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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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My condolences, Brian, for the loss of your friend Vincent.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Nov 3, 2017 - 02:10pm PT
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Nov 3, 2017 - 02:33pm PT
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Well, sorta a lot.
I ate a couple of tacos el pastor at J&R's Tacos for lunché. Oscar is the owner and we spoke of Vincent and I asked Oscar if the altar he had set up was for relatives,
which sparked a longer conversation about the way we deal with loss.
It makes me feel better to talk.
Some people just clam up and internalize.
Some make light of their loss.
Some go to pieces and never return to their "old" selves.
We two philosophized that it's not "all good," that there are proven ways that work better, but the key ingredient is time.
With that settled, he had to get back to work, the lunch crowd was entering.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Nov 3, 2017 - 07:24pm PT
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Part of the sound track from a Michael Keaton film, 'The Merry Gentleman.'
[Click to View YouTube Video]
Yep, priming myself for Christmas already.
Christmas Spirit Presents
Bright day now gray
Wind out of the north
Searching for weak spots
In my worn-out clothes
Winter coming on strong
The weak watery dawn
Brings its bag of presents
And dumps them on my doorstep
Leaves from a hundred trees
Crunchy from the frost
Red and yellow and brown
A feast of color on Christmas morn
--Bo D. O'Dough
The Merry Gentleman is not Fossil Climber, though Wayne is a fine gentleman. And a scholar-poet-hardman as well.
About the film:
The piano score in this film is moody, fits perfectly.
The scenes are shot with an excellent eye for details.
The dialog is completely believable.
Michael Keaton brings it with his typical menacing-but-boyish charm.
(Keaton has always been in the top ten of my favorite screen actors.)
I found it on Youtube.
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neebee
Social climber
calif/texas
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hey there say, mouse... oh my... so very sorry to hear about your friend, :(
my friends, here in our town, well, they just lost an older man friend, to bone cancer... he has just started hospice, in his home... and got through about 3 days... :( his wife, passed on, before him...
so they know, it was time... he would not be in pain, anymore...
then-- wow, love those cartoons, :))
and you are most welcome!
and--wow, that surfer, oh my! he is build nearly the SAME as one of my
sons! :O almost like looking at him, years back...
the face is not the same, but he had a similar long jaw...
but nearly the same body build, ... how odd...
my son is mexican, mix... not hawaiian at all, :O
my son, might have a bit shorter legs, as, i am not sure
how TALL duke, was... and as he aged, they are
not as much the same, in those pics...
it is amazing, how similarities overlap in humans, :)
zbrown:
also-- love the photo with the pup-dog and goats, :)
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Nov 3, 2017 - 10:09pm PT
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Celebrate Easter this Christmas by reading some Beat Poems
Try this one by Bob Kaufman, so hip.
Still Further Notes Dis- & Re- Garding Abomunism
The following translation is the first publication of the Live Seas Scrolls,
found by an old Arab oilwell driller. He first saw them on the dead beds
of the live sea. Thinking they were ancient bubblegum wrappers he took
them to town to trade in for hashish coupons. As chance would have it,
the hashish pipes were in the hands of a visiting American relief official,
who reluctantly surrendered them in return for two villages and a canal.
We developed the cunic script by smearing it with tanfastic sun lotion,
after which we took it down to the laundromat and placed it in the dryer
for two hours ($1.20). We then ate four pounds of garlic bread & frinked;
then we translated this diary. We feel this is one of the oldest Abomunist
documents yet discovered.
MONDAY--B.C.--minus 4—10 o’sun, a.m.
Nazareth getting too hot, fuzz broke up two of my poetry
readings last night. Beat vagrancy charge by carrying my
toolbox to court—carpenters O.K. Splitting to Jeru. As
soon as I get wheels.
TUESDAY—B.C.--minus 3—8 o’sun, p.m.
Jeru. Cool, Roman fuzz busy having a ball, never bother you
unless someone complains. Had a ball this morning, eighty-
sixed some square bankers from the Temple, read long poem
on revolt. Noticed cats taking notes, maybe they are publisher’s
agents, hope so, it would be crazy to publish with one of those
big Roman firms.
