Fórmulas de negociação de opção simples por billy williams

Canção de mim mesmo.
Por Walt Whitman.
E o que eu suponho, você deve assumir
Pois todo átomo que pertence a mim pertence a você.
Eu me inclino e seguro à minha vontade, observando uma lança de grama de verão.
Nascido aqui de pais nascidos aqui de pais o mesmo e o deles / delas.
pais o mesmo,
Eu, agora com trinta e sete anos em perfeita saúde,
Esperando não cessar até a morte.
Retirando-se um pouco, bastou o que eles são, mas nunca esquecidos,
Eu porto para o bem ou para o mal, eu permito falar em todos os perigos,
Natureza sem cheque com energia original.
Eu respiro a fragrância eu mesmo, conheço e gosto disso,
A destilação me intoxicava também, mas não deixarei.
destilação, é inodoro,
É para a minha boca para sempre, eu estou apaixonada por isso,
Eu irei para o banco perto da floresta e ficarei sem disfarce e nu,
Eu sou louco por isso estar em contato comigo.
Ecos, ondulações, murmúrios, raiz amorosa, fio de seda, virilha e videira,
Minha respiração e inspiração, o bater do meu coração, a passagem.
de sangue e ar através dos meus pulmões,
O cheiro de folhas verdes e folhas secas, e da costa e.
rochas do mar de cores escuras e de feno no celeiro,
Alguns beijos leves, alguns abraços, um abraço de braços,
O jogo de brilho e sombra nas árvores como os ramos flexíveis abanam,
O prazer sozinho ou na pressa das ruas, ou ao longo dos campos.
A sensação de saúde, o trinado no meio-dia, a música de mim se elevando.
da cama e encontrando o sol.
Você tem praticado tanto tempo para aprender a ler?
Você se sentiu tão orgulhoso de entender o significado dos poemas?
Você deve possuir o bem da terra e do sol (há milhões.
Você não deve mais levar as coisas em segunda ou terceira mão, nem olhar através delas.
os olhos dos mortos, nem se alimentam dos espectros em livros,
Você não deve olhar através dos meus olhos, nem tirar as coisas de mim,
Você deve ouvir todos os lados e filtrá-los de si mesmo.
começo e fim,
Mas eu não falo do começo nem do fim.
Nem mais juventude ou idade do que existe agora,
E nunca haverá mais perfeição do que existe agora
Nem mais céu ou inferno do que existe agora.
Sempre o desejo procriador do mundo.
aumentar, sempre sexo,
Sempre uma ligação de identidade, sempre distinção, sempre uma espécie de vida.
Para elaborar não adiantou, aprendeu e desaprendeu sentir que é assim.
entretido, apoiado nas vigas,
Stout como um cavalo, carinhoso, altivo, elétrico,
Eu e este mistério estamos aqui.
Até que isso se torne invisível e receba a prova por sua vez.
Conhecendo a perfeita adequação e equanimidade das coisas, enquanto eles.
discuto que estou em silêncio e vou me banhar e me admirar.
Nem uma polegada nem uma partícula de uma polegada é vil, e nenhuma deve ser.
menos familiar do que o resto.
Como o abraço e amoroso companheiro de cama dorme ao meu lado durante a noite,
e se retira no peep do dia com passos furtivos,
Deixando-me cestas cobertas com toalhas brancas inchando a casa.
Devo adiar minha aceitação e realização e gritar aos meus olhos,
Que eles deixam de olhar para depois e para baixo na estrada,
E imediatamente cifra e mostre-me um centavo
Exatamente o valor de um e exatamente o valor de dois e que está à frente?
Pessoas que eu conheço, o efeito sobre mim da minha vida precoce ou da ala e.
cidade em que eu moro, ou a nação,
As últimas datas, descobertas, invenções, sociedades, autores antigos e novos,
Meu jantar, vestido, associados, olhares, elogios, dívidas,
A indiferença real ou imaginada de algum homem ou mulher que eu amo,
A doença de um dos meus pais ou de mim mesmo, ou doentio ou perda.
ou falta de dinheiro, ou depressões ou exaltações,
Batalhas, os horrores da guerra fratricida, a febre das notícias duvidosas,
os eventos intermitentes;
Estes vêm para mim dias e noites e vão de mim novamente,
Mas eles não são eu mesmo.
Está divertido, complacente, compassivo, ocioso, unitário,
Olha para baixo, está ereto, ou dobra um braço em um certo descanso impalpável,
Olhando com a cabeça curvada para o lado, curioso o que virá a seguir,
Tanto dentro quanto fora do jogo e observando e imaginando isso.
linguistas e contendores,
Não tenho escárnios ou argumentos, testemunho e espero.
E você não deve ser humilhado ao outro.
Não palavras, não música ou rima eu quero, não costume ou palestra, não.
Apenas a calma que eu gosto, o zumbido da sua voz valvulada.
Como você colocou sua cabeça em meus quadris e gentilmente se virou para mim,
E separei a camisa do meu peito e mergulhei sua língua.
para o meu coração nu,
E alcancei até que você sentiu minha barba e alcançou até que você segurou meus pés.
todo o argumento da terra,
E eu sei que a mão de Deus é a promessa da minha própria
E eu sei que o espírito de Deus é meu irmão,
E que todos os homens nascidos são também meus irmãos e as mulheres.
minhas irmãs e amantes
E que um kelson da criação é amor,
E ilimitadas são folhas duras ou caídas nos campos,
E formigas marrons nos pequenos poços abaixo deles,
E migalhas musgosas da cerca do verme, pedras empilhadas, ancinho, verbasco e.
Como eu poderia responder a criança? Eu não sei o que é mais do que ele.
Um presente perfumado e um lembrete projetado
Portando o nome do dono de alguma forma nos cantos, para que possamos ver.
e observe, e diga De quem?
E isso significa, brotando tanto em amplas zonas e zonas estreitas,
Crescendo entre negros como entre brancos,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, congressista, Cuff, eu dou a eles o mesmo, eu
recebê-los o mesmo.
Pode ser que você transpire dos seios de homens jovens,
Pode ser que se eu os conhecesse eu os amaria,
Pode ser que você seja de pessoas idosas ou de filhos levados em breve.
dos colos de suas mães,
E aqui estão as voltas das mães.
Mais escuras do que as barbas incolores dos velhos,
Escuro para sair de baixo dos telhados vermelhos das bocas.
E percebo que eles não vêm dos tetos das bocas por nada.
E as dicas sobre homens e mães idosos, e a prole tomada.
logo fora de suas voltas.
E o que você acha que se tornou das mulheres e crianças?
O menor broto mostra que realmente não há morte
E se alguma vez houve levou vida, e não espera no.
fim de prendê-lo,
E ceas'd o momento em que a vida apareceria.
E morrer é diferente do que qualquer um supõe e tem mais sorte.
Eu apresso-me a informá-lo que tem a mesma sorte de morrer, e eu sei disso.
não estou contido entre o meu chapéu e botas,
E folhear objetos múltiplos, não dois iguais e todos bons,
A terra é boa e as estrelas são boas, e seus adjuntos são todos bons.
