Posted by Francis Marion of Highcountryblog.com
A while back IS posted a picture from a blog called the Daily Time Waster. Great blog by the way. That single post took me on a blogging journey, something I’ve never really done before. I found a whole world of blogs via that one post (Thank’s IS!). I’ve been visiting a handful of them daily and have now gone back and visited some of the blogs that Jim regularly links to here as well.
Blogs are interesting creatures, no two being exactly alike with the good ones being deep expressions of the blogger’s world view and inner soul. The best among them speak to you and tell not only the story of the author’s life but are a chronicle of the social and political history of the world around us. They are a beautiful thing. Taken in part they tell the blogger’s story and paint a picture of his or her perspective, taken as a whole they are a chorus of voices singing out into the web and the universe, recording for all time, our story and our place in history.
I found this video this morning while scrolling through the posts over at Knuckledraggin.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-3JatEPwbrM
It took me back to my childhood. I let it run in the background while scrolling through the photographs at Everybody Has To Be Somewhere.
As I picked through the photos and comments I began to reminisce about my youth and think about all of you and the stories and common threads that bind us together across the continent and as I did something became clear to me for the first time: having often thought about what drives me to write, to blog and to speak my mind, sometimes at personal risk to myself and my family I began to see why many of us do it.
The answer, after viewing these blogs and communicating with some of the authors is quite clear. It’s not about freedom, or economics or politics. It’s about you and I and a history and a culture that is right and beautiful and worth preserving and continuing. It’s about the personal relationships, our families, and our posterity. It’s about our story and not wanting it to end.
I know this ain’t a big technical, historical or flowery piece but sometimes it’s just important to put what you are thinking into words. So whether you are in California, Nova Scotia, the UK, Australia, the deep south or the far north, if you are reading this and shaking your head in agreement then I have but two words for you:
Blog on.
Have a great summer weekend all.
Francis
PS – Freckles are good.
Nice one Francis.
“Taken as a whole they are a chorus of voices singing out into the web, and the universe, recording for all time, our story and our place in history.” “It’s about the personal relationships, our families, and our posterity. It is about our story and not wanting it to end.”
It is proclaiming to the universe that it will not end on our watch. The eternal blessings of liberty will not be given away or taken away as long as we and our posterity still inhabit this earth.
Francis,
Glad you remembered it was IS that first mentioned Daily Time Waster because I like that blog, I also put Knuckledraggin my life away in my RSS feed so updates land in my email inbox.
Chris Stapleton is good, i will be buying some of his music.
Thanks for the feel good blog, things start getting old when you read the same kind of stuff. Must be why Jim includes Friday Fail, Sunday Funnies, and the walmart elite.
Joe
Speckled, freckled, brook trout are good, too.
I write because writing was written in me. The enterprise, no small thing, is no larger than that. I agree with Darwin’s private observation: nobody deserves credit for anything. That’s not an indictment. Not an agreement with what obama conveyed when he said “you didn’t build that.” It’s just honest. Players come into existence after the deal. And the shuffling context is casino, dealer, other players, all coming into, leaving out of, condensation.
Energy, information, condenses into matter, spreads its portion of entropy, & disbands. Perspective. Humility becomes a rhetorical answer to a question whose only relevance is widespread refusal to recognize its irrelevance. Catch-22 demolition derby paradox…∞…ouroboros twisted over on itself. It’s a ride. Cue Foghat. (You may have experienced this: the fastest rides, or parts of a ride, slowing waaaay down. Supple flexibility. Like the brook trout.)
i man,
Your stream-of-consciousness writing has it’s place, but it surely isn’t here in TBP comment threads. You would do better in a different venue. You should remember the old proverb: “Don’t be wise in your own eyes.” It just doesn’t work here, and doesn’t play well for you. Time for a different schtick. I think that your failure to recognize that fact is likely one of the central problems in your life. No charge for the diagnosis. You’re welcome.
Consciousness is a stream, is the place, Vod. Even for you. Projecting this stream of yours into my stream amounts to pissing in your own stream. What does “would do better” mean? What’s the currency you’re suggesting? Is it backed by anything, silver, gold, or is it fiat•respass?
— “What does “would do better” mean?”
You forgot.
Possibly. Or maybe I remembered to. How’s your memory, raz?
— “How’s your memory, raz? Or maybe I remembered to. Possibly.”
I possibly told you to but you forgot.
What did memory say to selective service? Drafty in here…. I’m conscripted – where’s the ex-lax… One shanghies, the other hangsbehide, breathin’ in exhaust & roost.
