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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jan 17, 2014 - 07:00pm PT
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There is the Jefferson Airplane and their White Rabbit.
There is this, more modern White Rabbit.
Egypt Central are "The Decider's" favorite band, be leaves or not. He thinks they are "treemendiss, dude."
Truth is, he's confusing them with a band from South Central, Central South.
He is and always will be a Harvard-educated idiot.
GWB has an engagement coming up on "The Following." A cameo. Continue.
Keep pullling it out of my butt, putting it in the hat, pulling it out, amazing my friends, hopefully confounding my one enemy, and then going back for more Waldoh! Salad.
may yo nays turn into yays
your cardinals into popes
may your wishes all be horses
may you live to see your hopes
turn into joy
i got my new shoes, Roy
CosmicCraftsman sent the Fires of the Mouse to his house and they are resurrected from the tread, er, sole.
Good thing I am not fasting with neebee. I did, though. As I told her, I was snapping a shot, had on my old vest, and there are "iron rations" in a pocket. I caught myself popping M&M pretzel balls and before it occurred to me I was breaking fast.
I'm glad that she shared. Fair is fair. THIS IS NOT "MY" THREAD, U KNO.
Nobody takes up space or even wastes a skosh of bandwidth here any longer.
We have been good kids this last year. Santa knows. U know.
What more could you ask for? Good grammar, besides.
neebee is not just a painter of dreamcatchers, but a painter of word pix.
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Barbarian
climber
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Jan 17, 2014 - 07:41pm PT
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They started arguing, leading to the conclusion two which you may eventually come to.
So I'm guessing the two Rons didn't make a right?
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zBrown
Ice climber
Brujo de La Playa
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Jan 17, 2014 - 08:28pm PT
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"Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup
They slither wildly as they slip away across the universe"
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Am I just getting old?
[Click to View YouTube Video]
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Brandon-
climber
The Granite State.
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Jan 17, 2014 - 11:41pm PT
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my essence runs deep
it envelopes me and you
[diverging from haiku}
I run through the forest
naked and alone
charging through the pine duff
Along I charge, yearning,
wanting only to be better
to see the unseeable
I run faster, striving to encounter the unknown
I transcend pain, and then,
I run faster yet
Still, you are not there
yet I know you are close
I search relentlessly
My feet are fleet, and I glimpse
a vision of ephemeral beauty
in the forest before me
It is you, naked and raw
the most beautiful vision
and I know I will find you
Onward I push
through the arboreal maze
Until I find only
A trace of you
I retreat
Wishing only to steal a vision of you
again, as a mere image of you sates me.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jan 18, 2014 - 12:12am PT
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Essay on Commandment IV
Where doth civility start?
Chief reference this time:
How Many Slings and How Many Arrows: Life’s a Rack of Hard Wear
or
How to Play Talus Golf, Raise Pigs, and Clean Up After Your Partner
by B. Tuppin
(that's gonna have to do for citations--this ain't no party, this ain't no Wiki, but we ain't just foolin' around)
Always begin with a short poem.--Sr. Mary Justine on reading to her class for their edification, though when she had no poem, she read the one from the day before, so...
My dad was an iron man.
He really liked the wedges.
I was a child of the rock.
I really liked the ledges.
Boomer golfed while his roamin’ son climbed.
I much preferred the shorter Lost Arrows, also, to the longer ones.
One held my fall on the brow of the Salathe Wall.
I had beat the crap out of it in a bottoming crack, then tied it off.
His sand wedge won him a lot of nidgies.
He collected lots of quarter bets from his “sandy” pars.
Sandy, like in bunker, like in Archie, his favorite character.
http://golf.about.com/cs/golfterms/g/bldef_sandie.htm
I never explained to him about tying off short the longer pins. He likely took it for granted that they only worked if you whaled on them. I suspect his Pop, Grampa Bill, was like that. But since he knew tools, equipment, and practical shop things, he also knew that inanimate objects don’t respond to abuse and blue language, though his workshop was mighty loud with other colors, you might say. He didn’t smoke, he chewed. He didn’t smoke, he burst into flame and that was over and that was that. He always seemed to get the job done.
Like Pop, like Kid.
Monkey see, monkey do.
Like oak, like acorn.
I did it, so should you.
I understand that concept as it’s the root of prejudice.
He understood beating something with a belt or coat hanger, namely his kids’ bottoms.
I used to lose it with my dog Frank and he suffered for my lack of understanding.
I understood how to place a delicate stack of pins and work it for upwards mobility.
He loved to take his time lining up his putts, kissing my mom.
Delicate and brutal, that’s humanity in a nutshell.
Humanity is also learning from one’s mistakes, and the mistakes of others.
O! how often we fail
To follow the trail
That others have blazed
Because we have lazed.