Eu sou o companheiro e companheiro de pessoas, tudo tão imortal e.
insondável como eu mesmo
(Eles não sabem como é imortal, mas eu sei.)
Para mim aqueles que foram meninos e que amam mulheres,
Para mim, o homem que se orgulha e sente como se magoa,
Para mim o doce coração e a velha empregada, para mim mães e os.
mães de mães,
Para mim lábios que sorriam, olhos que derramaram lágrimas,
Para mim, filhos e geradores de filhos.
Eu vejo através do pano largo e do guingão se ou não,
E estou por perto, tenaz, aquisitivo, incansável e não posso ser abalado.
Eu levanto a gaze e olho por um longo tempo, e silenciosamente afastei as moscas.
Eu peeringly os vejo do topo.
Eu testemunho o cadáver com seu cabelo enrolado, noto onde a pistola.
O pesado ônibus, o motorista com seu polegar interrogatório, o.
o barulho dos cavalos no chão de granito
Os trenós de neve, tinidos, gritos, peles de bolas de neve,
Os hurrahs de favoritos populares, a fúria de mobs
A aba da maca da cortina, um homem doente carregado para o hospital,
O encontro de inimigos, o juramento repentino, os golpes e a queda,
A multidão excitada, o policial com sua estrela rapidamente trabalhando a dele.
passagem para o centro da multidão,
As pedras impassíveis que recebem e devolvem tantos ecos,
Que gemidos de over-fed ou half-starv'd que caem sunstruck ou em ataques,
Que exclamações de mulheres levadas de repente que se apressam para casa e.
dê à luz bebês,
Que fala viva e enterrada está sempre vibrando aqui, o que uiva.
contido pelo decoro,
Detenção de criminosos, ofensas, ofertas adúlteras feitas, aceitações,
rejeições com lábios convexos,
Eu me importo com eles ou com o show ou a ressonância deles - eu venho e parti.
A grama seca do tempo de colheita carrega o vagão lento,
A luz clara toca no cinza marrom e verde intertidos,
As braçadas estão cheias do corte da queda.
Eu senti seus choques moles, uma perna reclinada na outra
Eu pulo das vigas e agarro o trevo e o timothy,
E role de ponta-cabeça e enrole meu cabelo cheio de mechas.
Vagando espantado com a minha própria leveza e alegria,
No final da tarde, escolhendo um local seguro para passar a noite,
Acendendo uma fogueira e assando o jogo recém-matado,
Adormecer nas folhas recolhidas com meu cachorro e arma ao meu lado.
Meus olhos assentam a terra, eu me inclino na proa ou grito alegremente do convés.
Eu coloquei minhas sandálias nas minhas botas e fui e me diverti;
Você deveria ter estado conosco naquele dia em volta da caldeira de chowder.
a noiva era uma menina vermelha
Seu pai e seus amigos sentaram-se perto de fumar de pernas cruzadas e
eles tinham mocassins em pé e grandes cobertores grossos.
pendurado em seus ombros,
Em um banco, o caçador, ele estava drogado, principalmente em peles, sua luxuriante.
barba e cachos protegiam o pescoço, ele segurava a noiva pela mão,
Ela tinha longos cílios, a cabeça estava nua, as mechas grossas e retas.
desceu sobre seus membros voluptuosos e alcançou seus pés.
Eu ouvi seus movimentos quebrando os galhos da pilha de lenha,
Através da meia porta da cozinha, eu o vi nervoso e fraco,
E foi onde ele se sentou em um tronco e o guiou e lhe assegurou,
E trouxe água e encheu uma banheira para seu corpo suado e pés machucados,
E deu-lhe um quarto que entrou no meu e deu-lhe um pouco.
roupa limpa grosseira,
E lembre-se perfeitamente bem de seus olhos revolvidos e sua falta de jeito
E lembre-se de colocar piasters nas pernas do pescoço e dos tornozelos;
Ele ficou comigo uma semana antes de se recuperar e passar para o norte,
Eu o fiz sentar ao meu lado na mesa, minha maçaneta de incêndio encostada no canto.
Vinte e oito jovens e todos tão amigáveis;
Vinte e oito anos de vida feminina e tudo tão solitário.
Ela se esconde bonita e ricamente abafada pelas persianas da janela.
Ah, o mais caseiro deles é lindo para ela.
Você borrifa na água lá, ainda fica estoque ainda em seu quarto.
O resto não a viu, mas ela os viu e os amou.
Pequenos riachos passavam por todo o corpo deles.
Ele desceu tremulamente de seus templos e costelas.
sol, eles não perguntam quem se agarra rápido a eles,
Eles não sabem quem puffs e declina com pingente e arco de flexão,
Eles não pensam quem eles usam com spray.
na barraca no mercado,
Eu perambulo aproveitando sua réplica e seu embaralhamento e desmembramento.
Cada um tem seu trenó principal, eles estão todos fora, há um grande calor dentro
O ágil de suas cinturas joga mesmo com seus braços maciços,
Overhand os martelos balançar, overhand tão lento, overhand tão certo,
Eles não se apressam, cada homem bate em seu lugar.
embaixo de sua corrente amarrada,
O negro que dirige a longa roda do pátio de pedra, firme e firme.
alto ele está parado em uma perna na corda,
Sua camisa azul expõe seu amplo pescoço e peito e solta mais.
Seu olhar é calmo e imponente, ele joga a aba do chapéu.
longe de sua testa,
O sol cai em seu cabelo crespo e bigode, cai no preto de.
seus membros polidos e perfeitos.
Eu também vou com a equipe.
Para nichos à parte e junior bending, não uma pessoa ou objeto em falta,
Absorvendo tudo para mim e para esta música.
é que você expressa em seus olhos?
Parece-me mais que toda a impressão que li em minha vida.
Eles se levantam juntos, eles lentamente circulam ao redor.
E reconhecer vermelho, amarelo, branco, jogando dentro de mim,
E considere verde e violeta e a coroa tufada intencional,
E não chame a tartaruga indigna porque ela não é outra coisa,
E o bosque nunca estudou a gama, ainda que trate muito bem para mim,
E o olhar da égua da baía envergonha minha tolice.
Ya-honk ele diz, e soa para mim como um convite,
O atrevido pode supor que não tem sentido, mas eu escuto perto,
Encontre seu propósito e coloque lá em cima em direção ao céu invernal.
chickadee, o cão da pradaria,
A ninhada da porca grunhida enquanto puxam suas tetas,
A ninhada da galinha de peru e ela com suas asas meio espalhadas,
Eu vejo neles e eu mesmo a mesma lei antiga.
Eles desprezam o melhor que posso para relacioná-los.
Dos homens que vivem entre o gado ou o gosto do oceano ou da floresta,
Dos construtores e diretores de navios e os manejadores de machados e.
mauls e os condutores de cavalos,
Eu posso comer e dormir com eles semana após semana.
Eu indo em minhas chances, gastando por vastos retornos,
Adornando-me para me dar o primeiro que me levará,
Não pedindo ao céu para descer para a minha boa vontade,
Dispersando livremente para sempre.
