Mister CIA
Footballguy
It looks like this was really 35.12, so if I'm ciphering correctly, I've got three picks to make up - 36.09, 37.12 and 38.09. Correct??
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Official Great Works Draft (6 Viewers)
- Thread starter timschochet
- Start date
BobbyLayne
Footballguy
Caffe Mediterraneum
Berkeley, California
1955
For Carl Solomon
I
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall,
who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and #### and endless balls,
incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping towards poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,
Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo,
who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford's floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi's, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,
who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge,
a lost batallion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon
yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,
whose intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement,
who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall,
suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark's bleak furnished room,
who wandered around and around at midnight in the railway yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts,
who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night,
who studied Plotinus Poe St John of the Cross telepathy and bop kabbalah because the universe instinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,
who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels,
who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,
who jumped in limousines with the ******** of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain,
who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa,
who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving nothing behind but the shadow of dungarees and the larva and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago,
who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets,
who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism, who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed,
who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons,
who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication,
who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts,
who let themselves be ####ed in the ### by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,
who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love,
who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely to whomever come who may,
who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond & naked angel came to pierce them with a sword,
who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ### and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman's loom,
who copulated ecstatic and insatiate and fell off the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate #### and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,
who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but were prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake,
who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver—joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses' rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,
who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements hungover with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment offices,
who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open full of steamheat and opium,
who created great suicidal dramas on the appartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion,
who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of the Bowery,
who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music,
who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts, who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of theology,
who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish,
who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom,
who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg,
who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for an Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade,
who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried,
who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,
who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,
who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal steamwhistles,
who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other's hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch Birmingham jazz incarnation,
who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity,
who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,
who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other's salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second,
who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz,
who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave,
who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury,
who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturerson Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with the shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy,
and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia,
who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia,
returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East,
Pilgrim State's Rockland's and Greystone's foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon,
with mother finally *****, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger on the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination—
ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you're really in the total animal soup of time—
and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipse the catalog the meter & the vibrating plane,
who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soulbetween 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus
to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head,
the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death,
and rose incarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America's naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio
with the absolute heart of the poem butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.
II
What sphinx of cement and aluminium bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination?
Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks!
Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men!
Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgement! Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stunned governments!
Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb!
Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless Jehovas! Moloch whose factories dream and choke in the fog! Moloch whose smokestacks and antennae crown the cities!
Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind!
Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream angels! Crazy in Moloch! ########## in Moloch! Lacklove and manless in Moloch!
Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy! Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch! Light streaming out of the sky!
Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisable suburbs! skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! spectral nations! invincible madhouses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs!
They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pavements, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us!
Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstacies! gone down the American river!
Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bull####!
Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions! gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! Despairs! Ten years' animal screams and suicides! Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on the rocks of Time!
Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell! They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving! carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street!
III
Carl Solomon! I'm with you in Rockland
where you're madder than I am
I'm with you in Rockland
where you must feel strange
I'm with you in Rockland
where you imitate the shade of my mother
I'm with you in Rockland
where you've murdered your twelve secretaries
I'm with you in Rockland
where you laugh at this invisible humour
I'm with you in Rockland
where we are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter
I'm with you in Rockland
where your condition has become serious and is reported on the radio
I'm with you in Rockland
where the faculties of the skull no longer admit the worms of the senses
I'm with you in Rockland
where you drink the tea of the breasts of the spinsters of Utica
I'm with you in Rockland
where you pun on the bodies of your nurses the harpies of the Bronx
I'm with you in Rockland
where you scream in a straightjacket that you're losing the game of actual pingpong of the abyss
I'm with you in Rockland
where you bang on the catatonic piano the soul is innocent and immortal it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse
I'm with you in Rockland
where fifty more shocks will never return your soul to its body again from its pilgrimage to a cross in the void
I'm with you in Rockland
where you accuse your doctors of insanity and plot the Hebrew socialist revolution against the fascist national Golgotha
I'm with you in Rockland
where you will split the heavens of Long Island and resurrect your living human Jesus from the superhuman tomb
I'm with you in Rockland
where there are twentyfive thousand mad comrades all together singing the final stanzas of the Internationale
I'm with you in Rockland
where we hug and kiss the United States under our bedsheets the United States that coughs all night and won't let us sleep
I'm with you in Rockland
where we wake up electrified out of the coma by our own souls' airplanes roaring over the roof they've come to drop angelic bombs the hospital illuminates itself imaginary walls collapse O skinny legions run outside O starry-spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is here O victory forget your underwear we're free
I'm with you in Rockland
in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night
Footnote
Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!
Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!
The world is holy! The soul is holy! The skin is holy!
The nose is holy! The tongue and #### and hand
and ####### holy!
Everything is holy! everybody's holy! everywhere is
holy! everyday is in eternity! Everyman's an
angel!
The bum's as holy as the seraphim! the madman is
holy as you my soul are holy!
The typewriter is holy the poem is holy the voice is
holy the hearers are holy the ecstasy is holy!
Holy Peter holy Allen holy Solomon holy Lucien holy
Kerouac holy Huncke holy Burroughs holy Cas-
sady holy the unknown buggered and suffering
beggars holy the hideous human angels!
Holy my mother in the insane asylum! Holy the cocks
of the grandfathers of Kansas!
Holy the groaning saxophone! Holy the bop
apocalypse! Holy the jazzbands marijuana
hipsters peace & junk & drums!
Holy the solitudes of skyscrapers and pavements! Holy
the cafeterias filled with the millions! Holy the
mysterious rivers of tears under the streets!
Holy the lone juggernaut! Holy the vast lamb of the
middle class! Holy the crazy shepherds of rebell-
ion! Who digs Los Angeles IS Los Angeles!
Holy New York Holy San Francisco Holy Peoria &
Seattle Holy Paris Holy Tangiers Holy Moscow
Holy Istanbul!
Holy time in eternity holy eternity in time holy the
clocks in space holy the fourth dimension holy
the fifth International holy the Angel in Moloch!
Holy the sea holy the desert holy the railroad holy the
locomotive holy the visions holy the hallucina-
tions holy the miracles holy the eyeball holy the
abyss!
Holy forgiveness! mercy! charity! faith! Holy! Ours!
bodies! suffering! magnanimity!
Holy the supernatural extra brilliant intelligent
kindness of the soul!
39.07 (767th pick) - Howl - Poem
written by Allen Ginsberg
published by poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti of City Lights Books
ETA: fixin' stuff
Berkeley, California
1955
For Carl Solomon
I
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall,
who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and #### and endless balls,
incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping towards poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,
Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo,
who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford's floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi's, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,
who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge,
a lost batallion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon
yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,
whose intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement,
who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall,
suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark's bleak furnished room,
who wandered around and around at midnight in the railway yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts,
who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night,
who studied Plotinus Poe St John of the Cross telepathy and bop kabbalah because the universe instinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,
who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels,
who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,
who jumped in limousines with the ******** of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain,
who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa,
who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving nothing behind but the shadow of dungarees and the larva and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago,
who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets,
who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism, who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed,
who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons,
who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication,
who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts,
who let themselves be ####ed in the ### by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,
who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love,
who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely to whomever come who may,
who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond & naked angel came to pierce them with a sword,
who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ### and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman's loom,
who copulated ecstatic and insatiate and fell off the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate #### and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,
who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but were prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake,
who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver—joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses' rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,
who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements hungover with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment offices,
who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open full of steamheat and opium,
who created great suicidal dramas on the appartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion,
who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of the Bowery,
who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music,
who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts, who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of theology,
who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish,
who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom,
who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg,
who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for an Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade,
who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried,
who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,
who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,
who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal steamwhistles,
who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other's hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch Birmingham jazz incarnation,
who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity,
who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,
who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other's salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second,
who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz,
who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave,
who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury,
who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturerson Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with the shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy,
and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia,
who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia,
returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East,
Pilgrim State's Rockland's and Greystone's foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon,
with mother finally *****, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger on the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination—
ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you're really in the total animal soup of time—
and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipse the catalog the meter & the vibrating plane,
who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soulbetween 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus
to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head,
the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death,
and rose incarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America's naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio
with the absolute heart of the poem butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.
