you could walk 60 years

and never see a girl so pretty

i stood 40

   too far

 to see

so haughty

devoted to me

while you sought union

and continuity

 just an effort in concert

to adopt my labor?

tune in the valley

never thought

we would be

a story

privilege

she knows best

machine

innocent girl 

                           leather pages

                jim      unique    original

               decades     completed genres

                                     from his ego

                      style

punk spitting
   goth sobbing
  rap shouting



word    sung

horse with no name




is        hwy


                oblivion

dangerous




branches on fire 

hug tightly 


you’re walkin on the moon tonite


its lonely

 play iing spooky for


the princess



i meant to do that

money

money is gettin




more than its givin






the danger is in you

learned that



as a child




cant take It over time



but for some times     five minutes



he has your attention






forget my name

im over you




hollow



long   hours



 eye in the  door



scores
to come






rentin  my soul




1253                 a dog?
howling            in back

HEll

Virtue

To go into solitude, a man needs to retire as much from his chamber as from society.

I am not solitary whilst I read and write, though nobody is with me.


But if a man would be alone, let him look at the stars.

The rays that come from those heavenly worlds, will separate between him and what he touches. One might think the atmosphere was made transparent with this design, to give man, in the heavenly bodies, the perpetual presence of the sublime. Seen in the streets of cities, how great they are! If the stars should appear one night in a thousand years, how would men believe and adore; and preserve for many generations the remembrance of the city of God which had been shown! But every night come out these envoys of beauty, and light the universe with their admonishing smile.


The stars awaken a certain reverence, because though always present, they are inaccessible;

but all natural objects make a kindred impression,

when the mind is open to their influence. Nature never wears a mean appearance. Neither does the wisest man extort her secret, and lose his curiosity by finding out all her perfection. Nature never became a toy to a wise spirit. The flowers, the animals, the mountains, reflected the wisdom of his best hour, as much as they had delighted the simplicity of his childhood.


When we speak of nature in this manner, we have a distinct but most poetical sense in the mind. We mean the integrity of impression made by manifold natural objects. It is this which distinguishes the stick of timber of the wood-cutter, from the tree of the poet. The charming landscape which I saw this morning, is indubitably made up of some twenty or thirty farms. Miller owns this field, Locke that, and Manning the woodland beyond. But none of them owns the landscape. There is a property in the horizon which no man has but he whose eye can integrate all the parts, that is, the poet. This is the best part of these men's farms, yet to this their warranty-deeds give no title.


To speak truly, few adult persons can see nature. Most persons do not see the sun. At least they have a very superficial seeing.  The sun illuminates only the eye of the man, but shines into the eye and the heart of the child. The lover of nature is he whose inward and outward senses are still truly adjusted to each other; who has retained the spirit of infancy even into the era of manhood. His intercourse with heaven and earth, becomes part of his daily food. In the presence of nature, a wild delight runs through the man, in spite of real sorrows.


 
Nature says, -- he is my creature, and major all his impertinent griefs, he shall be glad with me. Not the sun or the summer alone, but every hour and season yields its tribute of delight; for every hour and change corresponds to and authorizes a different state of the mind, from breathless noon to grimmest midnight. Nature is a setting that fits equally well a comic or a mourning piece. In good health, the air is a cordial of incredible virtue. Crossing a bare common, in snow puddles, at twilight, under a clouded sky, without having in my thoughts any occurrence of special good fortune, I have enjoyed a perfect exhilaration.

I am glad to the brink of fear.
 
 In the woods too, a man casts off his years, as the snake his slough, and at what period soever of life, is always a child.

In the woods, is perpetual youth.

Within these plantations of God, a decorum and sanctity reign, a perennial festival is dressed, and the guest sees not how he should tire of them in a thousand years. In the woods, we return to reason and faith. There I feel that nothing can befall me in life, -- no disgrace, no calamity, (leaving me my eyes,) which nature cannot repair.
Standing on the bare ground, -- my head bathed by the blithe air, and uplifted into infinite space, -- all mean egotism vanishes. I become a

transparent eye-ball;

I am nothing; I see all;

the currents of the Universal Being circulate through me; I am part or particle of God.

The name of the nearest friend sounds then foreign and accidental: to be brothers, to be acquaintances, -- master or servant, is then a trifle and a disturbance.

I am the lover of uncontained and immortal beauty.

In the wilderness, I find something more dear and connate than in streets or villages.

 In the tranquil landscape, and especially in the distant line of the horizon,
 man beholds

somewhat

as beautiful as his own nature.
 
Emerson  1836