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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 - Aug 20, 2016 - 06:56pm PT
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Aug 21, 2016 - 06:02am PT
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I'm absolutely gutted here!
Your friends!
O man, Scuffy-b!
For Amy-jo and Steve, may the serious waves of confusion pass and all gifts of love and light
Find you - heal you - make both strong again.
I'm in the doghouse for waking the woman. I needed a hug
Brian, you need a hug,
I'm praying for Dwain , I'm praying for Steve, I pray for you
Too ( the tribe of silver backs that have excepted me is of great importance.
The earth the moon the Stars have been a wonder since I again could dredge up the memories of spent youth. So much was stirred to the surface.
There will never be a way to show how much it has changed no rearranged my focus.
The sky surfers
The cool ridges
Everything
well, not any of the political threads, I try to never go there, not ever no lure for this gnome.
Hit post this reply , I slipped off to sleep what on taco did I say?
To read I'll go post the edit what needs to come out and what needs to stay read it absorb it pray for all of us!
Names out of guide books I slept with
Coming to life and discussing the world at large
The one and only Jim Donini
I've had a personal love of narly gristeld old climbers since I was a tiny Sprite
There it is.
I had not reached five foot tall until I met Fritz and Hans
Those two old Climbers fathers to a generation of climbers,
Fathers to me.
What did they see in me that for 5 years and two summers and all reprieves from the norm
Every holiday, break from school
older by decades, those climbers raised me in the light and love my family life lacked
Of course I never knew, but with the passage of time, now as a father too
I'm forever in the debt of all the walks and milkshakes
The belays, the climbs I led you up the climbs I fell off that you held my falls on
The time I slipped off Lake View!!
Thank you Tor thank you Wally Thank you Kristen Raubenhiemer as the mother of that clan,
you, that tuff,hard Norwegian !
( she,was in 1957, a beauty, leading rock climber, Miss Norway,) married a short man
You grew to wish you hadn't taken me in to the hart of your family
and that was cutting to the child me.
But as the father of two I wonder that you did all that you did do, at all
I've often paid the kindness back. I speak as though it is your mountain.
And to me it always will be the place I call home,
May it be
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Aug 21, 2016 - 08:18am PT
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From Hearings conducted by Congess and the Department of Inanity, May 1956
Transcript of questions by Senator Medgar R Splivens, (R) Maine,
put to Monsignor Nastro Bertucci of the order of the Holy Chapel of Ubiquitous Ambivalence.
1.
Q. Why do we lie?
A. Lies are second nature.
2.
Q. What's in a word?
A. Words are overrated.
3.
Q. Who do we harm?
A. If we only do harm we only be fowl.
4.
Q. Who foots the bill?
A. Bills are measured by the foot.
5.
Q. What verdicts fall on mortals from those places upon high.
A. I do not know?
7.
Q. Then what verdicts should fall on guilty mortals from those places of government on high.
A. Verdicts always come down swiftly upon the innocent from the butt flap seats of government, but only slowly, if ever, upon the guilty.
6.
Q. What justice would be had?
A. None (See question #1).
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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 - Aug 21, 2016 - 08:49am PT
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Jerry Garcia Band - Dear Pru (1981)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=blqGxVsofdo
Deer Buck,
Who passes the buck?
Dishonest men.
Who receives the buck?
A mentiroso name of DollaFifty.
Why is he called that?
He's in the Halfabucka gang.
Who do they think they are?
Fifty cents better than anyone else.
Is this the truth?
Why would I tell the truth?
Why not?
Gimme fifty cents and I'll tell ya.
Can I depend on your telling the truth for money?
You can take it to the bank.
Why would I take it to the bank?
Cuz that's where the buck always seems to land.
Signed,
Deer Abby.
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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 - Aug 21, 2016 - 09:20am PT
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Dossing down.
Transpo Center on Old Hwy 99.
4:30 a.m.