O carpinteiro veste sua prancha, a língua do seu anteparo.
assobia sua língua ascendente selvagem,
Os filhos casados ​​e solteiros voltam para casa para o jantar de Ação de Graças,
O piloto pega o pino-rei, ele abaixa com um braço forte,
O companheiro está de pé no baleia, lança e arpão estão prontos,
O atirador de pato caminha por trechos silenciosos e cautelosos,
Os diáconos são ordenados com as mãos cruzadas no altar,
A fiação recua e avança para o zumbido da roda grande,
O fazendeiro para nas barras enquanto caminha no primeiro dia e no chão.
olha para a aveia e centeio,
O lunático é levado por fim ao asilo como um caso confirmado,
(Ele nunca mais vai dormir como no berço da mãe dele).
A impressora do jornal com cabeça cinzenta e mandíbulas magras trabalha no seu caso,
Ele se livra de tabaco enquanto seus olhos brilham com o manuscrito;
Os membros malformados estão amarrados à mesa do cirurgião,
O que é removido cai horrivelmente em um balde;
A garota quadrada é vendida no leilão, o bêbado concorda.
o fogão da sala de bar,
O maquinista arregaça as mangas, o policial viaja a sua batida,
as marcas do porteiro que passam,
O jovem dirige o vagão expresso (eu o amo, embora eu o faça).
As correias do mestiço nas botas leves para competir na corrida,
O tiroteio ocidental dos perus atrai velhos e jovens, alguns se inclinam sobre eles.
rifles, alguns sentam em toras,
Saindo da multidão, caminha o atirador, toma sua posição, nivela sua peça;
Os grupos de imigrantes recém-chegados cobrem o cais ou dique,
Como as patas de lã enxameavam no campo de açúcar, o superintendente as vê.
da sela dele
A corneta chama no salão de baile, os cavalheiros correm para o seu.
parceiros, os dançarinos se curvam,
A juventude jaz acordada no sótão do telhado de cedro e toca no.
O Wolverine põe armadilhas no riacho que ajuda a encher o Huron,
O squaw envolto em seu pano amarelo está oferecendo mocassins e.
sacos de pérolas para venda,
O apreciador olha ao longo da galeria de exposições com metade fechada.
olhos curvados para os lados
Quando as mãos do convés aceleram o barco a vapor, a prancha é lançada.
os passageiros em terra,
A jovem irmã segura a meada enquanto a irmã mais velha a enrola.
fora em uma bola, e pára de vez em quando para os nós,
A esposa de um ano está se recuperando e feliz tendo uma semana passada.
seu primeiro filho
A garota ianque de cabelos limpos trabalha com sua máquina de costura ou no.
fábrica ou moinho,
O homem da calçada se apoia em seu compactador de duas mãos, o líder do repórter.
voa rapidamente sobre o livro de notas, o pintor de sinais está a rotular.
com azul e dourado
O menino do canal trota no caminho de reboque, o guarda-livros conta com o seu.
escrivaninha, o sapateiro enrola seu fio,
O maestro bate o tempo para a banda e todos os artistas o seguem,
A criança é batizada, o convertido está fazendo suas primeiras profissões,
A regata é espalhada na baía, a corrida é iniciada, (como o branco.
O tropeiro assistindo seu dirigido canta para eles que se desviariam,
O pedler sua com sua mochila nas costas, (o comprador desordenado.
sobre o centavo estranho;)
A noiva não enrola o vestido branco, o ponteiro dos minutos do relógio.
O comedor de ópio se reclina com a cabeça rígida e os lábios abertos,
A prostituta arrasta seu xale, seu gorro balança sobre ela embriagado e.
A multidão ri de seus juramentos de guarda, os homens zombam e piscam para.
(Miserável! Eu não rio de seus juramentos nem zombar de você;)
O presidente que ocupa um conselho de gabinete é cercado pelos grandes.
Na praça, três matronas imponentes e amistosas com braços entrelaçados.
A tripulação do bando de peixe repetiu camadas de alabote no porão,
O Missourian cruza as planícies carregando suas mercadorias e seu gado,
Quando o colecionador de passagens passa pelo trem, ele avisa pelo.
tilintar de mudanças frouxas,
Os homens do chão estão colocando o chão, os estanhados estão estanhando o chão.
telhado, os pedreiros estão pedindo argamassa,
Em arquivo único, cada um deles levava sua mão aos operários;
Estações perseguindo umas às outras a multidão indescritível é reunida.
é o quarto do sétimo mês, (que saudações de canhão e armas pequenas!)
Estações perseguindo umas às outras os arados mais resistentes, a segadeira corta,
e o grão de inverno cai no chão;
Nos lagos, o pescador vigia e espera no buraco.
a superfície congelada,
Os cotos ficam grossos ao redor da clareira, o invasor ataca profundamente.
Flatboatmen fazem rápido em direção ao anoitecer perto do algodão-madeira ou pecan-trees,
Os caçadores de coon atravessam as regiões do rio Vermelho ou atravessam.
aqueles drenados pelo Tennessee, ou pelos do Arkansas,
Tochas brilham no escuro que paira sobre o Chattahooche ou Altamahaw,
Patriarcas sentam-se no jantar com filhos, netos e bisnetos.
Em paredes de adobe, em tendas de lona, ​​caçadores de descanso e caçadores depois.
o esporte do dia deles
A cidade dorme e o país dorme
O sono vivo pelo tempo deles, os mortos dormem pelo tempo deles,
O velho marido dorme por sua esposa e o jovem marido dorme junto a sua esposa;
E estes tendem para dentro de mim, e eu tendem para fora para eles,
E como é ser desses mais ou menos eu sou,
E destes todos e todos eu tecer a canção de mim mesmo.
Independentemente dos outros, sempre respeitoso com os outros,
Materna e paterna, criança e homem
Coisas com o material que é grosso e coisas com as coisas.
Um dos Nação de muitas nações, o menor o mesmo e o.
maior o mesmo,
Um sulista logo como um nortista, um plantador indiferente e.
hospitaleiro pelo Oconee eu vivo,
Um ianque ligava o meu próprio caminho pronto para o comércio, minhas articulações eram as mais simples.
articulações na terra e as articulações mais severas na terra,
Um Kentuckian andando pelo vale dos Elkhorn na minha pele de cervo.
leggings, um Louisianian ou georgiano,
Um barqueiro sobre lagos ou baías ou ao longo das costas, um Hoosier, Badger, Buckeye;
Em casa, com sapatos de neve Kanadian ou no mato, ou com os pescadores.
Em casa, na frota de barcos de gelo, velejando com o resto e atacando,
Em casa nas colinas de Vermont ou nos bosques do Maine, ou no.
Camarada dos Californianos, camarada dos ocidentais livres do Norte, (amando.
suas grandes proporções)
Camarada de jangadas e carvoeiros, camarada de todos que apertam as mãos.
e bem-vindo a beber e carne,
Um aprendiz com o mais simples, um professor do mais pensativo,
Um principiante que está começando a experienciar miríades de estações,
De cada matiz e casta sou eu, de todo posto e religião,
Um agricultor, mecânico, artista, cavalheiro, marinheiro, quaker,
Prisioneiro, homem de fantasia, barulhento, advogado, médico, padre.
Respire o ar mas deixe a abundância atrás de mim
E não estou preso e estou no meu lugar.
