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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 19, 2017 - 10:52am PT
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Brave Cowboy, I'm pealing with laughs over El Diablo Naranjito.
This spring someone should venture into the Castle Cliffs above Werner's old place in the Village and climb some chossy POS shortie and name it that.
See "tricky dick" in the search box, too.
Illustration to follow.
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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 19, 2017 - 11:51am PT
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Looks like we've been hacked.^^^
That is not my Castle Cliffs.
That is not my beautiful belayer.
That is not my electic golf cart.
Where is my electric golf cart?
I need it, I'm an olphart.
"I'm rusting"
Bong-Bong the witch is dead.
The Taco's moribund on another thread.
Tie-dyed bandanna on my head.
Things that Roper might have said.
"The Taco was changing also. It had become a large tent city, complete with smug, complacent old dads arguing endlessly about tradition, dead-end trolls and off-topic BS. It was a jumbled eyesore, earsore, nosesore, and felt greasy to the touch, requiring tedious wire brushing and much banning of everyone from deer mice to the Superintendent of Yosemite."
Sh#t like this runs through my brain like it does going through the sewer main to El Portal and Government Center, where the sh#t is purified and then what? Might be an interesting TR for the Dying Taco.
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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 19, 2017 - 03:28pm 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 19, 2017 - 03:30pm 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 19, 2017 - 06:25pm PT
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The weather was not bad, but iffy. This was a solo attempt done on the whim of the moment. I could move fast, taking the cog railway to the window and proceed from there, conditions on the Step of Infamy being the ultimate deciding factor.
Not to mention the locked door leading from the railway window to the step, which was only possible with the participation of the Penthouse Keeper.
As luck would have it, she magically appeared as I stepped into the railway car. I asked her if she'd unlock the door. She said, after a moment's deliberation, "OK, but don't tell anyone around here. And shut the door when you come down."
Clean living or just dumb luck, I was in the door and up the chute leading to the Electical Works. I took a look at The Winch, just for the heck of it. I knew I wasn't in shape for that kind of a work-out, so I stepped up to the next door, leading out onto The Step.
It was clear, almost no wind. Middle Earth was in the center of a Blitzo hole the size of the whole county.
Then I looked at the way up to the base of the Sign of the T, and knew the conditions weren't right. There was just too much wet pigeon doo-doo on the cornice. I wasn't in the mood for green mush. I had some peanut-butter and jelly oatmeal and a glass of tea waiting at the bivouac in 307, anyhow.
There will be other days, possibly. So I satisfied my Jones for grand vistas and then took my leave, knowing I'd done all I could. Frankly, I was starving by then and went back into The Works, shut the door to The Step, raced to the Chute and out the next door to the Window, shut THAT door and made sure it was locked, caught the next car and got off on Three, then ran over to the bivy and took a long pee, then sat down and had my oatmeal and tea.
And that's what I climbed today.
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zBrown
Ice climber
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Jan 19, 2017 - 07:47pm PT
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I got out the old nunchucks recently and was told, like the chain saw, you should just put those away. Anyone wanna buy 'em?
[Click to View YouTube Video]
What can I say, what-s-her-name was born at Hollywood Pres (not far from W. Hollywood), as was Rusty.
[Click to View YouTube Video]
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Jan 19, 2017 - 08:45pm PT
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Beware Of Darkness
Watch out now, take care
Beware of falling swingers
Dropping all around you
The pain that often mingles
In your fingertips
Beware of darkness
Watch out now, take care
Beware of the thoughts that linger
Winding up inside your head
The hopelessness around you
In the dead of night
Beware of sadness
It can hit you
It can hurt you
Make you sore and what is more
That is not what you are here for
Watch out now, take care
Beware of soft shoe shufflers
Dancing down the sidewalks
As each unconscious sufferer
Wanders aimlessly
Beware of Maya
Watch out now, take care
Beware of greedy leaders
They take you where you should not go
While Weeping Atlas Cedars
They just want to grow, grow and grow
Beware of darkness (beware of darkness)
By GEORGE HARRISON
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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 20, 2017 - 07:08am PT
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It's coming down here like a deluge, a gully-washer, all Noachian and sh#t.
Thank gosh I'm on high ground.
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Jan 20, 2017 - 07:27am PT
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Okay, yours to call.
I was just jumping back before, chug-chugging out
& saw Dwain's thread. I don't want to be irritating
Blessings and thoughts,. .Im just going to remove the whole post.
Then I stipend the 88th post from Cosmic's selling all my gear thread
And place it here, un itilizized - italicized
I have tried too. I've great concern for you Cosmic!
man,
I've tried to point you in the direction of the bird owners community.
You are the custodian to some fine beings ! Your birds need you.
they need your energy,
they need you to be pain free and well to give them the care they require.
Tell your story to the bird owners, - reach out!r
I think it is from the Frosts, 4/27/85???,non but still one of my favorites
Then too, 7/4/86
There is also the Colorado MiCnichols/Red Rocks shows form 8/13/79
I'm sure the hottest, ~> "Miracles"
Are not limited to one coast or the other, or anywhere in-between ,
but by perception due to circumstances . . .[see that 8/13/79 ]
I just feel that at a certain point the grind of the East coast tour would. . . illicit (?)
Elicit! even bring out deep feeling in the song . . .
So, Madison Square Garden 9/19/87
A 19 minute listen,
I need a Miracle, Maggie's Farm, Black Peter,
[Click to View YouTube Video]
Okay, I took it down then!
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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 20, 2017 - 07:38am PT
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Totally not gonna read that.^^^
I have a thing about Italics, especially on this page, on this stage, where you've all gathered to see me, your new president....blah,
blah,
blah.
Totally not gonna watch except for the parade, if that, and that's only because of the Posse, see?
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Jan 20, 2017 - 08:00am PT
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The River Runs
Softly hushed
The quiet rush
Over stone through valley
Perfused, with swollen flush
Winding 'round with gravity
From mountains high
It's place of birth
To channel down
Upheld by earth
And swept by sky
Once a silent trickle
Now continuously fed
By winter rains
Is crashing forth
So runs the river to the sea
-bushman
01/20/2017
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zBrown
Ice climber
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Jan 20, 2017 - 08:32am PT
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El Chapo USA si, Mexico no!
This may be my missing Ducati. May need those nunchucks after_all.
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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 20, 2017 - 09:48am PT
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Jan 20, 2017 - 11:18am PT
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Poem Rescheduled, Edits Pending
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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 20, 2017 - 12:45pm PT
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The understudy is ready, howe'er.
The Village Blacksmith
(with codas)
UNDER a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate'er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And watch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling,—rejoicing,—sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought!
But what is this, his sleep's disturbed
By angels flapping round
They tell him of a magic place
Where sanctity is found
In the Sierra Mountains to the east
He'll find serenity profound
Tis all now history, my friends,
The blacksmith's fated was sealed
His inventions now are useless tools
When everything's annealed
"Vy can't dey choost leave tings alone?"
The old ironmonger squealed.
--Longfellow & Mouse
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Jan 20, 2017 - 01:02pm PT
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Thanks for that Mouse, to you and Longfellow, nicely done!
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