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Goner Message Board / ???? / Charton Heston RIP
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 12:08 am
Hey, Hester... here's what a real movie looks like: http://www.cinemablend.com/images/reviews/373/main.jpg
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 12:17 am

My favorite actor of all time.

This really sucks.
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 12:23 am
his wife was from two rivers wisconsin.
The middle school, L. B. Clarke, educates fifth grade through eighth grade as of 2006. L. B. Clarke middle school was named for Charleton Heston's father-in-law, who helped to fund the school; both Charleton and his wife Lydia have visited the school.
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 1:36 am
it's a bad, bad day.

goddamn, i love me some chuck heston and have done so for all my adult life.

touch of evil
planet of the apes
el cid
10 commandments
ben hur
greatest show on earth
omega man
soylent green...

one could go on forever, but put this honey in your cup of tea...

he played Andrew Jackson TWICE! Battle of New Orleans and The Buccaneer.


and may Michael Moore burn in a hell that is hotter than belief.
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 1:43 am
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 3:49 am
Omega Man scared the shit outa me so bad when I was a kid I still can't bring myself to watch it again.

Posted: Apr 6, 2008 4:41 am
I guess I can have his gun now.

Posted: Apr 6, 2008 6:02 am
touch of evil
planet of the apes
el cid
10 commandments
ben hur
greatest show on earth
omega man
soylent green...

one could go on forever,

i sure couldn't; with peck my least fave movie "star"

he's almost unwatchable but he's so perfectly cast as richlieu (!!??) in lester's great musketeer movies and as blowhard in touch of evil that i give him a pass, unlike peck. yuck.


will penny should be on yr list, not el cid or greatest show or ten commandments. double yuck.
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 7:28 am
"Omega Man" is probably my favorite movie of all time, but I'm not so much a Chuck Heston fan that I'm going to check this to make sure it's legit. Also, I'm not sad. Life is rE%aLL*y WWWei(rd.

I'd love to live in a lifeless world, though. However, I wouldn't watch Woodstock endlessly.

Posted: Apr 6, 2008 9:30 am
Who got the honor of prying the gun from his cold dead hands, I wonder?
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 9:37 am
Honor Chuck with some old west mayhem. The restored version of Major Dundee (early Sam Peckinpah) is on TCM this Tuesday.
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 9:57 am
I miss his Bud Light commercials. Those were hilarious.

Posted: Apr 6, 2008 11:32 am
I bet the factory has him halfway processed by now.
Mmmm mmm, Soylent Chuck.
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 12:07 pm
Soylent Chuck

you beat me to it!
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 12:08 pm
He grew up in St. Helens, Mi. My grandparents had a cottage up there from the early 60's to the early 80's. Heston's family owned (probably still do) a huge chunk of the land around those parts. Heston used to show up in the summer and hang out. Somewhere I have a pic of my grandparents and him at the grocery store. I also recall my grandmother pointing him out to me once when I was a little kid but I had no idea who he was at the time.
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 1:37 pm
and may Michael Moore burn in a hell that is hotter than belief.

Fuck Michael Moore and his mean spirited attack on Heston.

I do not agree with Mr. Heston's political views, but the man was an amazing actor.

May he rest in peace.
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 3:22 pm
why did moses have to die???
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 3:49 pm
will penny should be on yr list, not el cid or greatest show or ten commandments. double yuck.

o.k. gene shalit.

el cid's only competition is the hest's other films.

and birth of a nation.
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 4:37 pm
Fuck Michael Moore and his mean spirited attack on Heston.

And Heston & the NRA having a rally in Denver 10 days after the Columbine massacre, nothing mean-spirited about that.
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 4:44 pm
Fuck Charlton Heston, shitty actor with shitty politics.
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 6:05 pm
i liked omega man, but yeah, i didn't care much for his political whatnot
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 7:29 pm
yeah guns are the problem, not people. thats why in places with stringent gun control laws like britain and washington DC violent crime and murder rates have skyrocketed, yet in canada where everyone has guns theres way less crime... 53% of britains burglaries are when people are home because the people arent scared, as opposed to 13% in america. gun crimes in britain skyrocketed a full 340% after they started their ban.

The findings of two criminologists - Prof. Don Kates and Prof. Gary Mauser - in their exhaustive study of American and European gun laws and violence rates, are telling:

Nations with stringent anti-gun laws generally have substantially higher murder rates than those that do not. The study found that the nine European nations with the lowest rates of gun ownership (5,000 or fewer guns per 100,000 population) have a combined murder rate three times higher than that of the nine nations with the highest rates of gun ownership (at least 15,000 guns per 100,000 population).

the murder rate in the USA is TRIPLE that of canada, 70% of murders in the USA involve guns, compared to 30% in canada, where their firearm crimes have dropped to record lows, yet almost all adults own guns. clearly its not law abiding gun owners that are the problem.
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 7:32 pm
* New Jersey adopted what sponsors described as "the most stringent gun law" in the nation in 1966; two years later, the murder rate was up 46% and the reported robbery rate had nearly doubled.