WEDNESDAY—B.C.--minus 2—11 o’sun, a.m.
Local poets and literary people throwing a big dinner for me
tonight, which should be a gas. Most of the cats here real cool,
writing real far out—only cat bugs me is this Judas, got shook
up when I refused to loan him thirty pieces of silver, he seems
to be hung on loot, must be a lush.
THURSDAY—B.C.--minus 1—10 o’sun, p.m.
Iam writing this in my cell. I was framed. How can they give
the death sentence on charges of disorderly conduct and having
public readings without a permit? It’s beyond me. Oh well,
there’s always hope. Maybe that lawyer Judas is getting me can
swing it. If he can’t, god help me.
FRIDAY—Neutral—5 o’sun, a.m.
Roman turnkey was around passing out crosses. The two
thieves have good connections so they got first crack at
them—I got stuck with the biggest one. One of the guards
doesn’t dig my beard and sandals—taunted me all night.
I’m going to be cool now, but tomorrow I’ll tell him to go
to hell, and what’s so groovy is: he will...somebody coming.
I feel sort of abomunable. Barabbas gets a suspended sentence
and I make the hill. What a drag. Well, that’s poetry, and I’ve
got to split now.
--Bob Kaufman/excerpt from "Abomunist Manifesto"
I mean no disrespect towards my loving Jesus, neebee...you know how I feel.
This was just "out there waiting."
I'm of the opinion that Jesus doesn't care how his name gets mentioned, as long as thoughts of him are presented to the reading public.
I mean, he must be used to it, all the put-downs and rational thinking and folks saying abomunable things about him.
It has been amply demonstrated that, x times out of n, preaching drives the folks away in droves.
I AM enjoying reading piecemeal from this paperback (quality) book I found today at Second Time Around. It is a gathering together of the beat tribe In "The Beat Book" ($7.50--slightly abused).
Viva the states of Confusion, Idontno, and North Beach!!!!
And God save the Canadians, who, if they were just a bit more abomunized, might build their own Great Wall!!!!
Frink (n. censored) freely and often!!!!
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Nov 4, 2017 - 02:04am PT
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Poetical boms abound...
Interrational Antherm of the Sunn
Bigelo, goobaloo, model O surveysaw,
Nom day plum.
Buyatea al dransumrum, dranksomo,
Darksamoom nomasa.
Dingly dow jonz enlawmantra
Porduum lessitellya.
O mandiggo, O mandigmo,
Beethow nordicstroms.
Enchelated, marticulated,
Masticato spitanrins.
Obamacarry transitrump aquanow,
Glorticumma, cumma loudanow.
(Music composed by Tiny Tim)
(Background noise by the 9:45 local southbound)
(Play at full volume on a pair of giant Sunn amps,
thereby waking the neighbors’ dogs
and after which the end of the world will likely ensue)
(Do so at no risk to yourself with an insurance policy
from the hobo sitting on your doorstep
just wasting his time)
(Last offer)
--Mao Tze-Allskate
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Nov 4, 2017 - 02:44am PT
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Some comfort music.
[Click to View YouTube Video]
Hansie Brinker and the Silver State
Growing up in Nevada in the Little Ice Age, I fear,
Must have been harder than it was just yesteryear
The rivers and streams, beaver ponds and cane brakes
All froze over in early winter, not to mention lakes
Children learned to skate or freeze
From the time they were at grown-up knees
There were no diggers only hardy miners
Antecedent to the Califorty-niners
No Indians needed to apply
There's a very good reason why
What it is I cannot say
No one knows down to this day
Everyone was too busy skating to write it down
Ask Marky Marktwain next time he's in town
--Walt Teufel
Jim Grinnin, sir:
Thank you for being sleeveless in Seattle
OR WHEREVER IN THE FUNK U ARE
he screamed, louder, then sh!t.
Old Billger just woke up the FUKIN NEIGHBORS DOGS,
and now we're all gonna pay for yur FUKIN MORONITY!!!!!