Os sóis brilhantes que vejo e os sóis escuros que não posso ver estão em seu lugar,
O palpável está em seu lugar e o impalpável está em seu lugar.)
não são originais comigo
Se eles não são seus tanto quanto meus eles não são nada, ou quase nada,
Se eles não são o enigma e a desvinculação do enigma, eles não são nada,
Se eles não estão tão próximos quanto estão distantes, não são nada.
Este é o ar comum que banha o globo.
Eu não jogo marchas apenas para vencedores aceitos, eu faço passeatas.
conquistou e matou pessoas.
Eu também digo que é bom cair, batalhas são perdidas no mesmo espírito.
em que eles são ganhos.
Eu sopro meus encaixes, meu mais alto e mais alegre para eles.
E para aqueles cujos navios de guerra afundaram no mar!
E para aqueles que afundaram no mar!
E para todos os generais que perderam compromissos e todos superaram heróis!
E os incontáveis ​​heróis desconhecidos são iguais aos maiores heróis conhecidos!
É para os ímpios exatamente como os justos, eu faço compromissos.
Eu não vou ter uma única pessoa desprezada ou deixada de lado,
A mulher, esponja e ladrão é convidada,
A escrava pesada é convidada, a venerealee é convidada;
Não haverá diferença entre eles e o resto.
Esse é o toque dos meus lábios nos seus, esse o murmúrio de saudade,
Essa profundidade e altura distantes refletem meu próprio rosto,
Essa é a mescla pensativa de mim mesmo e a saída novamente.
Bem, eu tenho, para os chuveiros de quatro meses, e a mica no.
lado de uma rocha tem.
A luz do dia surpreende? faz o twitter inicial do redstart.
através da floresta?
Eu surpreendo mais do que eles?
Eu posso não contar a todos, mas vou te contar.
Como é que extraio a força da carne que como?
Mais tempo foi perdido me ouvindo.
Esses meses são vácuos e o chão, mas chafurda e sujeira.
vai para o quarto-removido,
Eu uso meu chapéu como quiser dentro ou fora.
médicos e calculado perto,
Não encontro gordura mais doce do que paus nos meus próprios ossos.
E o bem ou o mal eu digo de mim mesmo eu digo deles.
Para mim, os objetos convergentes do universo fluem perpetuamente,
Todos estão escritos para mim e eu preciso entender o que a escrita significa.
Eu sei que esta minha órbita não pode ser varrida pela bússola de um carpinteiro,
Eu sei que não passarei como um carlacue de criança cortado com um queimado.
Eu não incomodo o meu espírito para se justificar ou ser entendido,
Eu vejo que as leis elementares nunca pedem desculpas,
(Eu acho que não me comporto mais do que o nível em que planto minha casa,
Se nenhum outro no mundo estiver ciente, eu me sentirei contente,
E se todos e cada um estiverem conscientes, sento-me contente.
E se eu chego ao meu dia de hoje ou em dez mil ou dez.
Eu posso alegremente aceitar isso agora, ou com a mesma alegria que posso esperar.
Eu rio do que você chama de dissolução,
E eu conheço a amplitude do tempo.
Os prazeres do céu estão comigo e as dores do inferno estão comigo,
O primeiro eu enxerto e aumento em mim, o último eu traduzo.
em nova língua.
E eu digo que é tão bom ser mulher quanto ser homem
E eu digo que não há nada maior que a mãe dos homens.
Nós nos esquivamos e depreciamos o suficiente
Eu mostro que tamanho é apenas desenvolvimento.
É uma ninharia, eles vão mais do que chegar lá cada um, e.
Eu chamo a terra e o mar pela metade à noite.
Noite dos ventos do sul - noite das grandes poucas estrelas!
Ainda acenando noite - noite de verão nua e louca.
Terra das árvores adormecidas e líquidas!
Terra do por do sol partido - terra das montanhas enevoadas-topt!
Terra do vítreo derramar da lua cheia apenas tingida de azul!
Terra de brilho e manchas escuras na maré do rio!
Terra do cinza límpido das nuvens mais brilhante e claro por minha causa!
Terra com cotoveladas remotas - terra rica de flores de maçã!
Sorria, para o seu amor vem.
O amor apaixonado indescritível.
Eu vejo da praia seus dedos tortos,
Eu acredito que você se recusa a voltar sem me sentir,
Devemos ter uma volta juntos, eu me despir, me apressar fora da vista da terra,
Almofada me suave, me balançar em sonolento billowy,
Me arremesse com amorosa molhada, eu posso te pagar.
O mar respira respirações amplas e convulsivas
Mar da salmoura da vida e de sepulturas ainda não preparadas,
Uivador e scooper de tempestades, mar caprichoso e delicado,
Eu sou integral com você, eu também sou de uma fase e de todas as fases.
Extendedor de amies e aqueles que dormem nos braços um do outro.
(Devo fazer minha lista de coisas na casa e pular a casa que.
da maldade também.
O mal me impulsiona e a reforma do mal me impulsiona, fico indiferente,
A minha marcha não é a marcha do descobridor de defeitos ou do rejetor,
Eu umedecer as raízes de tudo que cresceu.
Você adivinhou que as leis celestes ainda precisam ser trabalhadas e corrigidas?
Doutrina suave como ajuda constante como doutrina estável,
Pensamentos e ações do presente nosso despertar e começar cedo.
Não há melhor do que isso e agora.
A maravilha é sempre e sempre como pode haver um homem mau ou um infiel.
E o meu uma palavra do moderno, a palavra En-Masse.
Aqui ou daqui para frente é tudo a mesma coisa para mim, eu aceito o tempo absolutamente.
Só essa maravilha desconcertante mística completa tudo.
Materialismo primeiro e último imbuindo.
Buscar stonecrop mixt com cedro e ramos de lilás,
Este é o lexicógrafo, este químico, isso fez uma gramática de.
os velhos cartuchos
Esses marinheiros colocam o navio em perigosos mares desconhecidos.
Este é o geólogo, isso funciona com o scalper, e isso é um.
Seus fatos são úteis, e eles não são minha morada,
Eu, mas entrei por eles em uma área da minha morada.
E mais os lembretes da vida incontável, e da liberdade e extração,
E faça contas curtas de neutras e castrados, e favorece os homens e.
as mulheres se equipam totalmente,
E bater o gongo da revolta, e parar com os fugitivos e eles que.
conspirar e conspirar.
Turbulento, carnudo, sensual, comendo, bebendo e criando,
Nenhum sentimentalista, nenhum stander acima de homens e mulheres ou à parte deles,
Não mais modesto que imodesto.
Desaperte as portas dos batentes!
E tudo o que é feito ou dito retorna finalmente para mim.
Por Deus! Não aceitarei nada que nem todos possam ter.
em contrapartida nos mesmos termos.
Vozes das gerações intermináveis ​​de prisioneiros e escravos,
Vozes das doenças e desespero e dos ladrões e anões,
Vozes de ciclos de preparação e acréscimo,
E dos fios que conectam as estrelas, e dos úteros e dos.
E dos direitos deles os outros estão em baixo,
Do deformado, trivial, chato, tolo, desprezado,
Nevoeiro no ar, besouros rolando bolas de estrume.
