Author: L.E. Hansen

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Some Things You Don’t Want To Know

“There is no such thing as paranoia. Your worst fears can come true at any moment.”


~ Hunter S. Thompson
Poetic Outlaws · 7 hrs · This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but a whimper. ~TS Eliot

T.S. Eliot

Poetic Outlaws:

“This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but a whimper.” ~TS Eliot

From “The Hollow Men”

And Some Poetry, because no matter how much you don’t want to know, you want to know, and you want to hear it well told.

The Hollow Men

aMistah Kurtz-he dead
A penny for the Old GuyI

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us-if at all-not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer-

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

III

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

IV

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

V

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

 

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Others Sayin’…Thoughts For Today

So, I make art based on the idea that death is a part of nature and can be beautiful too. Nothing I like more than seeing nature take over a dead/abandoned thing. Not your usual post but, I thought this group might appreciate it. Enjoy!
How Does Your Garden Grow- Coz 2017
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“I wish to weep
but sorrow is
stupid.
I wish to believe
but belief is a
graveyard.”

― Charles Bukowski

Poetic Outlaws · 3 hrs · “I wish to weep but sorrow is stupid. I wish to believe but belief is a graveyard.” ― Charles Bukowski
Above Both posted on Facebook
So for myself, on this fine day of sunshine and outside noises, I’m off to the store for the necessaries of shelter-at-home: Wine and Cheese and Chocolate. Well OK, maybe a small bottle of Vodka. Speaking of, I’ve heard that liquor sales in Ohio are at a 203% increase for the year so far. How’s that for saying something?
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Let’s Hear It For The Pencil

And the Eraser—born on this day in 1858!

Bart Weinberger 4 hrs · Some of you know of my geeky hobby of collecting and using vintage ones

Posted by Bart Weinberger

In memory of, on this very special day, a friend in Colorado posted this to Facebook. A fun thing to know, yes?

And we all know how indispensable the pencil has been to writers of the world. Many writers, Hemmingway included, refused to write with a pen. Some—Papa as well—liked the feel of a pencil and also wanted to sharpen their own, using everything from a pocket knife to a hand-held sharpener.

The Blackwing pencil was often the instrument of choice as it could be sharpened to a long, strong point and lasted much longer than a standard #2 pencil. That eraser was also a bit different from the round one. It’s more of an oblong shape and again, lasts longer than the one on a #2 pencil.

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Just A Reminder

For today, as it looks as if our stay-at-home can be with us for some time, we need to remember our beliefs, our foundations, our self-work. The Dali Lama has words to remind us.

And Fear. Let us not forget Fear. And let us also remember that Fear stands for False Evidence Appearing Real. Fear is of the future, and the future never arrives. Of course we’re not talking about that flight or fight generated by the fear of a present danger. We’re talking about that fear that comes from sit-and-think about what can go wrong. The “what-if.” There is no what if. There is only now. The only real enemy is us. Remember Pogo!

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Hot Cross Buns

It’s officially Spring, and on days like these, I recall my mother coming home with hot-cross buns. They were proffered with a flourish and the announcement that we could have them on that day, that one very special day. I don’t remember, however, why or which day was so unique. And we were indeed allowed to have the Hot-Cross Buns on that day alone. But those days, those days were Catholic days, and they held many a ritual glory. When I close my eyes I see white ribbed socks turned over to measured perfection above black patent-leather shoes, yellow tulips in the center of the dining room table, a decanter of coffee and small plates next to them.

The house would smell of Spring, of open windows and soft breezes, of the lace curtains that would dance in the sunlight. In those days Lent was taken seriously. Easter would be a celebration and an end to fasting and abstaining from meat. Thusly, on the Good Friday before Easter, before the celebration of the Messiah! we would acknowledge that day and the beginning of the end and the end of the beginning. We would have Hot-Cross Buns.

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When Elizabeth the first ruled England (1592) it was decreed that hot-cross buns and other spiced breads were not to be sold other than at burials or Good Friday, or at Christmas. There was in fact a punishment for doing so—all of the forbidden baked goods were confiscated and given to the poor. James the first continued the tradition in 1603.

Poor Robin’s Almanac in 1733 published a London street cry, the first definite record of Hot-Cross Buns:

Good Friday comes this month, the old woman runs. With one or two a penny hot cross buns.

Nothing can be found for earlier records or recipes.

The more recent recipes for the baked goodies can include descriptions for the meaning or symbolism held within the ingredients. The cross itself has evolved to mostly include a sugar frosting:  confectioners’ sugar, milk, lemon zest and vanilla. This is how my newly purchased, boxed grocery-store treasure is completed. I’ll sing the song on Friday.

Hot_Cross_Buns_detail,_March_2008

—Information/background & photo from Wikipedia—