* In 1968, Hawaii imposed a series of increasingly harsh measures, and its murder rate tripled from a low of 2.4 per 100,000 in 1968 to 7.2 by 1977.

* In 1976, Washington, D.C., enacted one of the most restrictive gun control laws in the nation. Since then, the city's murder rate has risen 134% while the national murder rate has dropped 2%.
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 7:48 pm
almost all adults own guns
I couldn't even tell you the name of one person I know who owns a gun.
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 7:57 pm
almost all adults own guns

i have hundreds of friends

and i have never seen a non antique gun in any of their homes

i have never even SEEN a gun in the same room as i was in
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 7:59 pm
o.k. gene shalit.

el cid's only competition is the hest's other films.

and birth of a nation.

el cid is to birth of a nation as footloose is to last tango in paris

and gene shalit is JUST the type of reviewer (note the absent word critic) who would like heston

trip0le yuck
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 8:12 pm
A 1996 study showed that Canada was in the mid-range of firearm ownership when compared with eight other western nations. Nearly 22% of Canadian households had at least one firearm.
"Firearms in Canada and Eight Other Western Countries: Selected Findings of the 1996 International Crime (Victim) Survey"
6.4 million legally registered guns in canada in 2003. interesting as a 1974 estimate was 10 million guns in canada. maybe those are the antique ones your friends have.
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 8:14 pm
wow never seen a gun. be thankful you have your friggin food delivered to you, ya know it wasnt too long ago hunting was considered a useful skill. i dont think ive ever been in a farmhouse without a gun.
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 8:30 pm
course you probably dont have any farmer friends either, do you?
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 9:18 pm
i have two guns.

they are fun.
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 9:19 pm
el cid is to birth of a nation as footloose is to last tango in paris

i don't remember kevin bacon passing the margarine.
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 9:23 pm
ya know it wasnt too long ago hunting was considered a useful skill.

thanks margaret mead; it wasn't that long ago that people rode horses for anal sex reconnoitering

never been on a horse either

thank god for pathmark and buicks
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 9:23 pm
course you probably dont have any farmer friends either, do you?
thank god no
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 9:32 pm
I believe an old friend of mine wrote some words to a tune once...

The preacher man says it’s the end of time
And the Mississippi River she’s a goin’ dry
The interest is up and the Stock Markets down
And you only get mugged
If you go down town

I live back in the woods, you see
A woman and the kids, and the dogs and me
I got a shotgun rifle and a 4-wheel drive
And a country boy can survive
Country folks can survive

I can plow a field all day long
I can catch catfish from dusk till dawn
We make our own whiskey and our own smoke too
Ain’t too many things these ole boys can’t do
We grow good ole tomatoes and homemade wine
And a country boy can survive
Country folks can survive

Because you can’t starve us out
And you cant makes us run
Cause one-of- ‘em old boys raisin ole shotgun
And we say grace and we say Ma’am
And if you ain’t into that we don’t give a damn

We came from the West Virginia coalmines
And the Rocky Mountains and the and the western skies
And we can skin a buck; we can run a trot-line
And a country boy can survive
Country folks can survive

I had a good friend in New York City
He never called me by my name, just hillbilly
My grandpa taught me how to live off the land
And his taught him to be a businessman
He used to send me pictures of the Broadway nights
And I’d send him some homemade wine

But he was killed by a man with a switchblade knife
For 43 dollars my friend lost his life
Id love to spit some beechnut in that dudes eyes
And shoot him with my old 45
Cause a country boy can survive
Country folks can survive

Cause you can’t starve us out and you can’t make us run
Cause one-of- ‘em old boys raisin ole shotgun
And we say grace and we say Ma’am
And if you ain’t into that we don’t give a damn

We’re from North California and south Alabam
And little towns all around this land
And we can skin a buck; we can run a trot-line
And a country boy can survive
Country folks can survive
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 10:05 pm
fuck corn pone

Rhapsody on a Windy Night

Twelve o'clock.
Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
Whispering lunar incantations
Dissolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations,
Its divisions and precisions,
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a fatalistic drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.

Half-past one,
The street lamp sputtered,
The street lamp muttered,
The street lamp said, "Regard that woman
Who hesitates towards you in the light of the door
Which opens on her like a grin.
You see the border of her dress
Is torn and stained with sand,
And you see the corner of her eye
Twists like a crooked pin."