Vozes de sexos e luxúrias, vozes veladas e eu removo o véu,
Vozes indecentes por mim esclarecidas e transfiguradas.
Mantenho-me tão delicado ao redor das entranhas quanto na cabeça e no coração
A cópula não é mais importante para mim do que a morte é.
Vendo, ouvindo, sentindo, são milagres e cada parte e etiqueta de mim.
O aroma desses axilas é mais fino que a oração,
Esta cabeça mais que igrejas, bíblias e todos os credos.
meu próprio corpo, ou qualquer parte dele,
Mofo translúcido de mim será você!
Bordas sombreadas e descansa, será você!
Colter masculino firme será você!
O que quer que seja para o tilth de mim, será você!
Você meu rico sangue! seu fluxo leitoso, strippings pálidos da minha vida!
Mama que pressiona contra outros seios, será você!
Meu cérebro será suas circunvizinhas ocultas!
Raiz da bandeira doce lavada! lagoa-snipe timorosa! ninho de guardada.
ovos duplicados! será você!
Mix'd feno de cabeça, barba, músculos, será você!
Engordando seiva de bordo, fibra de trigo viril, será você!
Sol tão generoso será você!
Vapores iluminando e protegendo meu rosto, será você!
Você suado riachos e orvalhos ele será você!
Ventos cujos genitais suaves se esfregam contra mim, serão vocês!
Campos musculares largos, ramos de carvalho vivo, espreguiçadeira carinhosa na minha.
caminhos sinuosos, será você!
Mãos que eu tomei, cara que eu beijei, mortal que eu já toquei,
será você.
Cada momento e tudo o que acontece me emociona com alegria,
Eu não posso dizer como meus tornozelos se dobram, nem de onde a causa do meu menor desejo,
Nem a causa da amizade que eu emito, nem a causa do.
amizade eu levo de novo.
Uma glória da manhã na minha janela me satisfaz mais do que a metafísica.
A pouca luz desvanece as sombras imensas e diáfanas,
O ar é bom para o meu paladar.
Scooting obliquamente alta e baixa.
Mares de suco brilhante sufocam o céu.
O pesado desafio do leste naquele momento sobre minha cabeça
A provocação zombeteira, Veja então se você deve ser o mestre!
Se eu não pudesse agora e sempre mandar o nascer do sol para fora de mim.
Encontramos a nossa própria alma na calma e fresca do amanhecer.
Com o rodopio da minha língua, abarco mundos e volumes de mundos.
Isso me provoca para sempre, diz sarcasticamente,
Walt você contém o suficiente, por que você não deixa transparecer?
Você não conhece o discurso de como os botões abaixo de você estão dobrados?
Esperando na escuridão, protegido pelo gelo,
A sujeira recuando diante dos meus gritos proféticos
I causas subjacentes para equilibrá-los, finalmente,
Meu conhecimento minhas partes vivas, mantendo em concordância com o significado de todas as coisas,
Felicidade, (quem quer que me ouça deixe-o sair em busca.
Englobam mundos, mas nunca tentem me envolver,
Eu me amontoo mais rápido e melhor simplesmente olhando em sua direção.
Eu carrego o plenum da prova e tudo mais na minha cara,
Com o silêncio dos meus lábios eu confundo completamente o cético.
Para obter o que eu ouço nessa música, deixar os sons contribuírem para ela.
cacho de palitos cozinhando minhas refeições,
Eu ouço o som que eu amo, o som da voz humana
Eu ouço todos os sons correndo juntos, combinados, fundidos ou seguindo,
Sons da cidade e sons da cidade, sons do dia e da noite,
Jovens falantes para aqueles que gostam deles, o riso alto de.
pessoas que trabalham em suas refeições,
A base de raiva da amizade desarticulada, os tons fracos dos doentes,
O juiz com as mãos apertadas na mesa, seus lábios pálidos pronunciando.
O heave'e'yo de estivadores que descarregam navios pelo cais, o.
abster-se dos âncoras levantadores,
O anel de alarmes, o grito de fogo, o zumbido de estrias rápidas.
Motores e carros de mangueira com timbre premonitório e luzes coloridas,
O apito a vapor, o rolo sólido do trem de carros se aproximando,
A marcha lenta jogou na cabeça da associação marchando dois e dois,
(Eles vão guardar algum cadáver, os topos da bandeira são cobertos com musselina preta.)
Eu ouço a corneta com chave, ela desliza rapidamente pelos meus ouvidos,
Ele sacode as dores loucas e doces através da minha barriga e peito.
Ah, isso realmente é música - isso combina comigo.
O orbic flex de sua boca está derramando e me enchendo cheio.
A orquestra me gira mais do que Urano voa,
Arranca tais ardores de mim que eu não sabia que possuía,
Ele me navega, eu limpo com os pés descalços, eles são lambidos pelas ondas indolentes,
Eu sou cortado por granizo amargo e bravo, eu perco meu fôlego,
Íngreme em meio a morfina mel, minha traqueia estrangulada em falsas da morte,
Finalmente deixo de novo sentir o quebra-cabeça dos quebra-cabeças,
E isso nós chamamos de ser.
(Volta e volta nós vamos, todos nós, e sempre voltamos para lá)
Se nada mais se desenvolvesse, o quahaug em sua casca era suficiente.
Eu tenho condutores instantâneos em cima de mim, quer eu passe ou pare,
Eles apreendem cada objeto e conduzem-no inofensivamente através de mim.
Tocar minha pessoa na de outra pessoa é o máximo que posso suportar.
Chamas e éter fazendo uma corrida para minhas veias,
Ponto traiçoeiro de mim chegando e lotando para ajudá-los,
Minha carne e sangue jogando raios para atacar o que é dificilmente.
diferente de mim mesmo
Por todos os lados, provocadores provadores enrijecendo meus membros,
Esforçando o úbere do meu coração pelo gotejamento retido,
Se comportando licenciosamente para mim, não tendo nenhuma negação,
Me privando do meu melhor como para um propósito,
Desabotoando minhas roupas, segurando-me pela cintura nua,
Iludindo minha confusão com a calma da luz do sol e campos de pasto,
Imodestamente deslizando os outros sentidos,
Eles subornaram para trocar com o toque e ir pastar nas bordas de mim,
Nenhuma consideração, nenhuma consideração pela minha força de drenagem ou minha raiva,
Buscando o resto do rebanho para apreciá-los um pouco,
Então, tudo se unindo para ficar em um promontório e me preocupar.
Eles me deixaram impotente para um marauder vermelho,
Todos eles vêm ao promontório para testemunhar e ajudar contra mim.
Eu falo descontroladamente, eu perdi a minha inteligência, eu e mais ninguém sou o.
Eu fui primeiro ao promontório, minhas próprias mãos me carregaram até lá.
Desprenda suas comportas, você é demais para mim.
Isso fez você sofrer assim, me deixando?
Rich showering rain, and recompense richer afterward.
Landscapes projected masculine, full-sized and golden.
They neither hasten their own delivery nor resist it,
They do not need the obstetric forceps of the surgeon,
The insignificant is as big to me as any,
(What is less or more than a touch?)