Eyewitness testimony & all that. But I’d never forget advice from you raz. Never.
Until one forgets it forgot to forget and gets right on it.
razzie and iforget are good examples of ‘when master-bullshitters meet’.
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Vodka, If it was stream of consciousness, it would include thoughts of everyday living. His is more like a comedian’s associative thoughts linked or triggered by the previous concept.
I can’t think fast enough to profit from that method. I talk slow, think slow and therefore prefer to write what I can’t say fast enough to avoid boring people.
El friendo,
Perhaps ‘stream-of-consciousness’ was not the precise label. It was what popped into my head at the moment. But I say it is close. My comments are generally purposed for stirring the shit. Things have been a bit slow here lately. Too many on Summer vacation I guess.
I love that movie. After the Lefties take over the world, and they will, I will become that guy. So watch-out!
BTW, Cormac McCarthy is better read than watched. But you already know that.
No, I read a bit and found it like Texas, thinly populated. However, I will read it again.
Texas is lovely with its wide stretches of empty space. And if you start in LA and drive to SA, Maybe that’s what I’ll find in his book. Thanks.
Joining society is too much to ask, too outta’ the way. But I do like his scribbles. And the movies made outta’ them.
http://www.cormacmccarthy.com/about-the-society/
— “My comments are generally purposed for stirring the shit.”
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I don’t get your point. FAIL.
razzie is an acquired taste, infuriatingly suggestive.
iforget is teasingly so.
Old Phil said he was in Alaska. A co-worker asked him for a ride. It’s only a bit out of your way. Once Phil had gone out of his way, he asked, how much more. A bit, go on. He got the same reply several times. Old Phil said he took him 20 miles out of his way with that bullshit.
— “I don’t get your point.”
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— “FAIL.”
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Ol’ razz wants to be the riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. Too clever by half. Once again: FAIL.
— “Too clever by half.”
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— “Once again: FAIL.”
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Once again, again: FAIL.
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A worthy opponent. I respect that. Fortunately my wife just finished viewing the full moon from our deck and gave me the ‘look’. That means that my evening is going to be much better than yours. But thanks for playing.
— “But thanks for playing.”
Thank you too. Sorry about when I pop up in your mind while you’re doin’ it. Have a fantastic evening!
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Thank you,razzie for that shit-stirring pic. My little chimp never did that but what he did do, his grampa always smiled and let him know it was the best he’d ever seen done.
You come home defeated, frustrated, worried, screwed, whatever. And the little boy, not yet 2, no longer just 1. Runs to you, arms reaching for you. He stops, his legs give way and you catch him before he falls backward. I won’t be there to catch you anymore my little one but I’m going to pray always, God watch over you.
— “My little chimp never did that but…”
*thumbs up*
I like the postscript you added. Stirred my heart in a non-shitty way.
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Vodka, thank you for that suggestion. I finished the novel. There are two narrators if you leave out the author. Otherwise it’s just one. A lot of it is an old man going over what could have been done differently. Anton says there is no such thing as ‘coulda’. The choices you made have brought you here.
Death walks over the land. He is unfeeling, businesslike. The sheriff sounds like the story of the catcher in the rye. He’s faced death and seen its work and chooses to run again like he did once before. He wonders if he could have done his buddies any good or if he is doing his people any good. He wonders if it makes any difference anyhow or if it just serves the purpose of a good show.
We see the work of the anti-Christ, as earnest in his mission as any evangelist. In fact, we see him laying on hands on a driver who falls dead after Death incarnate puts his hand to his forehead. But we also see the justice of an unseen God; three blocks from the place where he murders an innocent woman, he is hit by a car with three boys in it. One survives and another two boys help him get away. He has killed three and three remain alive.
Perhaps the author sees some significance in the number, the Trinity. The killer says all the signs are there but people fail to notice small details like the date on a coin. The sheriff says too many details will throw you off, you will do better to focus on one thing if it helps you block out the distractions. This is Paul’s thorn in his side that keeps him struggling and gains strength thereby.
The killer and the sheriff are two sides of the same coin. Heads you live, tails you die. The killer refuses to spare Moss’ widow. The sheriff refuses to let an innocent Mexican die. The widow refuses to go without protest, the Mexican rejects sympathy.
Death still seeks respect. It was for the sin of disrespect that he killed a man with a sleeper hold. He objects to Wells’ disrespect. He takes the money back to the owner with a plea for respect, trying to prove his value by touting his principles. He knows his own time when death and the dead shall be thrown into the lake of fire. “Then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory.”