The memory throws up high and dry
A crowd of twisted things;
A twisted branch upon the beach
Eaten smooth, and polished
As if the world gave up
The secret of its skeleton,
Stiff and white.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.

Half-past two,
The street lamp said,
"Remark the cat which flattens itself in the gutter,
Slips out its tongue
And devours a morsel of rancid butter."
So the hand of a child, automatic,
Slipped out and pocketed a toy that was running along the quay.
I could see nothing behind that child's eye.
I have seen eyes in the street
Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
And a crab one afternoon in a pool,
An old crab with barnacles on his back,
Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.

Half-past three,
The lamp sputtered,
The lamp muttered in the dark.

The lamp hummed:
"Regard the moon,
La lune ne garde aucune rancune,
She winks a feeble eye,
She smiles into corners.
She smoothes the hair of the grass.
The moon has lost her memory.
A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone
With all the old nocturnal smells
That cross and cross across her brain."
The reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of chestnuts in the streets,
And female smells in shuttered rooms,
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars."

The lamp said,
"Four o'clock,
Here is the number on the door.
You have the key,
The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair,
The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,
Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life."

The last twist of the knife.

-- T. S. Eliot
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 10:08 pm
"the unfacts, did we possess them, are too imprecisely few to warrant our certitude."

Posted: Apr 6, 2008 11:25 pm
good luck baker, maybe after the economy nose dives you can write yourself some food...
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 11:28 pm
Anybody can write for Soldier of Fortune, brad.
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 11:30 pm
maybe Jesus will send baker some manna from heaven.
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 11:32 pm | Edited by: Seamus
ts eliot was a sad, stifled bank clerk who needed a real man- and Idaho-bred gun owner- to pare his shit down to be palatable.

now, recite me some cantos or mulberry and i'll be impressed.
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 11:34 pm | Edited by: Jack Stands
Book people with your smarts and brain learnings are dumb. My thinkings have feelings, too.
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 11:48 pm
right on ricky!
Posted: Apr 6, 2008 11:56 pm | Edited by: Jack Stands
Knock knock, Bobandy...
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 12:02 am
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 12:11 am
Randy: ...I want my barbeque.
Ricky: You know what Randy, you're totally right and you know what I'm gonna do for ya?
Randy: What?
Ricky: Jack Shit.
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 12:13 am

i have never even SEEN a gun in the same room as i was in

wow. i'm a girl and i have a gun. memphis is a good place to have a gun. people ain't afraid to bust up into houses here so i ain't afraid to whip the fucker out. i'm not about to get fucked up at my own place of residence. screw that. i like having the security.
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 12:27 am
Decided to watch them all in order over the past few weekends to see if I missed any (and to watch them in order, finally). Think "A Few Good Men Are Dead" is the only one I missed. Now THAT'S fine acting. Thanks, Bobandy.
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 12:39 am
up yours, nigger.
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 12:41 am
now blazing saddles, THAT was some fine acting...
sorry about the up yours nigger. have a slice of pie.
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 12:50 am | Edited by: Jack Stands
Yeah, I mean, I'm not colleged, but you guys got books and stuffs to see this is ovmbiously a little fucky.
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 1:00 am
Oh, you just think you're big, don't you, you and your precious books, Julian.
I was gonna give you a drink too until you got all "friggety fuckey" on us.
You know what?
I am gonna give you a drink.
You know why?
'Cause the Bible says share.
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 1:07 am
You know, your thoughts might be better than mine, but, i have thoughts going around in my head too, about different thinkings, and brain things that you can use, and doing different things.

You guys don't always know what's best and my fuckin' thoughts have feelings of their own too sometimes.
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 1:08 am
where the fuck is you know who?
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 1:09 am
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 2:52 am

Shijiiiit, that was funny.
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 3:04 am
I have hundreds of friends

and i have never seen a non antique gun in any of their homes

i have never even SEEN a gun in the same room as i was in

Since that first sentence is obviously a joke,
why even bother to comment on the other two?
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 8:59 am
I don't have a problem with gun ownership, I just hate all the right wing/republican bullshit that the NRA piggybacks in with their gun rights agenda. Maybe it changed after Heston, but I still associate him with the co-opting of right wing politics into gun rights. I don't see how it's "liberal" to deny people the right to own firearms.
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 11:17 am

Since that first sentence is obviously a joke,
why even bother to comment on the other two?

hey dumbass. even if first was falsehood, what constitutes the fallacy of the non related second supposition. and sinjce yes i have hundreds of "friends"--people i could call etc and


i believe you are the liar not I (as if i wanted yr "comment" inj the fiurst place.

nice try at an insult. real funny.

and what kind of "comment" do i expect: i have never seen a gun. and i do not live on a farm. and i dislike eliot. and i hate his politics. but 4 quartets is the great poem of the 20th century and pound was a paranoid, treason-mongering hater of jews. and that's yr hero?


i forgot about major dundee. that performance did not make me throw up either. but nothing beats the restored touch of evil.

wow! rip moses. i mean vargas.
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 11:26 am
even if first was falsehood, what constitutes the fallacy of the non related second supposition.