The dean of men at St. Mary’s, Cassian, told me that youth doesn’t heed vicarious advice but learns best from experiment and loss and failure.
He told me to read the bios of great men.
I stayed away from the library that semester and the next.
I failed to listen, but that is water under the bridge of God’s plan.
Dad gave me much advice to which I never paid any attention, and some to which I still adhere.
He called his dad “Pop.” I thought it had a snappy sound, but he was still Dad.
He had a fine tenor voice.
His granddaughter through me is named Bevin, the Melodious Lady.
His language was poetic, at times, also.
“Never up, never in.”
“Boozers are losers.”
“Geeze, Edith, you missed that little putt?”
“When your partner’s hitting, freeze, as#@&%e.”
I wondered what a dialectic was so I asked Dad.
He said look it up.
He did not say he did not know what it was.
He told me to look it up on my own.
He forced me to learn.
He spelled everything that Mom asked him,
though she was an educated woman,
moreso than he.
He never told her to look it up.
She asked,
he complied.
They’re always right,
He often sighed.
O! the dialectic! That misunderstood mystical thing.
I have formed my opinions on investigating
Truth versus lies on the putting green of life
Mostly I just go on the word of the wife.
That, I MAYBE should have listened to.
Meh...
Frank/That’s Life
[Click to View YouTube Video]
David Lee/That’s Life
[Click to View YouTube Video]
He never quit living when Mom died.
He kept up with golf, he played bridge, but he did not have another lady in his life.
We're the same in many ways.
And different.
It was fun to have known him.
Thanks for all you shares, guys and girls.
My thoughts tonight have included nita's and Anastasia's and T Hocking's and Ron's and the Rev's and neebee's respective dads and their kids whom I cherish beyond belief.
And to zBrown, how's the Bull doin'? Our collective gesture of respect to Michele's pop and to her, too.
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Brandon-
climber
The Granite State.
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Jan 18, 2014 - 12:29am PT
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Mouse, this was my meager contribution to your ongoing thread.
Much love.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jan 18, 2014 - 12:37am PT
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Euno Canaletto?
Junie Moon?
Brandoon?
I'll shout you a beer, Brandon, the Angry Orchard brew.
A Friday night in some ways.
O! Peyton!
O! Tom!
O! Justin!
O! What's that boy's name?
Broncos rule! They should teach that in school,
It's the only truth you need to know, in my opinion.
Some of the rest you can fake.
Like life and the afterlife,
if you want to get into the dialectics.
Right now, I want a beer, this is how my venture shooting the moon came out tonight.
There were other things that went right, though, and worth celebrating.
Small but fun things. Like a short beer.
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Brandon-
climber
The Granite State.
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Jan 18, 2014 - 12:42am PT
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.?que?
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jan 18, 2014 - 12:52am PT
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Otay, senor.
Bienvenidos, I shoula said.
Gracias, as well.
Plain Anglo, like you, Yanqui.
Ciao, amigo.
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neebee
Social climber
calif/texas
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Jan 18, 2014 - 12:59am PT
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hey there say, brandon_ this might help with the decipher:
i reckon it like this:
that is mouse's way of saying:
thank you.. welcome to thread and sit down and have a beer...
:)
he speaks in 'mouse code'... sometimes hard to understand,
unless you study the pictures and look for word tricks, :)
*did i reckon, right? mouse, ?
after all, i hang out with a dog and five cats and a bird and two rats, and a rabbit all day, so sometimes i miss out on 'mouse lingo'...
different from rat lingo, too, fourlegged or--two legged (which,as to two legged is good to be different from) :)
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Brandon-
climber
The Granite State.
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Jan 18, 2014 - 01:11am PT
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Gracias, mon friere.
Todo bien?
My French is rusty, but the Patriots are going to swamp the Donkeys on Sunday.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jan 18, 2014 - 04:48am PT
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Simon says, do what I do. He's the one in orange.
Dans Ma Chambre
There's a world where I can go
And tell my secrets to
In this world I lock out
All my worries and my fears
Do my dreaming and my scheming lie awake and pray
Do my crying and my sighing laugh at yesterday
Now it's dark and I'm alone
But I won't be afraid
In my room
In my room
Songwriters E.W. Martin, G.L. Usher, B. Wilson, M. Gayle
Aussi, mes souris,
I have your picture in my room
I have your picture in my room
I put it in a frame
And every day of sadness
when I need affection
I often talk to him as if you were there
I have your picture in my room
I asked in a frame
She gives me confidence
And every night I think
that you'll be there tomorrow with me
When you're angry soon I'll talk to you
You do not answer,
but I understand in your eyes
That you're not angry
That you have forgiven me
for it is your picture that unites us
This is why
{Verse 1}
{instrumental} La la la ..... etc.
