Things that Pass all Understanding

Everything Mozart wrote for the clarinet. The Taj Mahal in situ. The Hindenburg on/in her 1936 voyages. The Oregon Coast near Yachats. Lake Louise. The Clackamas River. Actually, all the streams and rivers, lakes and waterfalls of Oregon tend to to be spectacularly beautiful, and afford what is certainly the best swimming-in, in the summer, in the universe.

I have written Two Perfect Songs

Basically, to show that a cold, unfecund critical intelligence can. But also to explain why I prefer the songs of Schumann and Brahms and Fauré and Weill (and, of course, Handel, Gluck and Alessandro Scarlatti and Vivaldi): Charm, I say. is that unifying essence. Yes, and Bach and Beethoven, being Teutons or something, don't have it--that grateful, not-easy, quintessentially Italian knack for writing things that are easy for human voices to sing.

Hand-Cuffs?

 "Les Mains liées" says fucking who? What a flagrant violation of human liberties. Handcuffs are, and bespeak, an unconscionable, intolerable, brutal barbarity.

Prisons?

"Correction," as in "with a hickory stick, ha-ha"? Fuck you very, very much.

In the Dust raised by the Wheels of the lumbering Juggernaut, are heard shrill Serpent-Voices crying, "Danger!"

Speaking of the Republican reaction to "Marijuana" legalization. And also (speaking) a little bit about  the venomous idiocy of Republicans, who think (or thought) that having one per cent of the citizenry under lock and key is just necessary domestic cruelty, for which they have the same place in their hearts that they do for capital punishment and the corporal punishment of children.

[181] NY Times Paid To Ignore 5G Dangers, Plus Katie Halper of “Useful I...

"An endless anger...a kind of hysteria." Speaking of American foreign policy towards countries the Deep State  doesn't like.

Getting LEGALLY HIGH on BHANG LASSI in Varanasi, India!

Unexceptionable. Fun. The way, goddamit, that it should always have been.

Funny Story from my Maternal Grandmother's Knee (metaphorical Knee)

I was fascinated, as a four-year-old falling asleep on my grandmother's lap while she droned on about her family history, to learn that my grandmother (my mother's mother) had herself had a mother--whom I had never known, because she'd died, "of overwork and stomach cancer," a dozen years before I was born, and whom I supposed, on hearing that she had been my great grandmother, must have been an heroic, even saintly, personage; but when I roused myself to ask my grandmother if this were not so...,

Suddenly the torpors of our afternoon nap were dispelled, and there in the tingling air was the too-vivid recollection of Great-Grandmother Ellen Moore (née Rockhill)'s disapproval of her youngest daughter for being in her mid-30's and wearing a red (as in harlot) dress. "No respectable woman over thirty... etc." And it was a dark red dress, and not 'disrespectable' at all.