Posted: Apr 7, 2008 1:01 pm
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 1:17 pm
co-opting of right wing politics into gun rights. I don't see how it's "liberal" to deny people the right to own firearms.

are we talking handguns or rifles?

handguns kill people. rifles kill food.
podcasts kill music.
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 1:38 pm
We are now on the cusp of one of the most momentous historical episodes of all time " the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are about to ride. Peak oil is the primary underlying condition forcing change, and Apocalypse is the action plan ruling elites have chosen as their response to that condition. Not only does this response make a great deal of sense, from their Machiavellian perspective, but by their recent actions they have clearly signaled the scope and direction of their intentions. Furthermore, their planned response is in complete alignment with earlier responses to similar situations in the past " by these same people or by their direct predecessors.

The Four Horsemen of this Apocalypse:

* Collapse
* Genocide
* War
* Fascism

Shock Stage: Initial paralysis at hearing the bad news. (Inability to relate the prospect of growth cessation to anything in past experience.) ca. 2000

Denial Stage: Trying to avoid the inevitable. (Rigid refusal to accept the outlandish notion that cheap oil of the right kind will end soon.) 2000-2007

Anger Stage: Frustrated outpouring of bottled-up emotion. (Outrage at "Big Oil," Saudi Arabia, China, government taxation, etc.) 2005-2009 Bargaining Stage: Seeking in vain for a way out. ("Throw the bums out" by electing new leaders, heavy investing in expensive alternatives, calls for "science" to save us, expecting a deus ex machina.) 2008-2012

Depression Stage: Final realization of the inevitable. (Even flat-earth economists surrender, presidential politicians state facts publicly, businesses begin collapsing in droves, return of the Great Depression foretokens collapse.) 2011-2015

Testing Stage: Seeking realistic solutions. (National impoverishment forces abandonment of socialist policies and international development aid, various alternative-energy schemes tested and most abandoned, local farming grows, large cities wither, beginnings of martial law to keep order, interregional conflicts.) 2013-2025

Acceptance Stage: Finally finding the way forward. (War, collapse.) 2018-2075

"Well, if we don't get a total collapse, the government / corporations are going to have us all chipped, tagged, drugged, and living in slums patrolled by Chinese- made robotic soldiers with strangely familiar sounding Austrian accents."

Are you ready to ride your horse or bicycle? The American farmer, using oil, feeds 98 people today. Tomorrow, he will feed his own family and about 20 other people. So what are the other 70-something people going to do? Probably first they will riot. Then they will be locked into camps. After that, they may one day look up and read as sign that says: “Work Makes One Free”.

Posted: Apr 7, 2008 2:48 pm
the king is dead, long live the king

One would be hard-pressed to name another intrinsically American hard rocker who backs up his talk with surefire action like Nugent. His non-musical pursuits have garnered as much ink as his hellfire rock 'n' roll. Outdoorsman, hunter, conservative political activist, and controversial spokesperson on behalf of the second amendment to the U.S. constitution, Nugent epitomizes and embodies the ethic of the outspoken pioneer taking on all comers in all matter of debates…while still making damn sure to rock non-stop and without regret. Ted Nugent is an American original.

But it's his shotgun style of guitar playing that has endeared him to his huge fanbase. And it's on a stage where that pepper spray of staccato notes is best appreciated. Although he has admitted to partial hearing loss due to his close proximity to massive amounts of ampage, he still cavorts about onstage like a man possessed.
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 3:17 pm
ut 4 quartets is the great poem of the 20th century and pound was a paranoid, treason-mongering hater of jews. and that's yr hero?


i thought that was kind of funny. but i think most everything is funny after a fifth of rebel yell.

honestly, i prefer yeats to everything but a Beretta 9mm.
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 3:26 pm
heavy investing in expensive alternatives
they already did that, then buried it
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 3:39 pm
everything but a Beretta 9mm.
Or Bronson's hand cannon...
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 4:56 pm
I still think his best work was in Wayne's World 2.
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 4:58 pm
i prefer yeats to everything but a Beretta 9mm
I've got one of those! Well, at my house in Texas, not here at school with me. Pretty sweet.
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 5:41 pm
Heston was actually pretty active in what we would now consider "liberal" politics during the 60s -- civil rights, etc.
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 6:41 pm
yea bradx....... that was my favorite heston film, soylent green.
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 8:18 pm
soylent moses
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 8:49 pm
I saw guns quite a few times while living in the sticks in IL -- parties, farms, etc. Haven't seen one in my four years of living in Chicago. And I probably just jinxed myself. Nice knowing some of you.
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 9:22 pm
i have hundreds of antiques

and i have never seen a non-gay friend in my home

i have never even SEEN a friend in the same room as i was in

Sounds like you need a gun, and a new MySpace account.
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 10:53 pm
honestly, i prefer yeats to everything but a Beretta 9mm.
yeats number one
wallace stevens number two

bows and arrows
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 11:01 pm
caldiero blows them all out of the water
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 11:23 pm
yeats number one
wallace stevens number two

see, we do have something in common. 12 ways of both looking like fags.

