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Tony Bird
climber
Northridge, CA
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roaks mi shoozle dun wookwee kataff
oazmo lo loro do wozido waff
hoaksa di dafma li lorksma zi smaff
izdi mogo, larksdi mogo, ifti movo. ugi.
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Norwegian
Trad climber
dancin on the tip of god's middle finger
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if we by chance meet in the ink-black dark,
and we converge at a common coordinate,
i will be that space where nothing is.
you won't bump into me.
and we won't accidently hug in a co-trip arrest.
with morning's light, you'll only see one set of boot prints
in the dust.
except for that sickle-shaped skid mark, over there.
that's my goal.
because out of everything in this world,
i adore most, the empty spaces.
so i strive to become one.
i don't know if i can accomplish this
while still existing;
that is the crux of my plan,
but i don't deny my dream it's momentum
simply because it is absurd.
i'll do it.
i'll become nothing. i will.
the graduation unto nothing, i do not take lightly.
this position must be earned.
nothing has big, clown-like shoes to phil.
and one day, long away,
you'll be coming down the mountain in the dark,
dammit the torch batteries died,
and we'll cross axis,
and you will recognize me.
maybe as the wind.
maybe as starlight in your eyes.
maybe as an uncommon thought.
i got stock in the mystery.
i sold my everything material,
including my physical essence
in my quest for spirtitual stardom.
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thebravecowboy
climber
my pals call me Shackleton
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Having made it this far in my earthly sojourn, I generally don't give the JFK assassination conspiracy a second thought. I saw a guy last week, or was it next week...doesn't really matter which, and he'd just binge-watched the entirety of "Breaking Bad", and he was on clear liquids and some kind of negative pressure bed, plus O2. Well, he looked about how I've felt when I failed to screen out all the JFK conspiracy business that's out there, both signals and chaff.
Eggheads down at Bellevue put me on some kind of narcotic antagonist that helps with obsessions, both foreign and domestic, which allowed me to walk unnoticed among the living.
Until this fella, we'll call him "Joe" came up to me while I was looking at chocolate cake slices at one of the original glass and chrome automats off Fifth Avenue. He handed me a silver dollar-sized wooden disk that read "Help a deaf-mute to put a roof over his head". Code, pure and simple.
He with his key lime pie and I with my chocolate cake with chocolate frosting walked to a glass-topped table near the rear of the shop. We did a little shoving, each wanting to sit back to the wall, facing the front window. A saucy little number dressed like a candy striper gave us water in little cone paper cups which sat in stainless steel cup-holders. What year is this, anyway?
He got right to the point, signing away like a scarecrow in a good breeze. All I know is from "I love you", which earned me an open-palmed slap in the kisser. He then looked around the place, like he was being tailed by all the Feds south of 108th Street. He must have achieved some sense of well-being, as he launched into a rapid-fire verbal explanation of his gig.
"So my mom was de Mohrenschild's secretary and my dad, he was supposed to be Pete Roselli's getaway driver after the JFK hit, but Chicago pulled him out at the last minute to leave Roselli with his fingers pinched under the manhole cover by the Book Depository."
"So you got great street creds, Joe," I said, my eyes half-lidded to disguise my joy at having one person, even a crazy son of a bitch, who supported the conspiracy theory, "but what the f*#k proof you got?"
Joe slapped a mosquito on his neck, left side, looked at his hand which held a dart 'bout the size of a blowgun dart, one with fine red feather fletching. Real pretty, as his eyes quickly glazed over and he fell off the period-piece wrought iron chair.
"C'mon, c'mon, self, what would Robert Redford do?" I asked myself, remembering the jam he got into in Days of the Condor. In as natural a fashion as possible, I exited the automat at a brisk walk, shielding myself as best I could with two rectangular plastic trays 'bout yea big.
It is best if I send this unsigned. They're everywhere, you know.
Unsigned
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Tobia
Social climber
Denial
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you can laugh if you want to, i'm just jammin.
The Mirror and Me
When i look into the mirror, i have no idea of who see,
is it a bad reflection or is it me?
The vague image is something of a man,
you will have to tell me because i don’t know who i am.
i got lost in the picture, somewhere i went on the lamb.
Somewhere in the time of self-discovery, i forgot the plan
since forth
i have been a lost man.
Returning to the reflection, it is a mystery to me,
i search in vain, nothing there but mere vacancy.
No matter which way i turn,the image is hollow
just like my thoughts, i cannot follow.
At some point in my life i believe i could discern
the image and all that it would concern
now that is lost in what is the abyss of years turned.
And with each year passing, i fall farther behind
hence who i am has been hard to define.
When i look into the mirror, there is nothing to see,
the reflection of what i might be
is nothing more than a dark reality.
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thebravecowboy
climber
my pals call me Shackleton
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I was sitting in a diner that sang out "do not enter!", but I had ignored my gut, so to speak. 'Round about half an hour later my "hand-pattied" burger arrived, giving me something to stare at other than the north-of-thirtyfive woman in the sweatshirt that said "HARPY". She was less doped up than some, and had not failed to notice my interest in her chest. We shared a minor blush. She sat up good and tall, the way her mom had once told her, to emphasize what breasts as she was born with . Turns out, her shirt said "HAPPY". I immediately lost interest and concentrated on the fries.