The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul.
Only what nobody denies is so.)
I believe the soggy clods shall become lovers and lamps,
And a compend of compends is the meat of a man or woman,
And a summit and flower there is the feeling they have for each other,
And they are to branch boundlessly out of that lesson until it.
And until one and all shall delight us, and we them.
And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg.
And the tree-toad is a chef-d'oeuvre for the highest,
And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven,
And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery,
And the cow crunching with depress'd head surpasses any statue,
And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels.
grains, esculent roots,
And am stucco'd with quadrupeds and birds all over,
And have distanced what is behind me for good reasons,
But call any thing back again when I desire it.
In vain the plutonic rocks send their old heat against my approach,
In vain the mastodon retreats beneath its own powder'd bones,
In vain objects stand leagues off and assume manifold shapes,
In vain the ocean settling in hollows and the great monsters lying low,
In vain the buzzard houses herself with the sky,
In vain the snake slides through the creepers and logs,
In vain the elk takes to the inner passes of the woods,
In vain the razor-bill'd auk sails far north to Labrador,
I follow quickly, I ascend to the nest in the fissure of the cliff.
I stand and look at them long and long.
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins,
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God,
Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of.
Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of.
Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth.
They bring me tokens of myself, they evince them plainly in their.
Did I pass that way huge times ago and negligently drop them?
Gathering and showing more always and with velocity,
Infinite and omnigenous, and the like of these among them,
Not too exclusive toward the reachers of my remembrancers,
Picking out here one that I love, and now go with him on brotherly terms.
Head high in the forehead, wide between the ears,
Limbs glossy and supple, tail dusting the ground,
Eyes full of sparkling wickedness, ears finely cut, flexibly moving.
His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure as we race around and return.
Why do I need your paces when I myself out-gallop them?
Even as I stand or sit passing faster than you.
What I guess'd when I loaf'd on the grass,
What I guess'd while I lay alone in my bed,
And again as I walk'd the beach under the paling stars of the morning.
I skirt sierras, my palms cover continents,
I am afoot with my vision.
Along the ruts of the turnpike, along the dry gulch and rivulet bed,
Weeding my onion-patch or hosing rows of carrots and parsnips,
crossing savannas, trailing in forests,
Prospecting, gold-digging, girdling the trees of a new purchase,
Scorch'd ankle-deep by the hot sand, hauling my boat down the.
Where the panther walks to and fro on a limb overhead, where the.
buck turns furiously at the hunter,
Where the rattlesnake suns his flabby length on a rock, where the.
otter is feeding on fish,
Where the alligator in his tough pimples sleeps by the bayou,
Where the black bear is searching for roots or honey, where the.
beaver pats the mud with his paddle-shaped tall;
Over the growing sugar, over the yellow-flower'd cotton plant, over.
the rice in its low moist field,
Over the sharp-peak'd farm house, with its scallop'd scum and.
slender shoots from the gutters,
Over the western persimmon, over the long-leav'd corn, over the.
delicate blue-flower flax,
Over the white and brown buckwheat, a hummer and buzzer there with.
Over the dusky green of the rye as it ripples and shades in the breeze;
Scaling mountains, pulling myself cautiously up, holding on by low.
Walking the path worn in the grass and beat through the leaves of the brush,
Where the quail is whistling betwixt the woods and the wheat-lot,
Where the bat flies in the Seventh-month eve, where the great.
goldbug drops through the dark,
Where the brook puts out of the roots of the old tree and flows to.
Where cattle stand and shake away flies with the tremulous.
shuddering of their hides,
Where the cheese-cloth hangs in the kitchen, where andirons straddle.
the hearth-slab, where cobwebs fall in festoons from the rafters;
Where trip-hammers crash, where the press is whirling its cylinders,
Wherever the human heart beats with terrible throes under its ribs,
Where the pear-shaped balloon is floating aloft, (floating in it.
myself and looking composedly down,)
Where the life-car is drawn on the slip-noose, where the heat.
hatches pale-green eggs in the dented sand,
Where the she-whale swims with her calf and never forsakes it,
Where the steam-ship trails hind-ways its long pennant of smoke,
Where the fin of the shark cuts like a black chip out of the water,
Where the half-burn'd brig is riding on unknown currents,
Where shells grow to her slimy deck, where the dead are corrupting below;
Where the dense-starr'd flag is borne at the head of the regiments,
Approaching Manhattan up by the long-stretching island,
Under Niagara, the cataract falling like a veil over my countenance,
Upon a door-step, upon the horse-block of hard wood outside,
Upon the race-course, or enjoying picnics or jigs or a good game of.
At he-festivals, with blackguard gibes, ironical license,
bull-dances, drinking, laughter,
At the cider-mill tasting the sweets of the brown mash, sucking the.
juice through a straw,
At apple-peelings wanting kisses for all the red fruit I find,
At musters, beach-parties, friendly bees, huskings, house-raisings;
Where the mocking-bird sounds his delicious gurgles, cackles,
Where the hay-rick stands in the barn-yard, where the dry-stalks are.
scatter'd, where the brood-cow waits in the hovel,
Where the bull advances to do his masculine work, where the stud to.
the mare, where the cock is treading the hen,
Where the heifers browse, where geese nip their food with short jerks,
Where sun-down shadows lengthen over the limitless and lonesome prairie,
Where herds of buffalo make a crawling spread of the square miles.
Where the humming-bird shimmers, where the neck of the long-lived.
swan is curving and winding,
Where the laughing-gull scoots by the shore, where she laughs her.
Where bee-hives range on a gray bench in the garden half hid by the.
Where band-neck'd partridges roost in a ring on the ground with.
their heads out,
Where burial coaches enter the arch'd gates of a cemetery,
Where winter wolves bark amid wastes of snow and icicled trees,
Where the yellow-crown'd heron comes to the edge of the marsh at.
night and feeds upon small crabs,
Where the splash of swimmers and divers cools the warm noon,
Where the katy-did works her chromatic reed on the walnut-tree over.
Through patches of citrons and cucumbers with silver-wired leaves,
Through the salt-lick or orange glade, or under conical firs,
Through the gymnasium, through the curtain'd saloon, through the.
office or public hall;
Pleas'd with the native and pleas'd with the foreign, pleas'd with.
the new and old,
Pleas'd with the homely woman as well as the handsome,
Pleas'd with the quakeress as she puts off her bonnet and talks melodiously,
Pleas'd with the tune of the choir of the whitewash'd church,
Pleas'd with the earnest words of the sweating Methodist preacher,
impress'd seriously at the camp-meeting;
Looking in at the shop-windows of Broadway the whole forenoon,
flatting the flesh of my nose on the thick plate glass,
Wandering the same afternoon with my face turn'd up to the clouds,
or down a lane or along the beach,
My right and left arms round the sides of two friends, and I in the middle;
Coming home with the silent and dark-cheek'd bush-boy, (behind me.
he rides at the drape of the day,)
Far from the settlements studying the print of animals' feet, or the.