He tells the widow that she might feel better if she didn’t view him as bad. (It’s interesting that he gives death an identity, folks end up having a talk with death, there’s a price to pay for that privilege.) Death knows your hour and how you came into his presence, he isn’t to blame, it’s fate. Since Adam and Eve, the finger pointing hasn’t stopped. The widow and the sheriff know the truth; death that is willing to stick to principle and overlook justice and mercy is evil.
Each bring’s the brought that some, too many, claim they brought themselves, El C.
But please don’t go poormouthin’ yourself now. It’s too late. Coyote done let the cat go & he ain’t ever gonna’ catch that particular one again. Twain said that, I think. How’d that go again? Something about Dadaist clarity? The probability is that that’s more than just a busted clock ready for “right” to come around & overlap him.
As for other people’s boredom – not my responsibility, or concern.
Dadaism is an artistic movement in modern art that started around World War I. Its purpose was to ridicule (poke fun at) the supposed meaninglessness of the modern world. Its peak was 1916 to 1922, and it influenced surrealism, pop art, and punk rock. It favored going against normal social actions. Followers of Dadaism included Antonin Artaud, Max Ernst, and Salvador Dali. A later version, called Neo-Dada, arose in the 1960s.
Dadaism is also closely associated with the concepts of the grotesque, the absurd and the macabre that were communicated through the arts slightly later in the twentieth century. The idea of ridiculing the absurdity of existence finds its most poignant expression through the dramatic art of Samuel Beckett and the so called Paris school of dramatists that included Arthur Adamov, Gene Genet, and Eugene O’Neill. -Wikipedia
— “…closely associated with the concepts of the grotesque, the absurd and the macabre that were communicated through the arts slightly later in the twentieth century. The idea of ridiculing the absurdity of existence…”
“I would suggest we should henceforth talk about ‘Tay’s Law’ as well; which must hold that it takes less than 24 hours on Twitter to learn how to hate women, like Hitler and disapprove of Ricky Gervais and atheists.”
https://theburningbloggerofbedlam.wordpress.com/2016/04/02/tays-law-or-how-to-become-a-hate-monger-in-under-24-hours/
“Tay’s law… Any sufficiently advanced AI… is a white supremacist. ”
https://voat.co/v/technology/1985057/9773577
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“The combination of ineffability common to many mystic traditions & the necessity of communication proper to scientific practice continued to pose problems for the study of psychedelics as they migrated from Sandoz Pharmaceuticals, where Hofman worked, to places like the pre-1962 psychology department of Harvard University, the working home of Timothy Leary, Ralph Metzner, Richard Alpert, & Michael Horowitz. Among a parade of intellectuals & artists that moved through Leary’s burgeoning circle was writer William S. Burroughs, whose cut-up techniques had, a few years earlier, been used to strip a written text of its meaning – what Burroughs called the virus of the Word – and to allow such texts to interrupt normal consciousness, a la the earlier techniques of Dada. After a visit with Burroughs, Leary hit upon the idea of using Burroughs’s cut-up technique as a framework for reporting the psychedelic experience. in this framework, both Burroughs’s texts & LSD were experiences one less understood than underwent and, in undergoing them, recorded. These recordings – as with Hofman’s precise recall of his LSD trip – were not, however, communicative in the usual sense: they could be understood only retroactively, after the subject had encountered LSD-25. With the cut-up method, Leary hoped to interrupt the grip of the authorial ego that might interfere with the more direct recording of the LSD experience. In other words, the LSD experience was treated less as an event to be reported on than an experience to be assayed by writing – the cut-up was a symptom and not a description of the encounter with LSD. In this sense, the information gathered about LSD was understood less as a semantic production than a pragmatic one: all data concerned not an *understanding* of LSD but instead consisted of testing LSD for what it could *do.* Writing in this context, becomes less a struggle for intelligibility, than a prolix signature of the LSD experience.” ~ snip from “Darwin’s Pharmacy” – Richard Doyle
– what obama conveyed when he said “you didn’t build that.” –
What Obama conveyed was simply HE IS NOT A BUILDER! He’s a destroyer, as ObamaDontCare, the invasion of Islamic immigrants, and the endless useless repressive regulations have demonstrated.
The Romans built, the barbarians destroyed, and things haven’t changed much in a thousand years. This may be the fundamental divide of humanity: whether you CHOOSE or are CAPABLE of turning a pile of bricks into a thriving city, or a thriving city into a pile of bricks.