Do as I say, not as I do.
Your father
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Bushman
Social climber
Elk Grove, California
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'Yellow Dog'
I used to look at stars more often until my eyes got bad
Then I remembered that I didn't finish reading my giant science book
Before writing kicked in and my poems were had
Until someone hated them and my feelings were hurt so I was off the hook
Until my project overload was like Ivanhoe and I dunno
There's more where that came from but it ain't no yellow mellow custard dripping from a dead dog's eye
Yellow dog yellow dog yellow dog down
I hope the frogs aren't so numerous this year
They poop all over the place
There's no need to worry because what we have here is about a bona fide lack of communication and a lopsided oneupmanship which leaves me to contemplate my indecisive lackluster attitude
Sometimes I think I don't own my own heart and when people tell me I'm not in control of my own destiny my anger seeps out around the edges into my peripheral vision and bleeds into my daily decision-making processes making it more difficult to find the reason to practice kindness for the sake of kindness
Alimony would not suit me nor another sad sack of regrets
Funny how she found me when I was the one looking for love in all the wrong places
There's that and the fact that the rain drifts in striated patterns through the atmosphere as I drive to the east to protect another one's interests for another one's interest in order to protect my own interests at the behest of another's interests which may or may not profoundly affect me
And that might be of some interest
Yet not to thee
-Bushman
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perswig
climber
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I thought so, too, DMT, esp the first one on this page.
Some great content throughout! I started from the beginning with this bump only to see my name at the end and no recollection of having been here before; I'm glad I forgot.
Dale
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Bushman
Social climber
Elk Grove, California
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Dream #1 set to the music from 'The Lonely Goatherd'
puppet play song from 'The Sound of Music.'
The boy at the parade with his parents wants to know the story of why I am so young after all these many years.
His father told him I looked the same age even thirty years ago.
I tell him I will reveal the secret to them if he will wait there with the others.
He watches me as I cross the parade route and enter a building.
I go up the stairs and into an unfurnished room and I lock the door behind me.
There below the window is a long rectangular pine box and I open the lid.
A dried and grey corpse of a man with white hair is looking up at me.
He knows what I'm thinking.
Telepathically he tells me, "Son, you can never tell anyone how it is we have managed to survive for so many years. If they find out who we are they will be afraid of us and will seek out our kind and destroy us."
Silently shuddering I close my eyes tightly and then place the lid back on the box.
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Fletcher
Boulder climber
A very quiet place
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Funny, this thread is kind of the inverse of what I sometimes use SuperTopo for: I'll compose a post on some thread and that post inspires me to write more about it on my blog or or elsewhere as appropriate.
Recognize many of SuperTopo's good storytellers here. Will be back to read what you've all shared later. Thanks!
Eric
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Marlow
Sport climber
OSLO
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A raven and an old story
a raven
hops on one foot
crack of thunder
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Bushman
Social climber
Elk Grove, California
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There is a secret passageway to be found between where all reason stops and where insanity begins.
Enter at your own peril and remember to leave little bread crumbs along the way.
Make short trips to acclimatize yourself at first and try not to linger in the warm and fuzzy niches.
Just keep moving and don't make eye contact for more than brief seconds with those you encounter there.
Set your alarm for the return trip so as not to deplete your oxygen supply.
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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The passing of some hard memories, lately
?Much harder dreams, that would not pass,
Nightmares,
After fast days and long nights,
Morning Nightmares , passing with the dawns light
crimes of past heros and villains,
projected on the back wall in the darkest corner of my mind.
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Norwegian
Trad climber
dancin on the tip of god's middle finger
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yesterday my 8-year old
attempted to destroy her voice box,
just to see if she could.
it drove me to the shed,
she was pissed.
i gently directed her to her
room and allowed her the space to work.
once in the shed
i disassembled my chainsaw
and i mentally travelled
to that dangerous strip on main street.
i avoid this patch of pavement, physically,
because there's katy, the hairdresser upstairs,
and jackie, the wedding-dress gal downstairs.
and boy, i have a huge crush on both.
they are so very adorable.
katie, maybe 33 and a young mom.
jackie, older, in her 50's, with a british accent,
never raised children.
jackie always throws me compliments,
like, "you're smashing."
a few times before i've enjoyed their
light conversation on the sidewalk,
the sun especially hovers over them.
but i'm married to my good wife.
and absolutely adore her, i do.
and i told her so, the other day.
i say,
'gosh, things look down and i'm trodden,
and then i look up and see you, and it's like
seeing a rainbow. and suddenly, everthing's alright.'
and i mean it.
then after cleaning my tool,
i went back in and makalu had calmed down
and i read her 50 pages to sleep.
then i ran to main street
and ripped down all of my wanted posters,
off of those greasy light poles
upon which the cowboys lien.