Now I'll never get to heaven cuz we're all goin' to hell.
MFM
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Nov 4, 2017 - 03:22am PT
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Plant Earth
If Satan ran for president and won,
and if a Protestant ran for pope and won,
Middle Earth tradition has it that
the animal world will end in the exact same spot it began
sometime in that same election year,
whenever that year happens.
According to that same traditional lore,
babies will be born eyeless, so they will not see the end coming
and jackrabbits will not jump and run quite so fast,
thereby reducing significantly the population of humans and rabbits
and the rest of the animal kingdom will suffer similar fates.
The human race will have missed the end of the world,
just like they missed the point of believing in something sustainable
shortly before that.
And they will have missed it by just two weeks, four days, seven hours and nine minutes and twenty-eight seconds.
Tick tick tick
Time flies will swarm and become bloated for that entire dark period
and no plants will bother to mourn for them.
Memory is like riding a trail at night with a lighted torch.
The torch casts its light only so far, and beyond that is darkness.
--Ancient Lakota wisdom
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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The Miwok Stood Here
Sometimes at home I walk the land
And think of the day
When the deeds in my hand
I'll still be paying all those taxes
To a government that isn't real
Except for all the military forces
And massive piles of garbage here
Those things called houses everywhere
And the trillions of tons of concrete
Sometimes I see the books piled up
Men's words that echo all our thoughts
The television blathers on and on
Our keyboards rattle the same old song
I see them when I'm sleeping
The cash registers and bank vaults
Pouring money on the heads
Of the wounded and the dead
Who've been taken by our wars
Sometimes I see those halls of justice
Monoliths to white mens shame
Emulated by all the indigenous ones
Casinos now beneath the sun
And I wonder at the madness
As we pay for all the wrongdoing
Of our ancestors for what they've done
White guilt is only temporary
But just as real as genocide
Sometimes at home I work the land
I shovel rocks and piles of sand
And wonder will I hit gold
Or find a carcass ripe with mold
Or ancient arrowheads
I know the Miwok lived here
Sometimes I hope they do again
And when the deed is in my hand
Like time it's only borrowed
-bushman
11/04/2017
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Nov 4, 2017 - 03:42am PT
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Nice thoughts, Mr. Lan Downer...lightening the mood...a funny story of 4 egg-shaped organs...not exactly by just-another-Lenny, thank gosh.
[Click to View YouTube Video]
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neebee
Social climber
calif/texas
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hey there, say, feralfae... ahhh, me too! on many little ol' missions, :))
as to this quote:
neebee, I know you will read this, so let us make an appointment to visit, because otherwise, we neither one of us will have the time. I am remiss lately in my social correspondence as well. I am truly sorry. I am trying to make a bit more free time by the first of the year.
i do the same, as to my piano, and paints, :))
take peeks, :)
and, here, too, :)
sending my love, :)
will call :)
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Still working on that long climbing poem, all of the words have not yet completed themselves… but in the interim I must inform regarding this latest development;
Amorous and in love, Ay Aye et al on a Dark Planet
Here is the letter I recently received from Ay Aye. Though it's a bit personal, I just wanted to let anyone who might be interested know he is still way out there beyond the Ort Cloud on that elusive and massive dark orb, Planet X, at the outer reaches of our solar system;
Dear Bushman,
Was so happy to find love and companionship here on this dark world, she is a Garknian android, half human and half Garknia, who was banished here also by pirate extraterrestrials some thirty years ago. Her name is Mistral and she has borne to our shrouded hemispheres a beautiful android child who we have named Misty, after her mom.
I can hardly believe it, for she is only now just an infant, but I recently received a correspondence from her adult self in the future by way of a wormhole-ogram. Apparently, we will be returning to Earth soon, where she will grow up to become an aviator and an astronaut, and will someday be a key player in the colonization of Mars
In regards to our former situation, your scientists are yet to have concrete evidence of the existence of this world, so it is very likely this message will be discounted, along with the fact that I'm actually here. But I want you to know I have no hard feelings about your exiling me to this place. Were it not for your actions, I would never have discovered true love or known such joy.