Are you a builder or a destroyer, i forget? I’m both, depending on circumstances; sometime you have to clear an existing site of a ruin to build something worthwhile. But I would never burn down a library to make an outhouse, or a factory to make a scrap pile. Choose as you will.
Yeah. But obama ain’t alone in pretensing to appropriate & redistribute, minus fat cuts outta’ the middle & off the top via dealing from the bottom. By which I mean the hands inserted into rectums, up to mouths, & working those hinges in syncopation with the pitches.
But the romans had no business trespassing the barbs. Mess with the barbs – create the barbs – your gigs coming to an end. I used to be quite handy with a gig. But nothing I gigged ever came up on my porch, rang the bell, & said “please impale me.” But that’s what roman types do.
Choice? A symbol-word having nothing to do with anything. Capabilities aren’t chosen. They are dealt. Same as propensities & proclivities & fave ice cream flavors. Psychopathy ain’t chosen. If choice were the active ingredient the free willy’ers claim it to be, the same “choices” wouldn’t keep being “chosen.”
I was in business. And other honest competitions. So Schumpeter yeah. Creative destruction. Not any of this short time preference destructive destruction. Not breaking a few stolen eggs to be later justified by an omelet. I hate those kinds of forked-tongue fuckers. But creative destruction of such tragedy vendors begets comedy. Use the raw materials available as you will, according to what’s been “willed” to you via the lottery. Here’s a bit of glint, again, does it catch your eye?
Give a man the secure possession of a bleak rock, and he will turn it into a garden; give him a nine years lease of a garden, and he will convert it into a desert…. The magic of PROPERTY turns sand to gold.
• Arthur Young, journal entries for July 30 and November 7, 1787, Travels…, 2d ed. (1794, reprinted 1970), vol. 1, p. 51, 88.
Of course, “give” is all the wiggle the weasel clausers need.
Is that Elon Musk on bass?
Thanks FM! There are some real gems out there in terms of blogs. Life is far to short to find, let alone read them all. I was concerned about promoting another blog here on TBP so I checked with admin first and he was very accommodating.
I noticed very early this AM that Drudge is now blocking access if you run an adblocker. This has been a growing problem on a number of sites but seeing it on Drudge really surprised me.
Oh well, I’m more committed to blocking ads than reading doom porn so I can live without Drudge. Truth is, I welcome it. I’m red-pilled enough.
It will be interesting to see what happens with Drudge’ page views. I hope his gamble pays off for him. Capitalism is great.
IS – I think there is an advantage to all of us sharing blogs like we have here. It builds roadways or networks and people find things they’ve never seen before then sometimes make them a part of their routine. That’s basically how I found this place and might be at least a small part of the reason Jim’s traffic keeps growing.
FM,
good on you dude…hope you have a great weekend
also. The weather is fine here, all my plants are
(finally) in the ground. Whew. 30 days of rain out of
the last 36 days.
The Mr. visited time waster and laughed and laughed.
Me too. Everyone will be somewhere doing something, but we can’t know for sure where or
what.
IS,
I usually visit Drudge right off to find out what
blew up overnight. Lately there have been links
to some unappetizing/unappealing material.
So, I am off the page after a (very) quick perusal.
I should waste my time on ZH. No thanks to ads.
Please share other gems like timewaster please.
I have added “I forget” to posters to never read again. That is some serious bullshit he posted above. He is one of those who never says in five words what he can even more poorly say in 500. What a wanker.
iforget is a better cook than he is a writer
I enjoy my cooking & my writing. Seven words. Might still be too many for some. But then, I’m not cooking or writing for those folks.
EC – You and Loopey must be hard up for excitement to be chasing iforget and razzle back under the porch tonight. What is that called….retard roundup?
BL, read fr understanding, I actually encouraged fleabaggs and iforget.
What I don’t encourage is drinking.
Fuck that shit.
If it’s social, ok, but drowning shit in a bottle –
Better to just leave the bitch or pull the trigger.
Life is fares category: A glass of cabernet with the muse, in the evenings, or a good single malt on cold & snowy nights, was something we both enjoyed. Nothing excessive. But I can’t do it right now. Or maybe ever more, Lenore. Pancreatitis came a calling, back in March. Unpleasant enough that I would prefer to avoid a rematch. And “idiopathic” say the Docs Frankenstein & Mengele. So abstinence that may or not be necessary, which makes it worse, from my perspective. But par for course the medicomafia.