By the cot in the hospital reaching lemonade to a feverish patient,
Nigh the coffin'd corpse when all is still, examining with a candle;
Voyaging to every port to dicker and adventure,
Hurrying with the modern crowd as eager and fickle as any,
Hot toward one I hate, ready in my madness to knife him,
Solitary at midnight in my back yard, my thoughts gone from me a long while,
Walking the old hills of Judaea with the beautiful gentle God by my side,
Speeding through space, speeding through heaven and the stars,
Speeding amid the seven satellites and the broad ring, and the.
diameter of eighty thousand miles,
Speeding with tail'd meteors, throwing fire-balls like the rest,
Carrying the crescent child that carries its own full mother in its belly,
Storming, enjoying, planning, loving, cautioning,
Backing and filling, appearing and disappearing,
I tread day and night such roads.
And look at quintillions ripen'd and look at quintillions green.
My course runs below the soundings of plummets.
No guard can shut me off, no law prevent me.
My messengers continually cruise away or bring their returns to me.
pike-pointed staff, clinging to topples of brittle and blue.
I take my place late at night in the crow's-nest,
We sail the arctic sea, it is plenty light enough,
Through the clear atmosphere I stretch around on the wonderful beauty,
The enormous masses of ice pass me and I pass them, the scenery is.
plain in all directions,
The white-topt mountains show in the distance, I fling out my.
fancies toward them,
We are approaching some great battle-field in which we are soon to.
We pass the colossal outposts of the encampment, we pass with still.
feet and caution,
Or we are entering by the suburbs some vast and ruin'd city,
The blocks and fallen architecture more than all the living cities.
I turn the bridgroom out of bed and stay with the bride myself,
I tighten her all night to my thighs and lips.
They fetch my man's body up dripping and drown'd.
The courage of present times and all times,
How the skipper saw the crowded and rudderless wreck of the.
steamship, and Death chasing it up and down the storm,
How he knuckled tight and gave not back an inch, and was faithful of.
days and faithful of nights,
And chalk'd in large letters on a board, Be of good cheer, we will.
How he follow'd with them and tack'd with them three days and.
would not give it up,
How he saved the drifting company at last,
How the lank loose-gown'd women look'd when boated from the.
side of their prepared graves,
How the silent old-faced infants and the lifted sick, and the.
sharp-lipp'd unshaved men;
All this I swallow, it tastes good, I like it well, it becomes mine,
I am the man, I suffer'd, I was there.
The mother of old, condemn'd for a witch, burnt with dry wood, her.
children gazing on,
The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the fence,
blowing, cover'd with sweat,
The twinges that sting like needles his legs and neck, the murderous.
buckshot and the bullets,
All these I feel or am.
Hell and despair are upon me, crack and again crack the marksmen,
I clutch the rails of the fence, my gore dribs, thinn'd with the.
ooze of my skin,
I fall on the weeds and stones,
The riders spur their unwilling horses, haul close,
Taunt my dizzy ears and beat me violently over the head with whip-stocks.
I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the.
My hurts turn livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe.
Tumbling walls buried me in their debris,
Heat and smoke I inspired, I heard the yelling shouts of my comrades,
I heard the distant click of their picks and shovels,
They have clear'd the beams away, they tenderly lift me forth.
Painless after all I lie exhausted but not so unhappy,
White and beautiful are the faces around me, the heads are bared.
of their fire-caps,
The kneeling crowd fades with the light of the torches.
They show as the dial or move as the hands of me, I am the clock myself.
I am there again.
Again the attacking cannon, mortars,
Again to my listening ears the cannon responsive.
The cries, curses, roar, the plaudits for well-aim'd shots,
The ambulanza slowly passing trailing its red drip,
Workmen searching after damages, making indispensable repairs,
The fall of grenades through the rent roof, the fan-shaped explosion,
The whizz of limbs, heads, stone, wood, iron, high in the air.
He gasps through the clot Mind not me--mind--the entrenchments.
(I tell not the fall of Alamo,
Not one escaped to tell the fall of Alamo,
The hundred and fifty are dumb yet at Alamo,)
'Tis the tale of the murder in cold blood of four hundred and twelve.
Nine hundred lives out of the surrounding enemies, nine times their.
number, was the price they took in advance,
Their colonel was wounded and their ammunition gone,
They treated for an honorable capitulation, receiv'd writing and.
seal, gave up their arms and march'd back prisoners of war.
Matchless with horse, rifle, song, supper, courtship,
Large, turbulent, generous, handsome, proud, and affectionate,
Bearded, sunburnt, drest in the free costume of hunters,
Not a single one over thirty years of age.
massacred, it was beautiful early summer,
The work commenced about five o'clock and was over by eight.
Some made a mad and helpless rush, some stood stark and straight,
A few fell at once, shot in the temple or heart, the living and dead.
The maim'd and mangled dug in the dirt, the new-comers saw them there,
Some half-kill'd attempted to crawl away,
These were despatch'd with bayonets or batter'd with the blunts of muskets,
A youth not seventeen years old seiz'd his assassin till two more.
came to release him,
The three were all torn and cover'd with the boy's blood.
That is the tale of the murder of the four hundred and twelve young men.
Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars?
List to the yarn, as my grandmother's father the sailor told it to me.
His was the surly English pluck, and there is no tougher or truer,
and never was, and never will be;
Along the lower'd eve he came horribly raking us.
My captain lash'd fast with his own hands.
On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire,
killing all around and blowing up overhead.
Ten o'clock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the gain,
and five feet of water reported,
The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after-hold.
to give them a chance for themselves.
They see so many strange faces they do not know whom to trust.
The other asks if we demand quarter?
If our colors are struck and the fighting done?
We have not struck, he composedly cries, we have just begun our part.
of the fighting.
One is directed by the captain himself against the enemy's main-mast,
Two well serv'd with grape and canister silence his musketry and.
clear his decks.
They hold out bravely during the whole of the action.
The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the powder-magazine.
He is not hurried, his voice is neither high nor low,
His eyes give more light to us than our battle-lanterns.
Two great hulls motionless on the breast of the darkness,
Our vessel riddled and slowly sinking, preparations to pass to the.
one we have conquer'd,
The captain on the quarter-deck coldly giving his orders through a.
countenance white as a sheet,
Near by the corpse of the child that serv'd in the cabin,
The dead face of an old salt with long white hair and carefully.
The flames spite of all that can be done flickering aloft and below,
The husky voices of the two or three officers yet fit for duty,
Formless stacks of bodies and bodies by themselves, dabs of flesh.
upon the masts and spars,
Cut of cordage, dangle of rigging, slight shock of the soothe of waves,
Black and impassive guns, litter of powder-parcels, strong scent,
A few large stars overhead, silent and mournful shining,
Delicate sniffs of sea-breeze, smells of sedgy grass and fields by.
the shore, death-messages given in charge to survivors,
The hiss of the surgeon's knife, the gnawing teeth of his saw,
Wheeze, cluck, swash of falling blood, short wild scream, and long,
dull, tapering groan,
These so, these irretrievable.
In at the conquer'd doors they crowd! I am possess'd!
Embody all presences outlaw'd or suffering,
See myself in prison shaped like another man,
And feel the dull unintermitted pain.
It is I let out in the morning and barr'd at night.
and walk by his side,
(I am less the jolly one there, and more the silent one with sweat.
on my twitching lips.)
