The Left Column

Politics for Poets

Wow, I don't like it when Yosemite is really burning! Let their be downpours in Gold Country! Let the sky open up over Yosemite Valley, and the High Sierra. Let loose the torrents of Heaven and put out those humungus fires which consume without ceasing!

If there is a mountain and some can't get up it on their own, they're might be some who put up a robe-tow. You grab on. It pulls you up the mountain. The thing about it is that you have to know when to let go. If you don't let go at the appropriate time the rope tow will hurl you into a guard and then will have to let go due the great force of the collision.

And so, maybe some people can't afford the skis. So they borrow a pair. Or they can't afford the lift ticket, so someone else springs for the cost. They still need to know when to let go of the rope. There isn't anyone who can make them let go except for themselves.

If you make a revolution of soul, and retain humility, no one needs to know what goes on inside your heart and mind. No one has to hear you talk of 'oh how holy these truths have made me'. They will just see the change in you. You won't need to brag about how you did it. The same Spirit that loves you loves them too, whoever they are, be they rivals so you think, or be they the sweetest of friends lost in their dissipation and spitting hate because you direct abstemiousness.

August 29, 2013 (8-1-2013)

well . . .

I think I've blogged enough today.

"I'm all blogged out."

Content quickly gets stale, wicked, so it is always updated. Some content is hit with updates more often. Also: some of the content here is of a much higher quality than other content here. So if you don't like something: hey dude, whatever.

~ OK Now.

They say we are 'silent'. What should we do? We have noticed the devolution. Do we put ourselves at risk by talking down the cause of the psychopaths? Would anything we do be heroic? These forces, they've been set in place, and those who do the marching . . . are often not bad guys.

Praise God!

You put out
 all the fires
 all the fires
 all the fires.
 putout
  all the fires
 all the fires 
 all the fires.

 the heroes put out
       all the fires 
   all the fires
     all the fires.

 Who is it that is
   starting fires
      starting fires
       starting fires?
  the fire marshall
        wants to know.


See the pretty lights

The following poem is fresh, whipped up, off the cuff.

  

  If I am fearful
     of the way that the clouds look
  I can out-run the storm
      in my rig.
 but it might loop around.
    Those winds, though a vortex,
   are far faster than my car.
 
 What if I took a wrong turn?
    what if there was more than one tornado?
       Or I lost a tire by hitting a ditch?
    Maybe to an under-pass, and there stay put?

  But what do I fear when I think of the Lord?
     I know that whatever tower falls, however I die
        that all will be well at the end of my life.
        I can die without fear because I fear the Lord!
   
 
  Praise God!
  









Wake up!