockwork Orange treatment administered by a Karen apparatchik.
A perfect visual for black on white crime.
Aside from some guy yelling, everyone carries on as if it didn’t even happen.
A field of sheep.