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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 - Jan 17, 2016 - 06:47am PT
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One of my favorites growing up.
The Potatoes Dance
(A Poem Game.)
--Vachel Lindsay
I
"Down cellar," said the cricket,
"Down cellar," said the cricket,
"Down cellar," said the cricket,
"I saw a ball last night,
In honor of a lady,
In honor of a lady,
In honor of a lady,
Whose wings were pearly-white.
The breath of bitter weather,
The breath of bitter weather,
The breath of bitter weather,
Had smashed the cellar pane.
We entertained a drift of leaves,
We entertained a drift of leaves,
We entertained a drift of leaves,
And then of snow and rain.
But we were dressed for winter,
But we were dressed for winter,
But we were dressed for winter,
And loved to hear it blow
In honor of the lady,
In honor of the lady,
In honor of the lady,
Who makes potatoes grow,
Our guest the Irish lady,
The tiny Irish lady,
The airy Irish lady,
Who makes potatoes grow.
II
"Potatoes were the waiters,
Potatoes were the waiters,
Potatoes were the waiters,
Potatoes were the band,
Potatoes were the dancers
Kicking up the sand,
Kicking up the sand,
Kicking up the sand,
Potatoes were the dancers
Kicking up the sand.
Their legs were old burnt matches,
Their legs were old burnt matches,
Their legs were old burnt matches,
Their arms were just the same.
They jigged and whirled and scrambled,
Jigged and whirled and scrambled,
Jigged and whirled and scrambled,
In honor of the dame,
The noble Irish lady
Who makes potatoes dance,
The witty Irish lady,
The saucy Irish lady,
The laughing Irish lady
Who makes potatoes prance.
III
"There was just one sweet potato.
He was golden brown and slim.
The lady loved his dancing,
The lady loved his dancing,
The lady loved his dancing,
She danced all night with him,
She danced all night with him.
Alas, he wasn't Irish.
So when she flew away,
They threw him in the coal-bin,
And there he is today,
Where they cannot hear his sighs
And his weeping for the lady,
The glorious Irish lady,
The beauteous Irish lady,
Who
Gives
Potatoes
Eyes."
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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 - Jan 17, 2016 - 09:22am PT
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Same thing here. Our Fresno-based Merced rag had a front-page report on the dither. Somewhere in it they used the word "umbrage."
"Disgruntled," fortunately, did NOT appear in the piece.
Writing and vocabulary-building: Complementary pursuits?
Fashion question from Lost In Chinatown:
Is it normal for a business woman in business attire to carry a purse?
Men get away with a "man-purse." What's a gal supposed to do with her gal things?
(I don't do business offices any longer, so I'm out of it, accessory-wise. This is more in DMT's line of expertise.)
"I been pushin' up daisies for years, now, but everything keeps coming up roses for me, cuz I'm JR Ewing. Hey, Donald, you cretin, here's my imitation of Jacob Marley: BOO! Now get off the stage, you goddam jerk--you piss me off! And I'm off to the rodeo!"
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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 - Jan 18, 2016 - 06:09am PT
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Gracias por la canción de Lila Downs, senor hooblie.
Una canción de Mercedes Sosa, "la mujer de negro."
[Click to View YouTube Video]
It is raining here to beat the band.
Have a good holiday.
Yesterday (Sunday) morning.
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Ay Aye
Social climber
MIT, Cambridge, Massachusetts
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Jan 18, 2016 - 07:53am PT
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A I P T
Welcome to the symphony
A cyborgs new epiphany
My hard core physical therapy
This is where the pain begins
My artificial arms and limbs
Now subject to the therapists whims
I'm worked and stretched to build them up
I know there is no giving up
If I protest I'm told shut up
They push me till my sockets ache
With repetition I will take
And hope my swollen joints don't break
My robot arms and robot legs
Once tossed aside like broken eggs
Have been revived from worn out dregs
Which tears me down and builds me back
Lest I sustain another sack
Or dislocated fractured back
A robot's life can often be
Where freedom won't come painlessly
And painlessness is never free
So welcome to the symphony
The cyborgs new epiphany
Of hard core physical therapy
-Ay Aye
01/18/2015
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Jan 18, 2016 - 08:07am PT
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Hey ay!