also, i got to admit i do like pound. it took a couple hugh kenner books but i do like him.
Posted: Apr 7, 2008 11:44 pm
Im a gun owner, but could give a shit about blowhards like Heston...watched the "10 Commandments" on easter...Ive seen better acting in High School plays...glorified B-movie quality actor.
Posted: Apr 9, 2008 12:12 pm
B-movie quality actor

agreed, but WHAT a b-movie actor!!!
scenery chewing par excellance

if Chas Heston had not existed, it would have been necessary to invent him, kinda like Colt .45's (the gun, not the beer)

or Moses.
or cranky jew-hating paranoid schizophrenic genius poets
Posted: Apr 9, 2008 12:21 pm

see, we do have something in common. 12 ways of both looking like fags.

also, i got to admit i do like pound. it took a couple hugh kenner books but i do like him.

we have in common more tha yeats i bet...

kenner is the best on the high moderns and yes i love pound

pisan cantos esp

but prufrock and a couple of accelerated decrepitude poems from the teens by eliot i love as well
Posted: Apr 9, 2008 12:22 pm
B-movie quality actor

agreed, but WHAT a b-movie actor!!!
scenery chewing par excellance


major dundee was on last night and the bigger ham--richard harris or chuck--was hard to calculate, as both were obviously bewildered by the content of their lines!
Posted: Apr 9, 2008 1:33 pm

that's so 10th grade. wasn't that shit like 30 flacid pages before the genius Pound gave it ridigity?

give me mulberry anyday.

or Earthquake!
Posted: Apr 9, 2008 9:36 pm
pound only pruned waste land

prufrock ain't that long

and tenth grade is pushing it
Posted: Apr 10, 2008 1:19 am
prufrock ain't that long

but it was before Pound gotta hold of it.

and tenth grade is pushing it

what we you, remedial?
Posted: Apr 10, 2008 2:37 am
guns made America free. RIP chuck
Posted: Apr 10, 2008 6:07 am
i'm telling you: pound scissored waste land, not prufrock

and i don't know what 14 year old boys you hang out with [INSERT JOKE} but many of them could not get through the opening images of that poem without spark notes. seriously. prufrock is hard on teachers (i have seen enough of them butcher it to know) let alone 10th graders.
Posted: Apr 10, 2008 6:09 am | Edited by: michael baker
dead poets society

Posted: Apr 10, 2008 6:27 am
it's still national poetry month
Posted: Apr 10, 2008 10:00 am
If I was the panties of Helen Hunt
I think I'd prolly be smelling her cunt
Posted: Apr 10, 2008 12:20 pm
it's still national poetry month

William Butler Yeats

Among School Children


I walk through the long schoolroom questioning;
A kind old nun in a white hood replies;
The children learn to cipher and to sing,
To study reading-books and histories,
To cut and sew, be neat in everything
In the best modern way - the children's eyes
In momentary wonder stare upon
A sixty-year-old smiling public man.


I dream of a Ledaean body, bent
Above a sinking fire. a tale that she
Told of a harsh reproof, or trivial event
That changed some childish day to tragedy -
Told, and it seemed that our two natures blent
Into a sphere from youthful sympathy,
Or else, to alter Plato's parable,
Into the yolk and white of the one shell.


And thinking of that fit of grief or rage
I look upon one child or t'other there
And wonder if she stood so at that age -
For even daughters of the swan can share
Something of every paddler's heritage -
And had that colour upon cheek or hair,
And thereupon my heart is driven wild:
She stands before me as a living child.


Her present image floats into the mind -
Did Quattrocento finger fashion it
Hollow of cheek as though it drank the wind
And took a mess of shadows for its meat?
And I though never of Ledaean kind
Had pretty plumage once - enough of that,
Better to smile on all that smile, and show
There is a comfortable kind of old scarecrow.


What youthful mother, a shape upon her lap
Honey of generation had betrayed,
And that must sleep, shriek, struggle to escape
As recollection or the drug decide,
Would think her Son, did she but see that shape
With sixty or more winters on its head,
A compensation for the pang of his birth,
Or the uncertainty of his setting forth?