II
What sphinx of cement and aluminium bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination?
Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks!
Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men!
Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgement! Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stunned governments!
Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb!
Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless Jehovas! Moloch whose factories dream and choke in the fog! Moloch whose smokestacks and antennae crown the cities!
Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind!
Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream angels! Crazy in Moloch! ########## in Moloch! Lacklove and manless in Moloch!
Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy! Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch! Light streaming out of the sky!
Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisable suburbs! skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! spectral nations! invincible madhouses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs!
They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pavements, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us!
Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstacies! gone down the American river!
Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bull####!
Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions! gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! Despairs! Ten years' animal screams and suicides! Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on the rocks of Time!
Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell! They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving! carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street!
III
Carl Solomon! I'm with you in Rockland
where you're madder than I am
I'm with you in Rockland
where you must feel strange
I'm with you in Rockland
where you imitate the shade of my mother
I'm with you in Rockland
where you've murdered your twelve secretaries
I'm with you in Rockland
where you laugh at this invisible humour
I'm with you in Rockland
where we are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter
I'm with you in Rockland
where your condition has become serious and is reported on the radio
I'm with you in Rockland
where the faculties of the skull no longer admit the worms of the senses
I'm with you in Rockland
where you drink the tea of the breasts of the spinsters of Utica
I'm with you in Rockland
where you pun on the bodies of your nurses the harpies of the Bronx
I'm with you in Rockland
where you scream in a straightjacket that you're losing the game of actual pingpong of the abyss
I'm with you in Rockland
where you bang on the catatonic piano the soul is innocent and immortal it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse
I'm with you in Rockland
where fifty more shocks will never return your soul to its body again from its pilgrimage to a cross in the void
I'm with you in Rockland
where you accuse your doctors of insanity and plot the Hebrew socialist revolution against the fascist national Golgotha
I'm with you in Rockland
where you will split the heavens of Long Island and resurrect your living human Jesus from the superhuman tomb
I'm with you in Rockland
where there are twentyfive thousand mad comrades all together singing the final stanzas of the Internationale
I'm with you in Rockland
where we hug and kiss the United States under our bedsheets the United States that coughs all night and won't let us sleep
I'm with you in Rockland
where we wake up electrified out of the coma by our own souls' airplanes roaring over the roof they've come to drop angelic bombs the hospital illuminates itself imaginary walls collapse O skinny legions run outside O starry-spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is here O victory forget your underwear we're free
I'm with you in Rockland
in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night
Footnote
Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!
Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!
The world is holy! The soul is holy! The skin is holy!
The nose is holy! The tongue and #### and hand
and ####### holy!
Everything is holy! everybody's holy! everywhere is
holy! everyday is in eternity! Everyman's an
angel!
The bum's as holy as the seraphim! the madman is
holy as you my soul are holy!
The typewriter is holy the poem is holy the voice is
holy the hearers are holy the ecstasy is holy!
Holy Peter holy Allen holy Solomon holy Lucien holy
Kerouac holy Huncke holy Burroughs holy Cas-
sady holy the unknown buggered and suffering
beggars holy the hideous human angels!
Holy my mother in the insane asylum! Holy the cocks
of the grandfathers of Kansas!
Holy the groaning saxophone! Holy the bop
apocalypse! Holy the jazzbands marijuana
hipsters peace & junk & drums!
Holy the solitudes of skyscrapers and pavements! Holy
the cafeterias filled with the millions! Holy the
mysterious rivers of tears under the streets!
Holy the lone juggernaut! Holy the vast lamb of the
middle class! Holy the crazy shepherds of rebell-
ion! Who digs Los Angeles IS Los Angeles!
Holy New York Holy San Francisco Holy Peoria &
Seattle Holy Paris Holy Tangiers Holy Moscow
Holy Istanbul!
Holy time in eternity holy eternity in time holy the
clocks in space holy the fourth dimension holy
the fifth International holy the Angel in Moloch!
Holy the sea holy the desert holy the railroad holy the
locomotive holy the visions holy the hallucina-
tions holy the miracles holy the eyeball holy the
abyss!
Holy forgiveness! mercy! charity! faith! Holy! Ours!
bodies! suffering! magnanimity!
