Sunday, February 28, 2021

For the Duration: Buddy, You Know the Drill

Ground saturated slush and rain melt refreeze melt re: we knew the trails shared with dirt bikers deep suck your boot off mud, we drove to Falls and MacArthur to find where we park barking with No Parking signs and nobody parked there
Intersection blind from all three directions and for all moving objects, hikers, joggers, dog-walkers, bikers, cars, cars 45ing in a 25, cars backing out of parking after hiking with bikers and cars 45ing
People parked on MacArthur on the left as soon as you make the left from Falls (or on the right uphill from Old Anglers before the right onto Falls) (which has the stop sign but half-blind to bikers and cars uphilling from the parking lots for people not doing the hikes people park at the top of this hill are) on county, not Fed, property
The hike: Gold Mine counter-clockwise to Valley to (very briefly, 1000 feet, if that) Anchor to Woodlands to Goldmine, Valley Woodlands a permanent seat on My Sillyass Deserted Island Five Game of mile and a halfs, slays me every time, Earthgirl can vouch, you can see for yourself with or without me, and winter and wet and grey


Before the plague regulars horizontal parked on MacArthur so could pull out into traffic and see objects coming toward them from front and back
but when woods filled with people who would rather die of plague than EVER AGAIN walk in the woods (this is good for me) began parking MacArthur sideways and it stuck, at least six more cars slot sideways than length-wise, it killed the easement, added thousands of feet more erosion and degradation, people spinning mud to back out into a dangerous intersection with multiple blind spots and moving targets
I remember one serious enough wreck (when people horizont0led) to make mention to doink my lodge but won’t hazard when, at least a decade ago, one lazy google search page one disclosed no secrets
The gated mini-Versailles direct on right on MacArthur and direct on right once turned right on Falls of a sudden on sale, it’s a metaphor worth noting though fuck you not fine if slappy standard abounding and connected
If I removed your blindfold a hundred yards into the woods and you walked down Valley then across Woodlands you’d never know you’re a mile and a half (on foot, half a mile as Crow flies) from shitlord self-Versailles and shitlord Versailles laundromats, fine metaphors abound

Identity politicsMars is a hell holeAmerica: killing easy, helping hardBullshit spoken in an assertive tone
Crossword politicsAffair Teera NandonFuck - and I can't over-emphasize this enough - youThe next US president
Elric Seven is sixty today, I don'tthink he visits but if you're here, happiesThe third plague wavePrivatizing EmotionsAwfulsome Truth
Maggies's weekly linksPaul = evilThe Paul you thought I meant isn't evil, just yawnier than JohnBigger cages, smarter bombsTo the core
Howard Nemerov, born February 29, 1920, here's the centennial post{ feuilleton }'s weekly linksSasha V Beloved's Chapter Two


Howard Nemerov

Dear old equivocal and closest friend,
Grand Vizier to a weak bewildered king,
Now we approach The Ecclesiastean Age
Where the heart is like to go off inside your chest
Like a party favor, or the brain blow a fuse
And the comic-book light-bulb of Idea black out
Forever, the idiot balloon of speech
Go blank, and we shall know, if it be knowing,
The world as it was before language once again;

Mighty Fortress, maybe already mined
And readying to blow up grievances
About the lifetime of your servitude,
The body of this death one talkative saint
Wanted to be delivered of (not yet!),
Aggressively asserting your ancient right
To our humiliation by the bowel
Or the rough justice of the elderly lecher’s
Retiring from this incontinence to that;

Dark horse, it’s you we’ve put the money on
Regardless, the parody and satire and
The nevertheless forgiveness of the soul
Or mind, self, spirit, will or whatever else
The ever-unknowable unknown is calling itself
This time around—shall we renew our vows?
How should we know by now how we might do
Divorced? Homely animal, in sickness and health,
For the duration; buddy, you know the drill.

1 comment:

  1. 0)that's a good looking winter woods

    1)it took me a little while to realize the reason why the title of the nemerov poem says "fifteenth birthday" when the date given is 60 years after he was born

    2)surveying the aaargh - not just here, but there and everywhere - i am reminded of george carlin’s advice, part of his analysis of the american dream in article 41001 at informationclearinghouse:

    It’s never going to get any better, don’t look for it, be happy with what you’ve got.

    so one may as well tend one’s own garden, and/or if one can swing it, move to canada or some other setting one might imagine as more simpatico

    3)here’s a poem my late father recommended to me when he thought i took politics too personally – he came from canada to the states in 1929 - like nemerov he served in the u.s. army air forces during world war ii


    GEOFFREY CHAUCER 1340-1400

    Flee from the crowd and dwell with truthfulness:
    Suffice thee with thy goods, tho’ they be small:
    To hoard brings hate, to climb brings giddiness;
    The crowd has envy, and success blinds all;
    Desire no more than to thy lot may fall;
    Work well thyself to counsel others clear,
    And Truth shall make thee free, there is no fear!

    Torment thee not all crooked to redress,
    Nor put thy trust in fortune’s turning ball;
    Great peace is found in little busy-ness;
    And war but kicks against a sharpened awl;
    Strive not, thou earthen pot, to break the wall;
    Subdue thyself, and others thee shall hear;
    And Truth shall make thee free, there is no fear!

    What God doth send, receive in gladsomeness;
    To wrestle for this world foretells a fall.
    Here is no home, here is but wilderness:
    Forth, pilgrim, forth; up, beast, and leave thy stall!
    Know thy country, look up, thank God for all:
    Hold the high way, thy soul the pioneer,
    And Truth shall make thee free, there is no fear!

    Therefore, poor beast, forsake thy wretchedness;
    No longer let the vain world be thy stall.
    His mercy seek who in his mightiness
    Made thee of naught, but not to be a thrall.
    Pray freely for thyself and pray for all
    Who long for larger life and heavenly cheer;
    And Truth shall make thee free, there is no fear!

    [Modern version by HENRY VAN DYKE]