Plato thought nature but a spume that plays
Upon a ghostly paradigm of things;
Solider Aristotle played the taws
Upon the bottom of a king of kings;
World-famous golden-thighed Pythagoras
Fingered upon a fiddle-stick or strings
What a star sang and careless Muses heard:
Old clothes upon old sticks to scare a bird.


Both nuns and mothers worship images,
But those the candles light are not as those
That animate a mother's reveries,
But keep a marble or a bronze repose.
And yet they too break hearts - O Presences
That passion, piety or affection knows,
And that all heavenly glory symbolise -
O self-born mockers of man's enterprise;


Labour is blossoming or dancing where
The body is not bruised to pleasure soul.
Nor beauty born out of its own despair,
Nor blear-eyed wisdom out of midnight oil.
O chestnut-tree, great-rooted blossomer,
Are you the leaf, the blossom or the bole?
O body swayed to music, O brightening glance,
How can we know the dancer from the dance?
Posted: Apr 10, 2008 12:21 pm
The Circus Animals' Desertion
- William Butler Yeats


I sought a theme and sought for it in vain,
I sought it daily for six weeks or so.
Maybe at last, being but a broken man,
I must be satisfied with my heart, although
Winter and summer till old age began
My circus animals were all on show,
Those stilted boys, that burnished chariot,
Lion and woman and the Lord knows what.


What can I but enumerate old themes,
First that sea-rider Oisin led by the nose
Through three enchanted islands, allegorical dreams,
Vain gaiety, vain battle, vain repose,
Themes of the embittered heart, or so it seems,
That might adorn old songs or courtly shows;
But what cared I that set him on to ride,
I, starved for the bosom of his faery bride.

And then a counter-truth filled out its play,
'The Countess Cathleen' was the name I gave it;
She, pity-crazed, had given her soul away,
But masterful Heaven had intervened to save it.
I thought my dear must her own soul destroy
So did fanaticism and hate enslave it,
And this brought forth a dream and soon enough
This dream itself had all my thought and love.

And when the Fool and Blind Man stole the bread
Cuchulain fought the ungovernable sea;
Heart-mysteries there, and yet when all is said
It was the dream itself enchanted me:
Character isolated by a deed
To engross the present and dominate memory.
Players and painted stage took all my love,
And not those things that they were emblems of.


Those masterful images because complete
Grew in pure mind, but out of what began?
A mound of refuse or the sweepings of a street,
Old kettles, old bottles, and a broken can,
Old iron, old bones, old rags, that raving slut
Who keeps the till. Now that my ladder's gone,
I must lie down where all the ladders start
In the foul rag and bone shop of the heart.
Posted: Apr 10, 2008 12:23 pm
eliot, sans pound


Thou hast nor youth nor age
But as it were an after dinner sleep
Dreaming of both.

Here I am, an old man in a dry month,
Being read to by a boy, waiting for rain.
I was neither at the hot gates
Nor fought in the warm rain
Nor knee deep in the salt marsh, heaving a cutlass,
Bitten by flies, fought.
My house is a decayed house,
And the jew squats on the window sill, the owner,
Spawned in some estaminet of Antwerp,
Blistered in Brussels, patched and peeled in London.
The goat coughs at night in the field overhead;
Rocks, moss, stonecrop, iron, merds.
The woman keeps the kitchen, makes tea,
Sneezes at evening, poking the peevish gutter.

I an old man,
A dull head among windy spaces.

Signs are taken for wonders. "We would see a sign":
The word within a word, unable to speak a word,
Swaddled with darkness. In the juvescence of the year
Came Christ the tiger

In depraved May, dogwood and chestnut, flowering Judas,
To be eaten, to be divided, to be drunk
Among whispers; by Mr. Silvero
With caressing hands, at Limoges
Who walked all night in the next room;
By Hakagawa, bowing among the Titians;
By Madame de Tornquist, in the dark room
Shifting the candles; Fraulein von Kulp
Who turned in the hall, one hand on the door. Vacant shuttles
Weave the wind. I have no ghosts,
An old man in a draughty house
Under a windy knob.

After such knowledge, what forgiveness? Think now
History has many cunning passages, contrived corridors
And issues, deceives with whispering ambitions,
Guides us by vanities. Think now
She gives when our attention is distracted
And what she gives, gives with such supple confusions
That the giving famishes the craving. Gives too late
What's not believed in, or if still believed,
In memory only, reconsidered passion. Gives too soon
Into weak hands, what's thought can be dispensed with
Till the refusal propagates a fear. Think
Neither fear nor courage saves us. Unnatural vices
Are fathered by our heroism. Virtues
Are forced upon us by our impudent crimes.
These tears are shaken from the wrath-bearing tree.