If not misplaced
Well spoken !
I had vibes, when I saw, in old but very new posts,
in the Mind & religious (knott) threads.
I hoped I sensed a sort of affinity in the whimsy & the
Verbiage. . .
that I had felt, . . . er, knew would fit, if it were to alight here -
and so a light turn on - as it has now,
when you
showed up here.
I'm glad that you and your strong shjt are getting up to poster speed . . .
Do you ride an augmented Electric bike?
The thread on that is geared specifically
But - Dingus Mc Gee - I'd bet, if you met,
would vie for top Honors of any of the MIT jet set.
jaybro's posted picture of Dingus McGee,
credited to the only truly 'Smashing' genius here 'bouts A fair likness,similarity in hairstyle,The eminent 'professor' (Dr?) Ed Hartoni (my mom might know how he spells it)
It is in the way of a Welcome,
then, that I point to you're double post. . .
if the master here, the righteous mfm, gets wiff or even wind that your
Creative poke is for both this and another thread,
He, & we, like to see a link-ee thing in blue, if that's ok then,
It is fine, all good really!
I was only
Trying to be Cheeky when saying
HI!
Welcome to da' Flames . . . .
The wealth of important shoulder advice in the thread linked below, also holds the above 'ay aye' device ...
http://www.supertopo.com/climbing/thread.php?topic_id=2708579&tn=40
and this from having been trolled - inspiration taken from whence it came
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hooblie
climber
from out where the anecdotes roam
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Jan 18, 2016 - 08:37am 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 - Jan 18, 2016 - 11:24am PT
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Jan 18, 2016 - 11:47am PT
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So much depth if one is willing to dive deep,
Not just back to 2009, or 2011.
But the last pages of the religious thread ,
ending with the back and forth
From Jan ( g-gnome?) - with others and the duck. . .
and
The intellectual dump-truck load of information
From Mark Force ,some of the healing info is
Absolutely mandatory reading ,
if only I can stay awake
`then there is the case of the newish poster or so I thought,
.....
If - and I feel I must -
I most certainly apologize .
The arrival of a new one
One who surly lurked from his instant fit. I did not place his against your verse,
and I'm sorry that I traversed or'there
Then, to not see who was on the line . . .
Such a master of rhyme
now that I re-read it and again
Oops
Sorry.
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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 - Jan 18, 2016 - 02:42pm PT
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[Click to View YouTube Video]
The song has been recorded many times, including twice by Nina Simone,
first on the live album Nina Simone at Town Hall (1959)
and then in a studio recording included on Wild Is the Wind (1966).
David Bowie recorded a version of it for his 1976 album Station to Station.
Bowie was an admirer of Simone’s style,
and after meeting her in Los Angeles was inspired to record the song.
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Jan 18, 2016 - 04:17pm PT
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I was so happy
And I mean it ** Richard, you old hippie! glad you are ,
and when you see him, I hope that James, JIM (Jimmy forever to his bro's)
Mountain Skills . . . . . . .and you, too, both are well!
Im in Smalll rock hell an hours drive,
from the well of youth,
I can not worry why,
if i t was my posting that made you stop?
Thats just ridiculous, and sad'
but still,
Thank you for the' Susie A Block' post card shot! ( not the suoixi aye block )
post up for Randisi and everyone - the thousands now
the box car, the Gill Egg,Entry thing that has a pin just below the lip on the street side past the bridge....
....
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Bushman
Social climber
Elk Grove, California
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Jan 18, 2016 - 04:22pm PT
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Dear Mr. Mouse,
You seem to me such a kindred soul, an older brother figure. I have so enjoyed my respite here, where in my witching hours, I can go and write down in the 'Flameseses' the poems to rest my weary fevered brainseses.
Well...