Can they remove it? Steve Jobs wanted to go natural remedy, docs said he would have lived if he’d done it their way.
Ex father-in-law developed a pain in his back, it got worse over time and when they finally diagnosed pancreatitis at the VA, he was terminal. He was in is early 80’s and only lived 2 years after it all began. He was the person we should all want to be, clean living, homebody, non-smoker, non-drinker, dedicated father…
It’s not cancer. But it can be fatal, say the soothsayers. They also say the necrotic tissue\fluid has been defensively walled off, & that it will slowly be reabsorbed over time. Of course the surgeon wants to go in & poke it with a stick, drain it, for some unspecified nominal “fee” (the 4 & a fraction days in hospital, for nothing but the bed, a saline drip & some dilaudid billed an unadjusted $50k). But I don’t trust any of it, or them. They’ve already messed me up badly. Twice, with the fallout from the pancreatitis. They have killed friends & acquaintances in the stupidest, most incompetent ways. Don’t get sick, is the advice. But most everybody does. Rock & a hard place.
Necrotic tissue. I wish the Head Nurse was here.
A woman form Mexico told me of a square looking scar on her wrist. We got sick, my brother and me, my mom took us to the hospital and we were interned.
The doctors put these patches of skin off a corpse on us. My brother died, my mom took me to another doctor and he had that piece removed immediately.
Bea, we make our own excitement. Of course, I suspect LLPOH takes on guppies for target practice. Me? Guppies is all I can handle. I’m afraid of sharks.
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razzie, is that your GF?, she’s cute.
I rest my case.
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I read a lot. Have tons of books all across the subject spectrum including many cookbooks. Today’s brunch was yeasted waffles, blueberry compote, oven baked bacon, poached eggs w\hollandaise. I’ve got a Carbon waffle baker that’s surely older than I am, & weighs almost as much as I do, that maximizes the recipe. “Want some brekfuss?” Or is pride messin’ with your mind? If so, Zed may be in your future. lol…
That’s ok, llpoh. You’ve still got some good points.
Coolest little digital airport bar on the web. Reading Jesse’s very touching post and this one tonight made me consider some of the reasons why I read and post. Ripples in the pond, maybe? Commiseration? The comfort of common mindsets and shared values? Probally all of the above; while testing and trading ideas, taking jabs, and laughing, around an ethernet campfire as the world dies all around.
I let myself get pretty down a while back, and even resorted to day drinking for while. Now I am over it. One time, when I almost flounced, Sensetti posted this Chris Stapleton song and I’ve been a fan of his music ever since. Ripples in the pond.
No more whiskey. I’m going out clear-headed, in a blaze of glory, and (after I run out of ammo) with both middle fingers straight up in the air. The bad ones may one day find me, then torture and kill me, but they’ll never change my mind: Norman Rockwell’s America was awesome. And, love is all there is.
Don’ t cork the bottle too fast. We haven’t had a drink yet.
Well, I suppose exceptions can be made in certain circumstances. ?
I finally put the cork in for good back in January. There was a period where I figured it’d be better to go out in a blaze of self destruction but it’s looking like it’ll be far better to march through the fire of this curious future we’re creeping toward with my chin up.
If there is an afterhere… and I’m inclined to think there is… it seems it’ll be far better to enter with full recognition of what was going on otherwise there would have been no point to be here in the first place.
Good luck.
Buy more ammo.
A box every paycheck, from here to the Crunch. If you have too much, someone else can use it. And the whiskey may yet come in handy, when the nightmares of what we do to protect those we love and keep the barbarians from the gates come in the long dark hours between midnight and dawn.
Damn to an everlasting pain and torture those who will make it necessary to do dark things to protect me and mine. There’s absolutely no reason I should ever meet an Islamic here in America – they should all be safely over those oceans that surround us. And there’s no reason they should have to fear an American army, navy or air force – there’s no reason we should ever have gotten involved in their shit either.
Every idiot who sponsored, imported or facilitated the importation of Islamics into America is guilty of treason, since Islam and the Constitution cannot coexist in the same country. When it’s time to make an accounting, their names should be high on the list of traitors for trial, and if guilty, execution.
ὁ … ἀνεξέταστος βίος οὐ βιωτὸς ἀνθρώπῳ
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My Latin teacher was Miss Fine and she wrote that on the chalk board one morning when the Seniors staged a walkout. That was the closest she ever came to being humorous, but it stuck with me.
So what happened to High Country Blog?