{3rd verse}
{2nd verse} And every night I think
That you 'll be there tomorrow with me
Johnny Farago
[Click to View YouTube Video]
Beach Boys
"In My Room" is a song written by Brian Wilson and Gary Usher for the American rock band The Beach Boys. It was released on their 1963 album Surfer Girl. It was also released as the B-side of the "Be True to Your School" single. The single peaked at number 23 in the U.S. and was eventually inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame in 1999. "In My Room" was ranked number 212 on Rolling Stone's list of The 500 Greatest Songs of All Time.--Wiki thanks you
Johnny Farago
Jean-Yves Béland (15 June 1944--31 July 1997), better known under the pseudonym of Johnny Farago (Béland is the name of his mother and Farago name of his father), is a singer from Quebec who was a member of the group The Mercedes until 1964, after which he made a solo career and became quite popular in the second half of 1960, primarily due to French versions of American hits. An admirer of Elvis Presley, he spent much of his career in emulation and paying homage. He died July 31, 1997, as a result of a stroke.
Was 1968 all that far ago? It doesn't feel like it.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jan 18, 2014 - 08:18am PT
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It's no use. I woke in pain with a cramp in my foot. Can't get comfy so I sit in my room. Hello again, walls.
My bookshelves are regularly dusted. My hands are clean.
The roaches hate me. I hope. I hate them. They sh#t everywhere.
They have a saying in the Buddhist sects about killing insetcs. I can't recall it. It's not germane.
There're no commandments against killing bugs here.Hey, bugs are everywhere.
Some bugs hide well. Some are blindingly fast.
It's, like, the government's invaluable research never ceases to better our lives, man, they keep things real by being mysterious and aboveboard at the same time. Politicians are still like bugs, they're flashy and good to look at in the photographs, but they are eating you out of existence.
Yep. I'm channeling Pop Laval, whose mojo is powerful.
http://www.supertopo.com/climbing/thread.php?topic_id=2062581&msg=2228581#msg2228581
For Grossman
Wayno, Steverino, Mimi, hiya!
My computer's DVD player's gone doggie, but Vern and I are gonna watch this on Sunday between football and more football.
Mojo. Mojo. Mojo.
Eureka Got It!
[Click to View YouTube Video]
thanks for this to the norwegian who gave me this in the dream i had u couldn't remember yesternight
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jan 18, 2014 - 09:31am PT
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All this maundering got me thinking of that Bukowski.
I tried the moonshot again from my unique perspective, the lowest stair in the second flight of eight steps leading from Middle Earth to the fourth floor. The one with the foot print on the wall below the window through which I finally shot the moon.
It's not Ansel, it's not a weasel.
It's a moonstruck mouse.
Amy's trying again, too.
I love you, kiddo, and if you're out there watching the moon tonight somewhere in Red Rocks, LV, wear a smile and dance.
And watch out for parrots.
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zBrown
Ice climber
Brujo de La Playa
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Jan 18, 2014 - 12:17pm PT
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Got a new gig for your photos, courtesy of Mr. Jones.
Something happening here
What it is ain't
Exactly clear
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zBrown
Ice climber
Brujo de La Playa
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Jan 18, 2014 - 12:29pm PT
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Herr Mouse:
The Bull is a bit wobbly afoot and his back hurts alot. I guess it comes with the two purple heart territory.
He's going strong though, has been for ninety years.
You can see why I paid heed when he said "you better leave my daughter alone", when she was a Jung blood. All is forgiven now and he (actually all three of them) really like me a lot.
Thanks for askin'
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jan 19, 2014 - 11:59pm PT
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jan 20, 2014 - 02:25am PT
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One Chapter from this old WWII book.This was not printed on "wartime stock." And it's a second printing, too.
KIRKUS REVIEW
This parallels, to some extent, for aviation training in the Army what Love At First Flight by Spaulding and Carney (Houghton, Mifflin) did for the Navy. Ryan and his chum, Sod, brush rejection aside and manage to get in; they report at Thunderbird Field, Phoenix. They despair over preliminary conditioning, over the boners they pull; Ryan makes his instructors grow old before their time, and Sod stays in his own brand of hot water. Eventually, they solo, and go on up the ladder but it takes Pearl Harbor to sober them. Bakersfield -- Stockton and graduation, supply further background. Pleasant reading, light amusing, basically serious.
like endless rain into a paper cup
My dad flew trainers at Tulare during '43. He had his cadet training at Des Moines, IA, where this book by Mr. Ryan begins! The only other book I've read like this is Old Man In a Baseball Cap.
Really?
"The real flight of discovery consists not in seeking new vistas but in having new glasses."--Biter Old Man in a Salary Cap, after Proust
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jan 20, 2014 - 09:02am PT
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