The tiger springs in the new year. Us he devours. Think at last
We have not reached conclusion, when I
Stiffen in a rented house. Think at last
I have not made this show purposelessly
And it is not by any concitation
Of the backward devils.
I would meet you upon this honestly.
I that was near your heart was removed therefrom
To lose beauty in terror, terror in inquisition.
I have lost my passion: why should I need to keep it
Since what is kept must be adulterated?
I have lost my sight, smell, hearing, taste and touch:
How should I use it for your closer contact?

These with a thousand small deliberations
Protract the profit of their chilled delirium,
Excite the membrane, when the sense has cooled,
With pungent sauces, multiply variety
In a wilderness of mirrors. What will the spider do,
Suspend its operations, will the weevil
Delay? De Bailhache, Fresca, Mrs. Cammel, whirled
Beyond the circuit of the shuddering Bear
In fractured atoms. Gull against the wind, in the windy straits
Of Belle Isle, or running on the Horn,
White feathers in the snow, the Gulf claims,
And an old man driven by the Trades
To a sleepy corner.

Tenants of the house,
Thoughts of a dry brain in a dry season.
Posted: Apr 10, 2008 12:32 pm
i'm telling you: pound scissored waste land, not prufrock

yup. he got prufrock published, if i now remember correctly. those damn cape cods fuck up my time line.

an acre of grass

Picture and book remain,
An acre of green grass
For air and exercise,
Now strength of body goes;
Midnight, an old house
Where nothing stirs but a mouse.

My temptation is quiet.
Here at life's end
Neither loose imagination,
Nor the mill of the mind
Consuming its rag and bonc,
Can make the truth known.

Grant me an old man's frenzy,
Myself must I remake
Till I am Timon and Lear
Or that William Blake
Who beat upon the wall
Till Truth obeyed his call;

A mind Michael Angelo knew
That can pierce the clouds,
Or inspired by frenzy
Shake the dead in their shrouds;
Forgotten else by mankind,
An old man's eagle mind.
Posted: Apr 10, 2008 12:37 pm
Hugh Selwyn Mauberly (Part I)

"Vocat aestus in umbram"
Nemesianus Es. IV.

E. P. Ode pour l'élection de son sépulchre

For three years, out of key with his time,
He strove to resuscitate the dead art
Of poetry; to maintain "the sublime"
In the old sense. Wrong from the start --

No, hardly, but, seeing he had been born
In a half savage country, out of date;
Bent resolutely on wringing lilies from the acorn;
Capaneus; trout for factitious bait:

"Idmen gar toi panth, os eni Troie
Caught in the unstopped ear;
Giving the rocks small lee-way
The chopped seas held him, therefore, that year.

His true Penelope was Flaubert,
He fished by obstinate isles;
Observed the elegance of Circe's hair
Rather than the mottoes on sun-dials.

Unaffected by "the march of events",
He passed from men's memory in l'an trentiesme
De son eage; the case presents
No adjunct to the Muses' diadem.


The age demanded an image
Of its accelerated grimace,
Something for the modern stage,
Not, at any rate, an Attic grace;

Not, not certainly, the obscure reveries
Of the inward gaze;
Better mendacities
Than the classics in paraphrase!

The "age demanded" chiefly a mould in plaster,
Made with no loss of time,
A prose kinema, not, not assuredly, alabaster
Or the "sculpture" of rhyme.


The tea-rose, tea-gown, etc.
Supplants the mousseline of Cos,
The pianola "replaces"
Sappho's barbitos.

Christ follows Dionysus,
Phallic and ambrosial
Made way for macerations;
Caliban casts out Ariel.

All things are a flowing,
Sage Heracleitus says;
But a tawdry cheapness
Shall reign throughout our days.

Even the Christian beauty
Defects -- after Samothrace;
We see to kalon
Decreed in the market place.

Faun's flesh is not to us,
Nor the saint's vision.
We have the press for wafer;
Franchise for circumcision.

All men, in law, are equals.
Free of Peisistratus,
We choose a knave or an eunuch
To rule over us.

A bright Apollo,

tin andra, tin eroa, tina theon,
What god, man, or hero
Shall I place a tin wreath upon?


These fought, in any case,
and some believing, pro domo, in any case ..

Some quick to arm,
some for adventure,
some from fear of weakness,
some from fear of censure,
some for love of slaughter, in imagination,
learning later ...

some in fear, learning love of slaughter;
Died some pro patria, non dulce non et decor" ..

walked eye-deep in hell
believing in old men's lies, then unbelieving
came home, home to a lie,
home to many deceits,
home to old lies and new infamy;

usury age-old and age-thick
and liars in public places.

Daring as never before, wastage as never before.
Young blood and high blood,
Fair cheeks, and fine bodies;

fortitude as never before

frankness as never before,
disillusions as never told in the old days,
hysterias, trench confessions,
laughter out of dead bellies.