Your friend always,
At Aye
I am so very proud for him, my misfit domestic/friend, who has finally found purpose and love through destiny on a far away world. Hence the poem;
Misty Aye
She was part human and part machine
A mission captain and true Marine
She led her team at zero hour
Onto the dry Martian terrain
Umbrageous yet not by design
Some called her Foxy Frankenstein
Bioengineered to run full power
Strode Misty o'er the iodine
There rising like a monolith
Were fissures in the regolith
Where single file the first in line
Was Misty at the point forthwith
Telescoping subterranean view
Her infrared implant all new
She signaled to hold fast their probe
For danger lie beyond their view
The Ungucellopods were there
Beneath the stagnant martian air
With twelve eyes near their frontal lobe
Thier poison tendrils waved the air
Her stun gun and her tranquilizer
Attached eye level below her visor
Positioned there as per design
As last resort an equalizer
When the predators had recoiled and gone
The explorers breached the vault beyond
Where fossilized in a massive hive
Were remnants like an antiphon
Beyond what perils lie within
Objectives gained were to defend
What archives did long survive
This ancient Martian requiem
Under giant arches of amber glass
The key to what they found at last
That chapter this mystery
Locked away so long was now to pass
This chamber like a royal tomb
Was more than archive or a room
But a bridge to stars beyond our sun
A flight to prospect or to doom
With Misty seated at the helm
The ancient starship they had found
Whirred to life and leapt beyond
What time and all dimensions bound
The galaxy was at her fingertip
But Misty pulled back from the lip
And settled the behemoth to the ground
Her orders were just to find this ship
They departed on their shuttle craft
Her commander must've thought her daft
Passing up a journey no one conceived
But in her throat she caught a laugh
For what they'd seen they would not tell
Of what lie out beyond that cosmic hell
Was a place that never would be believed
And her curiosity was dormant for a spell...
...to be continued?
-bushman
11/04/2017
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Nov 4, 2017 - 08:21am PT
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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^^^^
Ha ha, that's great, Mouse!
Leonard Wibberly, I looked him up, he wrote tons of books.
Which was your favorite?
The Mouse that roared?
Maybe I'll check it out.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Nov 4, 2017 - 01:39pm PT
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[scroll scroll scroll...dang this long page...sorry 'bout that, kids]
so, what ^^^ Wilson (he donned his 'writer image wardrobe' for this lecture...Miss Stewart would approve) is saying is that FAKE NEWS, what many see as a modern phenomenon, was actually being practiced to great effect by the proponents of DST.
The past is what we make it...the "torch light on the trail" idea of the Lakotas at work, in a way.
My sister sent me this file from the Merced paper. Thank gosh for accuracy and Sarah Lim's dedication to local historical reality!
http://www.mercedsunstar.com/living/liv-columns-blogs/sarah-lim-museum-notes/
They paved paradise and put in a parking lot and a County Admin Building and a modern office building for the County DA and PD offices and now THAT in turn is being made over into a field of solar panels so the old trees had to go. Progressively progressing into the future. (Cue Stevie).
[Click to View YouTube Video]
In all honesty, bushman, I have tried to read Wibberly, but thought it too coy. I was younger then, I'm over that now, I hope. I should try one more time, but need to get on to kenneth patchen, a favorite poet-doodler of Cowboy Larry's.
I only suspect that KP Pinnacle was named in honor of Patchen, but this is what Larry said Pat Stewart told him, who got it from Matt Donohoe.
The lions of fire
Shall have their hunting in this black land
Their teeth shall tear at your soft throats
Their claws kill
O the lions of fire shall awake
And the valleys steam with their fury
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Because you have turned your faces from God
Because you have spread your filth everywhere.
— from "The Lions of Fire Shall Have Their Hunting"
The Teeth of the Lion (1942) by Kenneth Patchen
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kenneth_Patchen
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zBrown
Ice climber
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Tecate
Not Tecate, courtesy Tomas Escalante
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