Holy the supernatural extra brilliant intelligent
kindness of the soul!
39.07 (767th pick) - Howl - Poem
written by Allen Ginsberg
published by poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti of City Lights Books
ETA: fixin' stuff
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rodg12
Footballguy
rodg12
Footballguy
Good day of drafting today. Made a lot of progress and had some great picks. I'm heading to bed and wanted to let people know that I'm going to be in and out tomorrow depending entirely on how my slow pitch softball tournament goes. Don't know how much I'll be able to provide updates.
rodg12
Footballguy
Up-to-date status:
SKIPPED
36.09 - Team CIA
37.12 - Team CIA (autoskip)
37.16 - Scott Norwood/Anborn (timed out)
38.05 - Scott Norwood (autoskip due to prior timeout)
38.09 - Team CIA (autoskip)
38.11 - Thatguy (autoskip)
38.16 - Doug B (autoskip)
39.05 - Doug B (autoskip)
39.06 - Abrantes (autoskip)
39.08 - Tides of War - Up
39.09 - Big Rocks - On Deck
39.10 - Thatguy (autoskip)
39.11 - El Floppo (autoskip if not here in first 15)
39.12 - Team CIA (autoskip)
39.13 - Uncle Humuna
39.14 - MisfitBlondes
39.15 - Bob Lee Swagger
39.16 - Scott Norwood
39.17 - DC Thunder
39.18 - Genedoc
39.19 - Tirnan
39.20 - Yankee23Fan
SKIPPED
36.09 - Team CIA
37.12 - Team CIA (autoskip)
37.16 - Scott Norwood/Anborn (timed out)
38.05 - Scott Norwood (autoskip due to prior timeout)
38.09 - Team CIA (autoskip)
38.11 - Thatguy (autoskip)
38.16 - Doug B (autoskip)
39.05 - Doug B (autoskip)
39.06 - Abrantes (autoskip)
39.08 - Tides of War - Up
39.09 - Big Rocks - On Deck
39.10 - Thatguy (autoskip)
39.11 - El Floppo (autoskip if not here in first 15)
39.12 - Team CIA (autoskip)
39.13 - Uncle Humuna
39.14 - MisfitBlondes
39.15 - Bob Lee Swagger
39.16 - Scott Norwood
39.17 - DC Thunder
39.18 - Genedoc
39.19 - Tirnan
39.20 - Yankee23Fan
timschochet
Footballguy
OK, the first two posts are finally completely updated (I hope.) Please check out your picks in the 2nd post and make sure they are correct. TIA.
Mister CIA
Footballguy
Okay, the real 36.09.
Final album pick. While there is still my favorite album by the biggest band ever, I cannot pass up another. To say that this is the greatest live album of all-time is an injustice. More than any other recording, it captures the essence of rock music and somehow ratchets the intensity up to .... 12. Best of all, it captures each band member at their absolute peak, none more brilliantly than Pete Townsend - no guitar ever sounded so vicious. At once remarkably raw, extraordinarily polished ....
36.09 - Live at Leeds The Who, Album
Officially I select the 1995 Deluxe re-release though it was the sparse 6 song album against which I logged untold hours on the air guitar, a long time ago.
Info on the Deluxe release
Final album pick. While there is still my favorite album by the biggest band ever, I cannot pass up another. To say that this is the greatest live album of all-time is an injustice. More than any other recording, it captures the essence of rock music and somehow ratchets the intensity up to .... 12. Best of all, it captures each band member at their absolute peak, none more brilliantly than Pete Townsend - no guitar ever sounded so vicious. At once remarkably raw, extraordinarily polished ....
36.09 - Live at Leeds The Who, Album
Officially I select the 1995 Deluxe re-release though it was the sparse 6 song album against which I logged untold hours on the air guitar, a long time ago.
Info on the Deluxe release
ETA:
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Postradamus
Footballguy
Uncle Humuna
Footballguy
flysack
Footballguy
Mi ami! Bonjour!
El Floppo
Footballguy
Oh no you didn't.I know next to nothing about poetry and don't particularly care to, even though my mom teaches, writes and publishes it (and is profoundly disappointed in her caveman son). Howl is the literally the only poem that came to mind for this draft and the only piece of poetry I've ever purchased or cared about (
... other than your poems, mom). You are now forcing me to have to read the damned stuff to find another pick.Shame on you.