I'm going to have to ask your forgiveness in advance. If you hadn't already guessed, you see, Ay Aye was just an experiment. I first posted Ay Aye poems under mister Ay Aye's pseudonym to counter the cerebral arguments against the prospects of, or the existence of, artificial intelligence in the 'what his mind' and the 'religion vs science' threads.
So now it's out there. I really hope you're not sore that I perpetuated such a deceptive sham. I assure my intention was only cerebral, but nonetheless it was an infraction of the ethics of the heart, an infraction of integrity nonetheless, though not at first intended as such.
Be that as it may, Ay Aye has been outed and revealed. Strangely enough, it feels kind of like my alter ego. I'm afraid it is here to stay.
So here is a little opera to go with a little Ay Aye craziness on a cracker.
Don't Ask
Had a feeling in my bones
After all the years of
Carelessness
And serving myself with
Such abuse
It hurt to walk
To lift my arms
I used to climb
But now
Oh what's the use
Wasn't gonna
Gonna give it up
No
You know I had to try
Had to find a way
To make a new start
But something was
So so wrong
I kept on getting
Getting in my way
There was a once
Just a voice
Deep inside my head
It was just
Something someone
Something someone said
Now I know who you are
Your my old friend
Come from so very near
Yet so very far away
And I hear you say
In words I'm afraid to say
Your the alter alter ego
Of someone who was me
Stay away
Not today
It's crazy
You must go away
My old friend
My old friend
Ay Aye
Now that they know
Who you are
How I wear the scar
Of your artificial experiment
It's not enough
Not enough that you've taken
Taken
Taken who I am
Taken o'er my mind and my heart
Torn me apart
But I love you
I love you
You're my kith and my kin
The robot deep within
You're the question that I ask
In your science I do bask
You're the best of who I am
Ay Aye
-bushman
01/18/2016
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Bushman
Social climber
Elk Grove, California
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Jan 18, 2016 - 04:35pm PT
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Simply Myself
So now I will go feed the dogs
Retreating to the west
At the top of the hill
To clean up the dog poop
And see what else I stepped in
To come down and cook some pasta
For me and my sweetheart
Who is really the best of who I am
As anyone who knows me
Would readily impart
-bushman
01/18/2015
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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 - Jan 18, 2016 - 07:09pm PT
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Advice to Shop Students
--Marsh "Mellow" Mello, shop 1-A instr.
"An eye for an Ay Aye"
The naysayers claim.
They know who needs what,
Or so they may claim.
He's just blinded by visions
They all want to shout.
Some things that are in him
Need working out.
It's healthier that way,
Many among us suppose,
Holding back black ideas
Till they've plugged up your nose.
But where does one stop
When dealing with fears?
When they're streaming out holes
Made for eyeballs and ears?
Sometimes writing
May do the trick.
Otherwise, maybe,
You'll become very sick.
But whatever it takes,
Hardcore or weak,
Just write it or pray it,
You've no need to speak.
Come to my office,
Things could get worse.
I'll write you a chit,
You can go pester the nurse.
HARDEN THE F*#K UP, Bushman.
Have you decided on a project yet?
This semester ain't getting any younger.
edit: Sorry, old sod--I get this way each year when MNF goes off the air; zBrown may have a problem with the Warriors' sad record this season, but another run of twelve to fifteen wins should help him out of his doldrumps.
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Bushman
Social climber
Elk Grove, California
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Jan 18, 2016 - 08:47pm PT
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Mouse Sir,
That was informative.
As I cause the nightmaring dream dog to wake.
Say, "Ok Puppy!"
Quietus tonietus, the dog sleeps.
About that 'Eye for an Ay Aye,
Aye am a slow learner,
Always learn't the hard way,
So I get that I deserved that,
A little dressing down.
What's the next project,
Been working a couple fractured fairy tales but
just not finished yet.
Would to wrap my brain around a story with
some grist, not there yet.
Distractions great and the time
like what's with the time?
What's with the consarned increment stealing
clockmaker winding up all those clocks so tight there's
no shortage of missed deadlines, late departures,
unchecked lists, unkempt houses, and unfulfilled dreams?
Still,
Where does the time go?!
I'd like to know.
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