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Aug 21, 2016 - 10:22am PT
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The Island of Lost Horizons
Part 1
The Ship
As notice from my master came
The cloud cast afternoon burned clear
To lively sunset auburn haired
Much like her scratchy mane the dear
So drunk with pungent song I sang
To the pesky girl I wooed and bed
Alas my situation lost
Left me no choice and so I fled
The pastor's step on our day for to wed
A deckhands ad answered in a clutch
And we set sail on waters late
The month of August laden such
The keel on harbors bottom scraped
And hoped my captains fate was less
In kind adrift and rudderless
Or muddled like my fettered list
Escaped from I was wedded bliss
But 'fore my labors washed all this
The captains wrinkled grayish brow
O'er dark encircled eyes that frowned
With worrisome forbodence fell
To scan horizons then cast down
Through bow timbers to blackened deep
His enigmatic reputation kept
By first mate and by lock and key
Those voyages that he had seen
So buried we our worries the more
For a world a 'bound by destiny
Week on week we crested wave
Southward to as weathers calmed
And waters warm and open seas
As balmy doldrums soon embalmed
Our spirits fell on duties cursed
A deathly purgative unwarned
Less appetite left me replete
And darkened thoughts left me forlorn
On oceans wide horizon scorned
On murmured sounds of mutiny
No sharpened knives below the deck
A captain's only order stood
Between the noose and broken neck
Then spirits rose a cry to men
When west winds pressed the sails to mast
The Ivory coast appeared to east
The waves they rose and fell at last
Off Dragon's tails that never ceased
'Round Horn we pushed to India
By monster gales and seas festooned
By shoals and reefs a lurking there
To shipwreck and leave us marooned
A 'drowned and swept by Neptune's tides
To a mirthless ocean bottom tomb
And some were lost swept overboard
By sleeper waves that settled score
Left a crew survived by those much more
Now dangerous than those before
On latitudes off course bereft
Unsettled weather settled soon
Our compass course so stigmatized
We'd navigate by sun and moon
Much further south we drifted as
Through fog we saw only the ghosts
Of long lost ships and long dead crews
And heard the cries out in the mists
Of long lost Captain Darius
Whose soul was traded once for gold
Descending he to satin's lair
As olden sailor's legends told
The third day on those souther'd seas
The Indian Ocean sat like pond
No winds to tell or lift the sails
To blow the fog or stir a breeze
The captain broke out with the rum
A ration each man's fear to quell
For soon we smelled a ghastly smell
Like burning hair on animal hide
Or witch's porridge straight from hell
Which stirred us primally inside
The winds ne'er came for o'er a week
With sunken eyes and slouching gait
No words were said we did not speak
The rum long gone our nerves a wreck
A feverish red inflamed our eyes
When first came blood to black of night
The watch cried out a man on deck
His throat was sliced his face was white
The captain ordered all to top
First mates face was clenched and drawn
His pistol held and hammer cocked
He stood like that until the dawn
Each night it came each morning sun
Dispatched we were now one by one
Those of us the specter sought
In sport in form or gruesome fun
To rid the seas and keep to thee
Our cargo and our vessel for
A paltry prize for what he'd done?
Afore each dawn there came the scream
Another murdered there was lain
At midship deck for all to see
We once were forty but now fifteen
I could not wait 'till next was me
I could not sleep except by day
And cowardice kept me from flight
While hiding in a life boat passed
In trembling fear another night
And dreamed of Bess Cornelius
My near betrothed with skin of white
Her gentle smile and eyes of green
Reproached me for my treachery
I looked away but still her voice
And auburn hair encircled me
And called my name not once but thrice
With baleful moans and dreadful cries
I startled then awake to see
With flames all 'round I realized
'Twas trapped with no way clear to me
And saw no exit to my plight
As flames were there at every turn
I ran back t'wards a life boat then
A flash of pain and blackness came
I would not see our ship again
The good ship sinking as it burned
A timber'd struck me o'er the head
And when with pounding headache woke
In the only lifeboat left afloat
My former hideaway and bed
The sky was dark and the sea was black
'Till morning clouds descended
On the waters where my lonely craft
Was cloaked by fog a 'never ending
For days on end I drifted there
The dew it never quenched my thirst
No food to quell my hunger fast
With an old tarpaulin spread out where
The blistered skin and pulpy hands
I noticed not and did not care
And all my ceaseless shivering
Wore me out 'till I slept fair
As waves picked up and the wind did blow
Where I should drift I could not know
Part 2
Captain Darius
My boat made land on a blackened shore
As the tide pushed up and my feet dug in
To a coarse volcanic gravelly sand
Like one I'd never seen a'fore
Beyond all that I kept no score
For the fog had thickened all about
But my hunger ached to sound once more
So imprudently I began to shout
And thought I heard voices of men
But my eyes were weary and my ears did ring
And I stumbled into a jungle deep
Where tree vines hung to dampened ground
Knowing not what crawled or creeped
But still heard distant melodies
As I slept to rest my pulped feet
(To be continued)
-bushman
08/21/2016
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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 - Aug 21, 2016 - 11:08am PT
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2 wabbits were appwoaching when the wind began to howl.