Yankee23Fan
Fair Tax!
Yeah, I've been reviewing the rounds and am in the teens on the writeups and I have to admit that after seeing everything shake out and including what's been happening lately....
.... I am so winning this thing. Make sure you guys don't take fighting for second so seriously. Be a shame to waste all that energy on an inevitability.
.... I am so winning this thing. Make sure you guys don't take fighting for second so seriously. Be a shame to waste all that energy on an inevitability.
BobbyLayne
Footballguy
I'm with you in Rockland where you will split the heavens of Long Island and resurrect your living human Jesus from the superhuman tomb
I'm with you in Rockland
where there are twentyfive thousand mad comrades all together singing the final stanzas of the Internationale
I'm with you in Rockland
where we hug and kiss the United States under our bedsheets the United States that coughs all night and won't let us sleep
I'm with you in Rockland
where we wake up electrified out of the coma by our own souls' airplanes roaring over the roof they've come to drop angelic bombs the hospital illuminates itself imaginary walls collapse O skinny legions run outside O starry-spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is here O victory forget your underwear we're free
I'm with you in Rockland
in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night
BobbyLayne
Footballguy
DittoAfter Krista4 nabbed On the Road I knew I didn't have long.Oh no you didn't.I know next to nothing about poetry and don't particularly care to, even though my mom teaches, writes and publishes it (and is profoundly disappointed in her caveman son). Howl is the literally the only poem that came to mind for this draft and the only piece of poetry I've ever purchased or cared about (... other than your poems, mom). You are now forcing me to have to read the damned stuff to find another pick.
Shame on you.
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BobbyLayne
Footballguy
Skipple me this weekend, will check in periodically.
krista4
Footballguy
I should have nabbed it with my last pick.DittoAfter Krista4 nabbed On the Road I knew I didn't have long.Oh no you didn't.I know next to nothing about poetry and don't particularly care to, even though my mom teaches, writes and publishes it (and is profoundly disappointed in her caveman son). Howl is the literally the only poem that came to mind for this draft and the only piece of poetry I've ever purchased or cared about (... other than your poems, mom). You are now forcing me to have to read the damned stuff to find another pick.
Shame on you.
I'm concentrating too much on team needs.
krista4
Footballguy
Hippling in progress; rereading everything I read while drunk after a FBG cornhole last night.
Doug B
Footballguy
Make-up picks:
38.16 - Normandy Landings (D-Day), Wildcard [3]
38.16 - Normandy Landings (D-Day), Wildcard [3]
39.5 - Manned Descent to the Bottom of the Challenger Deep, Wildcard [3]
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krista4
Footballguy
I'm probably one of the only people who loves Pete Rose. I grew up going to Reds games during their heyday of the mid-70s, and I just have so much fondness for all the guys on those teams, but especially Pete Rose. Just loved watching him play. Yeah, he's a Richard, but played with nothing but heart.
krista4
Footballguy
Awesomeawesomeawesome.
krista4
Footballguy
Thank you to MB for posting these!Here is Fennis' write-up on the Ramones album:MisfitBlondes said:
Ramones album by the Ramones
1,2,3,4....Blitzkrieg Bop Live at CBGB 1977
Judy is a Punk at CBGB 1974
Beat On The Brat Live At River Plate Stadium 1996
As for Silent Spring, from Wiki:
Silent Spring launched the environmental movement. Nufced.
krista4
Footballguy
Awesomeawesomeawesome.
krista4
Footballguy
krista4
Footballguy
timschochet
Footballguy
Doug, I think it's very cool that you drafted the Normandy landings on today, June 6.
krista4
Footballguy
Great and timely pick with Normandy. Was just watching Obama's speech as you posted that.Someone previously took the Olympic Games as an Invention, so I'm not sure you can take the founding of the modern Games as a wildcard. My vote would be that it is duplicative, but tim should rule on it.
rodg12
Footballguy
timschochet
Footballguy
It'll be interesting to see how our sports records judge evaluates achievements of longevity (such as Pete Rose or Cy Young) versus single event records (Beamon, Bannister, Chamberlain) versus being incredibly great in a single time period (Ted Williams, Byron Nelson.) These are usually the three types of records. For me, I think the dominance in a single time period should be ranked above the others, which is one reason I selected Nelson. Then I like the individual records, and the longevity stuff last, because there's so much luck involved in that (not getting injured, etc.) But many people disagree with this opinion; it's very subjective.