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Bushman
Social climber
Elk Grove, California
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Dream #2 also set to the music from 'The Lonely Goatherd'
puppet play song from 'The Sound of Music.'
That song was stuck in my dreams for three nights in a row. 2nd night of it I dreamed of an early climbing epic composed by my mind sans modern day techniques or equipment, think 'the lonely goat trail.' Some embellishment has been added for effect.
Here where mountain was steepest the angle of the rock and the ice was near vertical to overhanging in places. The rope was taught between the four climbers as the leader pulled up the slack from above. As each man struggled up the cliff face, the last man Jacque, who had being injured, struggled most of all. The rock had struck him above the right eye and the concussion had left him weak and nauseous. Small avalanches of ice and snow dumped upon the climbers periodically. Phillip the leader cried out, "let's go, we have to make the bivouac above this section before dark!" He stared intently at his one good piton which was hanging half way out of the crack in front of him as he winched on the rope, and as the climbers below made inch by inch progress he leaned hard into the cliff face and pulled some more. Blood dripped from his hands and sweat from his brow. The wind was picking up as a sunless grey sky grew darker by the minute. The third man, whose name was Karl, was a seasoned but older climber. He had a bad ankle from an old injury and it had been bothering him throughout the climb. With pain and the numbness in his toes it had become increasingly more difficult to keep this right foot on the holds.
Unbeknownst to any of them the rock fall that had injured Jacque had also had damaged the rope at a place in the middle between Peter, second on the rope, and Karl. Just as a series of small avalanches was raining icy crystals down on them and Phillip was winching in another foot of rope was when Jacque fell. The full force of the rope from Jacques fall caught Karl as he was weighting his right foot on a sloping hold on the icy rock. His ankle gave as his foot slipped and he was away, yelling, "falling!" as he fell.
Phillip and Peter braced themselves against the rope as the the jolt travelled through Peter and up the rope to Phillip. The impact levered the lone good pin downward where it still held the four men to the mountain by a scant two inches of steel in the quarter inch crack.
Phillip yelled down to them, "get off the rope, the anchor is bad and I can't hold on much longer!"
Peter held fast too with both hands on a horizontal hold and his feet firm also, but his strength began to slowly ebb. The two men below still hung swinging and fully weighting the rope, Jacque near limp but struggling to right himself as he moaned, and Karl grabbing a hold but still trying to find perch for his feet. The damaged rope was another matter, frayed where it ran over a sharp flake, sawing itself with the tension and bouncing of the two men. As Phillip glanced down below the situation became sickeningly obvious as he noticed the rope was almost completely cut through.
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Bushman
Social climber
Elk Grove, California
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For many years during my tree climbing and rock climbing years I would wake up in the night with an involuntary reaction to reach up and grab something as I was beginning to fall backwards.
Many times I reached up and smacked my hands on the headboard in the process.
Sometimes it also woke my wife as my arms flew up much to her chagrin.
It was at that brief moment where in the tree in my dreaming mind I thought I was losing my balance and falling backwards.
When my shoulder injuries got worse with my right shoulder constantly trying to dislocate it really hurt like a bitch when I woke up and involuntarily reached up like that so suddenly.
I would get such a sharp pain that I would dread the thought of it happening the next time.
Several years after I stopped climbing rocks and a couple years ago after I stopped climbing trees full-time the involuntary reaction to reach out and save myself finally went away.
Strange what the unconscious mind can do.
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thebravecowboy
climber
my pals call me Shackleton
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I swear, Jesus and I were the only whites in the entire area. A coupla little sand N... kids, they were poking the reporter (Bill O'Reilly) in the nutbag with sharpened sticks, and laughing away in their pathetic U.N. imitation of speech.
Test my faith? Naw, not by a long shot. Once you've been touched by most of the living popes of the 20th AND 21st centuries, you've got unshakable faith.
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Norwegian
Trad climber
dancin on the tip of god's middle finger
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i find myself lost on this journey.
so i get out the topo and lay the tattered
pages before me on the bar.
juses, over these years i've spilt so
many liquids that they are barely discernible.
no wonder i'm off on sketchy terrain.
let's see, here.
i got my w2 form,
my i.r.s. form
and my marriage license,
though which is which i cannot tell for the ink has run.
one says,
"you're f*#ked."
one says,
"you're broke."
and one says,
"f*#k off."
any ideas where i should go from here?
i see a noose way over there
that might indicate the topout.
and over there is a nekid lady,
but she's certainly off route.
ah, i see a beer up there,
and it's falling straight for my head.
whew.
that was close.
maybe i should just bivy
and wait until all the evil in this world dies.
but then i'd never wake up.
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Norwegian
Trad climber
dancin on the tip of god's middle finger
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i am learning to hate life
gracefully.
for entropy needs
encouragement now and then, too.
and without graceful deployment,
the hate becomes death,
which is the seed
of a new love.
we can have no more of that shite blooming.
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Norwegian
Trad climber
dancin on the tip of god's middle finger
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a million bucks
can be created
and destroyed.
therefore,
it isn't and doesn't matter.
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