There died a myriad,
And of the best, among them,
For an old bitch gone in the teeth,
For a botched civilization.

Charm, smiling at the good mouth,
Quick eyes gone under earth's lid,

For two gross of broken statues,
For a few thousand battered books.

Yeux Glauques

Gladstone was still respected,
When John Ruskin produced
"Kings Treasuries"; Swinburne
And Rossetti still abused.

F"tid Buchanan lifted up his voice
When that faun's head of hers
Became a pastime for
Painters and adulterers.

The Burne-Jones cartons
Have preserved her eyes;
Still, at the Tate, they teach
Cophetua to rhapsodize;

Thin like brook-water,
With a vacant gaze.
The English Rubaiyat was still-born
In those days.

The thin, clear gaze, the same
Still darts out faun-like from the half-ruin'd face,
Questing and passive ....
"Ah, poor Jenny's case" ...

Bewildered that a world
Shows no surprise
At her last maquero's

"Siena Mi Fe', Disfecemi Maremma"

Among the pickled f"tuses and bottled bones,
Engaged in perfecting the catalogue,
I found the last scion of the
Senatorial families of Strasbourg, Monsieur Verog.

For two hours he talked of Gallifet;
Of Dowson; of the Rhymers' Club;
Told me how Johnson (Lionel) died
By falling from a high stool in a pub ...

But showed no trace of alcohol
At the autopsy, privately performed --
Tissue preserved -- the pure mind
Arose toward Newman as the whiskey warmed.

Dowson found harlots cheaper than hotels;
Headlam for uplift; Image impartially imbued
With raptures for Bacchus, Terpsichore and the Church.
So spoke the author of "The Dorian Mood",

M. Verog, out of step with the decade,
Detached from his contemporaries,
Neglected by the young,
Because of these reveries.


The sky-like limpid eyes,
The circular infant's face,
The stiffness from spats to collar
Never relaxing into grace;

The heavy memories of Horeb, Sinai and the forty years,
Showed only when the daylight fell
Level across the face
Of Brennbaum "The Impeccable".

Mr. Nixon

In the cream gilded cabin of his steam yacht
Mr. Nixon advised me kindly, to advance with fewer
Dangers of delay. "Consider
Carefully the reviewer.

"I was as poor as you are;
"When I began I got, of course,
"Advance on royalties, fifty at first", said Mr. Nixon,
"Follow me, and take a column,
"Even if you have to work free.

"Butter reviewers. From fifty to three hundred
"I rose in eighteen months;
"The hardest nut I had to crack
"Was Dr. Dundas.

"I never mentioned a man but with the view
"Of selling my own works.
"The tip's a good one, as for literature
"It gives no man a sinecure."

And no one knows, at sight a masterpiece.
And give up verse, my boy,
There's nothing in it."

* * *

Likewise a friend of Bloughram's once advised me:
Don't kick against the pricks,
Accept opinion. The "Nineties" tried your game
And died, there's nothing in it.


Beneath the sagging roof
The stylist has taken shelter,
Unpaid, uncelebrated,
At last from the world's welter

Nature receives him,
With a placid and uneducated mistress
He exercises his talents
And the soil meets his distress.

The haven from sophistications and contentions
Leaks through its thatch;
He offers succulent cooking;
The door has a creaking latch.


"Conservatrix of Milésien"
Habits of mind and feeling,
Possibly. But in Ealing
With the most bank-clerkly of Englishmen?

No, "Milésian" is an exaggeration.
No instinct has survived in her
Older than those her grandmother
Told her would fit her station.


"Daphne with her thighs in bark
Stretches toward me her leafy hands", --
Subjectively. In the stuffed-satin drawing-room
I await The Lady Valentine's commands,

Knowing my coat has never been
Of precisely the fashion
To stimulate, in her,
A durable passion;

Doubtful, somewhat, of the value
Of well-gowned approbation
Of literary effort,
But never of The Lady Valentine's vocation:

Poetry, her border of ideas,
The edge, uncertain, but a means of blending
With other strata
Where the lower and higher have ending;

A hook to catch the Lady Jane's attention,
A modulation toward the theatre,
Also, in the case of revolution,
A possible friend and comforter.

* * *

Conduct, on the other hand, the soul
"Which the highest cultures have nourished"
To Fleet St. where
Dr. Johnson flourished;

Beside this thoroughfare
The sale of half-hose has
Long since superseded the cultivation
Of Pierian roses.

Ezra Pound
Posted: Apr 10, 2008 12:58 pm
I'm not reading all that shit
Posted: Apr 18, 2008 10:09 pm
"chuck heston was in the movie too/ but he was just a ham...."
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