Doug B
Footballguy
It is duplicative on my part, then ... I didn't check the OP
...No chance that the other drafter had actually taken the Ancient Olympic Games as an invention and just didn't specify, huh?
I'll re-pick in a bit.
timschochet
Footballguy
I forgot that someone else had taken it. Yeah, Doug you can't take this pick, sorry. The other selection encompasses both the original Games and the modern Games as well.
timschochet
Footballguy
Hey Krista, any love for The Gold Rush and Anthony Perkins in Psycho?
Michael Fox Fan
Footballguy
Hey all - just wanted to say "great thread". I've been following it for awhile now, and it's generated an impressive list....this is my new source on ideas for books, movies, music, art, etc. Keep up the good work.
krista4
Footballguy
Absolutely. I would have expected a different Chaplin to go before that one, but really you can't go wrong. I didn't realize he considered it his greatest work. As for Perkins, love the performance, but as I mentioned in regard to thatguy's Christian Bale pick, there are so many great performances out there that it is going to be an impossible category. I have permission from Fennis to select that last two performances for our team, and I think they'll be the last picks I make because there are just so many to choose from.Speaking of which, are you judging the ones I select? There's a decent chance it will entail more movie-watching.
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timschochet
Footballguy
Yes. Which animal are you going to make me watch this time? Am I going to evaluate Ronald Reagan in a Bonzo flick?
Doug B
Footballguy
Revised my 39th-round pick above ... might as well repost here and make a comment.
You know, humanity has accomplished many things thought once impossible. Sailing around the globe, flying across oceans, climbing the highest summits, even landing upon the Moon. Each of those accomplishments showed everyone that "it could be done"; and in each of those cases, the accomplishments were repeated. Many men have sailed around the globe since Magellan and Del Cano. Pilots eventually came to routinely cross the Atlantic after Lindbergh (the recent Airbus tragedy notwithstanding). Hundreds have climbed Everest. Even the Moon has hosted several earthly visitors, though none in over 35 years.
But there is one harsh, forbidding place that humanity has visited only one time. For only twenty minutes. Right here on Earth, no less. And no one has tried again since:
39.5 - Manned Descent to the Bottom of the Challenger Deep, Wildcard [3]
You know, humanity has accomplished many things thought once impossible. Sailing around the globe, flying across oceans, climbing the highest summits, even landing upon the Moon. Each of those accomplishments showed everyone that "it could be done"; and in each of those cases, the accomplishments were repeated. Many men have sailed around the globe since Magellan and Del Cano. Pilots eventually came to routinely cross the Atlantic after Lindbergh (the recent Airbus tragedy notwithstanding). Hundreds have climbed Everest. Even the Moon has hosted several earthly visitors, though none in over 35 years.
But there is one harsh, forbidding place that humanity has visited only one time. For only twenty minutes. Right here on Earth, no less. And no one has tried again since:
39.5 - Manned Descent to the Bottom of the Challenger Deep, Wildcard [3]
krista4
Footballguy
Wow, totally cool picl.
BobbyLayne
Footballguy
A military invasion is a good wild card pick.A rescue operation is a good wild card pick.
Greatest Works Draft
Am I the only one who thinks the WC judging criteria went through a paradigmn shift when we were over half done?
What should we drafting in the Wild Card category?
Greatest Works Draft
thatguy
Footballguy
The thatguy's want to offer you a partial ownership as our compositions/sculptures/non-fiction/documentary drafter/adviser.ALSO ALSO!
I have now *officially* cut ties with Team BobbyLayne and am a free agent.
While I'm not looking for another team, I will answer any unsolicited pms for literary advice in the most arrogant and pretentious tone possible.
TidesofWar
Footballguy
collusion once againFlysack is the TO of this draftThe thatguy's want to offer you a partial ownership as our compositions/sculptures/non-fiction/documentary drafter/adviser.ALSO ALSO!