"I'll bet ten bucks he survives."
"I wonder who he'll meet on that island. Maybe some gal named Tuesday."
Ishmeal and Fishmeal, sea-going bunnies.
Wackiki Wabbit
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cKHw_2MeJqs
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zBrown
Ice climber
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Aug 21, 2016 - 11:17am PT
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Fellow appears to have a quasi(modo) surfing background, eh?
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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 - Aug 21, 2016 - 11:19am PT
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Here's looking at you!
A heartfelt get well wish for The Bull of Chula Vista.
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zBrown
Ice climber
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Aug 21, 2016 - 12:22pm PT
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The Bull (strictly speaking de El Cajon) has left the building (i.e. the hospital) and is in what they call a rehab facility.
They claim that for each day in hospital 3-4 days of rehab are required to regain strength etc.
However, they don't know The Bull. He called night before last at 1:00 AM and requested a pick-up. When he didn't get he said OK, I'll call a cab. He didn't.
He's getting better each day.
That Respiratory Syncytial Virus Infection (RSV) is a nasty one for old folks to get infected with. Avoid it as best you can.
Thanks for watching out for him.
On the other hand, my high school friend's uncle Graydeon (age 99) who jumped into Normandy with the 82nd Airborne just passed away a week or so ago.
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Aug 21, 2016 - 04:02pm PT
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There was an Old Man
Late one night
I heard a strange noise
So I went outside
And there was an old man
Standing by the cedar tree
He had a bald head
And a stubbly beard
All stooped and limping
Just like me
He came towards me
I raised my arm
To warn him off
But I saw something
Something moved
In the field beyond
Way out by the pepper tree
A strange glow of colors
Coruscating
A wormhole opened
Bright and green
Right out of Star Trek
Like I had seen
The old man whispered
"Don't go near
You see I once
Was from around here"
As I stood trembling in fear
He told me then
He'd worked for years
As doctor on a merchant ship
One long winter ocean voyage
They spied a man
On an iceberg there
And attempted a rescue
As a storm did rage
In the North Atlantic on that day
Then the old man said
The iceberg man
Was clearly dead
His body it was frozen stiff
Encrusted with ice
He'd waited too long
But inside his tent
Was a time machine
With it's motor turned on
The old man continued
To tell his story
That's when he said
That's when he fell
Through a wormhole there
And found an old man
Way down at the other end
Then the old man said
That it was him
I told the old man
To stop right there
That I didn't believe him
About what he'd seen
And I did not care
He smiled and turned
And disappeared
In the worm hole by
My pepper tree there
Now I've grown older
And my memory fails
Can't recall my aches or ails
Or if I've gone through
A time machine
Was I the iceberg man
Or the wormhole man?
Though there was an old man
It matters not that I can tell
-bushman
08/21/2016
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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 - Aug 21, 2016 - 06:28pm PT
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feralfae
Boulder climber
in the midst of a metaphysical mystery
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Aug 21, 2016 - 06:57pm PT
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Bushman, you've done it again with 'Old Man'
Nothing like ending a poem with a koan.
Excellent.
Bravo!
You have given me much to consider on the cutting of trees, thank you.
ff
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zBrown
Ice climber
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Aug 21, 2016 - 07:22pm PT
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lame-o's for the limos?
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zBrown
Ice climber
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Aug 21, 2016 - 07:23pm PT
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hooblie
climber
from out where the anecdotes roam
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Aug 21, 2016 - 07:32pm PT
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it's going to take a team of scrapers just to keep that van ^^^ defrosted
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Aug 21, 2016 - 08:53pm PT
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Milk
Bread
Yogurt
Long yellow things
I can't stop laughing about that one
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neebee
Social climber
calif/texas
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Aug 21, 2016 - 09:45pm PT
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hey there say, mouse... ahhh, such gall... oh my...
say, i love those guys, i mean, those galls...
i tried to make a necklace out of some...
but--
chose, the buckeye, instead...
kept a few galls, though, for crafts...
will post, soon as i can...
:))
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