I have now *officially* cut ties with Team BobbyLayne and am a free agent.
While I'm not looking for another team, I will answer any unsolicited pms for literary advice in the most arrogant and pretentious tone possible.
In honor of Flysack...............
"I know its my pick, but being the weekend, am not really concerned"
TidesofWar
Footballguy
That sound you just heard is wikkid rolling over in his cyber-graveA military invasion is a good wild card pick.A rescue operation is a good wild card pick.
Greatest Works Draft
Am I the only one who thinks the WC judging criteria went through a paradigmn shift when we were over half done?
What should we drafting in the Wild Card category?
Greatest Works Draft
rodg12
Footballguy
Meh. Wikkid was in favor of both Acts and Stratagems categories.That sound you just heard is wikkid rolling over in his cyber-graveA military invasion is a good wild card pick.A rescue operation is a good wild card pick.
Greatest Works Draft
Am I the only one who thinks the WC judging criteria went through a paradigmn shift when we were over half done?
What should we drafting in the Wild Card category?
Greatest Works Draft
Postradamus
Footballguy
nufced?
flysack
Footballguy
:golfclap:Well played, sir, well played.collusion once againFlysack is the TO of this draftThe thatguy's want to offer you a partial ownership as our compositions/sculptures/non-fiction/documentary drafter/adviser.ALSO ALSO!
I have now *officially* cut ties with Team BobbyLayne and am a free agent.
While I'm not looking for another team, I will answer any unsolicited pms for literary advice in the most arrogant and pretentious tone possible.
In honor of Flysack...............
"I know its my pick, but being the weekend, am not really concerned"
flysack
Footballguy
Special Adviser Flysack is awaiting a contract offer from the thatguy's. As of now Flysack is representing himself, but he may hire Truckasaurus or some equally obnoxious pain-in-the-@@# to represent him.The thatguy's want to offer you a partial ownership as our compositions/sculptures/non-fiction/documentary drafter/adviser.ALSO ALSO!
I have now *officially* cut ties with Team BobbyLayne and am a free agent.
While I'm not looking for another team, I will answer any unsolicited pms for literary advice in the most arrogant and pretentious tone possible.
thatguy
Footballguy
The thatguy's are old school. We only do oral contracts, if you catch my drift. When and where?Special Adviser Flysack is awaiting a contract offer from the thatguy's. As of now Flysack is representing himself, but he may hire Truckasaurus or some equally obnoxious pain-in-the-@@# to represent him.The thatguy's want to offer you a partial ownership as our compositions/sculptures/non-fiction/documentary drafter/adviser.ALSO ALSO!
I have now *officially* cut ties with Team BobbyLayne and am a free agent.
While I'm not looking for another team, I will answer any unsolicited pms for literary advice in the most arrogant and pretentious tone possible.
TidesofWar
Footballguy
pick coming shortly - actually have to do some research as there has been no time this past week for me
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Doug B
Footballguy
A military invasion is a good wild card pick.A rescue operation is a good wild card pick.A very good pick as well.
Greatest Works Draft
Am I the only one who thinks the WC judging criteria went through a paradigmn shift when we were over half done?
What should we drafting in the Wild Card category?
Greatest Works Draft
The Moon Shot was taken in Round 1 as a Wild Card. Magellan's circumnavigation was taken in the first third of the draft.Since then, I've been thinking of the Wild Card category as a place where you could lay notable human accomplishments in logistics, collective inegnuity, and daring. Among other things.
El Floppo
Footballguy
So basically- S&DsA military invasion is a good wild card pick.A rescue operation is a good wild card pick.
Greatest Works Draft
Am I the only one who thinks the WC judging criteria went through a paradigmn shift when we were over half done?
What should we drafting in the Wild Card category?
Greatest Works DraftThe Moon Shot was taken in Round 1 as a Wild Card. Magellan's circumnavigation was taken in the first third of the draft.
Since then, I've been thinking of the Wild Card category as a place where you could lay notable human accomplishments in logistics, collective inegnuity, and daring. Among other things.
TidesofWar
Footballguy
I am still debating - I will pick later this evening.
Salut!
Salut!