My face is ash-color'd, my sinews gnarl, away from me people retreat.
I project my hat, sit shame-faced, and beg.
Somehow I have been stunn'd. Stand back!
Give me a little time beyond my cuff'd head, slumbers, dreams, gaping,
I discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake.
That I could forget the trickling tears and the blows of the.
bludgeons and hammers!
That I could look with a separate look on my own crucifixion and.
I resume the overstaid fraction,
The grave of rock multiplies what has been confided to it, or to any graves,
Corpses rise, gashes heal, fastenings roll from me.
Inland and sea-coast we go, and pass all boundary lines,
Our swift ordinances on their way over the whole earth,
The blossoms we wear in our hats the growth of thousands of years.
Continue your annotations, continue your questionings.
Is he waiting for civilization, or past it and mastering it?
Is he from the Mississippi country? Iowa, Oregon, California?
The mountains? prairie-life, bush-life? or sailor from the sea?
They desire he should like them, touch them, speak to them, stay with them.
head, laughter, and naivete,
Slow-stepping feet, common features, common modes and emanations,
They descend in new forms from the tips of his fingers,
They are wafted with the odor of his body or breath, they fly out of.
the glance of his eyes.
You light surfaces only, I force surfaces and depths also.
Say, old top-knot, what do you want?
And might tell what it is in me and what it is in you, but cannot,
And might tell that pining I have, that pulse of my nights and days.
When I give I give myself.
Open your scarf'd chops till I blow grit within you,
Spread your palms and lift the flaps of your pockets,
I am not to be denied, I compel, I have stores plenty and to spare,
And any thing I have I bestow.
You can do nothing and be nothing but what I will infold you.
On his right cheek I put the family kiss,
And in my soul I swear I never will deny him.
(This day I am jetting the stuff of far more arrogant republics.)
Turn the bed-clothes toward the foot of the bed,
Let the physician and the priest go home.
O despairer, here is my neck,
By God, you shall not go down! hang your whole weight upon me.
Every room of the house do I fill with an arm'd force,
Lovers of me, bafflers of graves.
Not doubt, not decease shall dare to lay finger upon you,
I have embraced you, and henceforth possess you to myself,
And when you rise in the morning you will find what I tell you is so.
And for strong upright men I bring yet more needed help.
Heard it and heard it of several thousand years;
It is middling well as far as it goes--but is that all?
Outbidding at the start the old cautious hucksters,
Taking myself the exact dimensions of Jehovah,
Lithographing Kronos, Zeus his son, and Hercules his grandson,
Buying drafts of Osiris, Isis, Belus, Brahma, Buddha,
In my portfolio placing Manito loose, Allah on a leaf, the crucifix.
With Odin and the hideous-faced Mexitli and every idol and image,
Taking them all for what they are worth and not a cent more,
Admitting they were alive and did the work of their days,
(They bore mites as for unfledg'd birds who have now to rise and fly.
and sing for themselves,)
Accepting the rough deific sketches to fill out better in myself,
bestowing them freely on each man and woman I see,
Discovering as much or more in a framer framing a house,
Putting higher claims for him there with his roll'd-up sleeves.
driving the mallet and chisel,
Not objecting to special revelations, considering a curl of smoke or.
a hair on the back of my hand just as curious as any revelation,
Lads ahold of fire-engines and hook-and-ladder ropes no less to me.
than the gods of the antique wars,
Minding their voices peal through the crash of destruction,
Their brawny limbs passing safe over charr'd laths, their white.
foreheads whole and unhurt out of the flames;
By the mechanic's wife with her babe at her nipple interceding for.
every person born,
Three scythes at harvest whizzing in a row from three lusty angels.
with shirts bagg'd out at their waists,
The snag-tooth'd hostler with red hair redeeming sins past and to come,
Selling all he possesses, traveling on foot to fee lawyers for his.
brother and sit by him while he is tried for forgery;
What was strewn in the amplest strewing the square rod about me, and.
not filling the square rod then,
The bull and the bug never worshipp'd half enough,
Dung and dirt more admirable than was dream'd,
The supernatural of no account, myself waiting my time to be one of.
The day getting ready for me when I shall do as much good as the.
best, and be as prodigious;
By my life-lumps! becoming already a creator,
Putting myself here and now to the ambush'd womb of the shadows.
My own voice, orotund sweeping and final.
Come my boys and girls, my women, household and intimates,
Now the performer launches his nerve, he has pass'd his prelude on.
the reeds within.
climax and close.
Music rolls, but not from the organ,
Folks are around me, but they are no household of mine.
Ever the eaters and drinkers, ever the upward and downward sun, ever.
the air and the ceaseless tides,
Ever myself and my neighbors, refreshing, wicked, real,
Ever the old inexplicable query, ever that thorn'd thumb, that.
breath of itches and thirsts,
Ever the vexer's hoot! hoot! till we find where the sly one hides.
and bring him forth,
Ever love, ever the sobbing liquid of life,
Ever the bandage under the chin, ever the trestles of death.
To feed the greed of the belly the brains liberally spooning,
Tickets buying, taking, selling, but in to the feast never once going,
Many sweating, ploughing, thrashing, and then the chaff for payment.
A few idly owning, and they the wheat continually claiming.
Whatever interests the rest interests me, politics, wars, markets,
The mayor and councils, banks, tariffs, steamships, factories,
stocks, stores, real estate and personal estate.
I am aware who they are, (they are positively not worms or fleas,)
I acknowledge the duplicates of myself, the weakest and shallowest.
is deathless with me,
What I do and say the same waits for them,
Every thought that flounders in me the same flounders in them.
Know my omnivorous lines and must not write any less,
And would fetch you whoever you are flush with myself.
But abruptly to question, to leap beyond yet nearer bring;
This printed and bound book--but the printer and the.
The well-taken photographs--but your wife or friend close and solid.
The black ship mail'd with iron, her mighty guns in her turrets--but.
the pluck of the captain and engineers?
In the houses the dishes and fare and furniture--but the host and.
hostess, and the look out of their eyes?
The sky up there--yet here or next door, or across the way?
The saints and sages in history--but you yourself?
Sermons, creeds, theology--but the fathomless human brain,
And what is reason? and what is love? and what is life?
My faith is the greatest of faiths and the least of faiths,
Enclosing worship ancient and modern and all between ancient and modern,
Believing I shall come again upon the earth after five thousand years,
Waiting responses from oracles, honoring the gods, saluting the sun,
Making a fetich of the first rock or stump, powowing with sticks in.
the circle of obis,
Helping the llama or brahmin as he trims the lamps of the idols,
Dancing yet through the streets in a phallic procession, rapt and.
austere in the woods a gymnosophist,
Drinking mead from the skull-cap, to Shastas and Vedas admirant,
minding the Koran,
Walking the teokallis, spotted with gore from the stone and knife,
beating the serpent-skin drum,
Accepting the Gospels, accepting him that was crucified, knowing.
assuredly that he is divine,
To the mass kneeling or the puritan's prayer rising, or sitting.
patiently in a pew,
Ranting and frothing in my insane crisis, or waiting dead-like till.
my spirit arouses me,
Looking forth on pavement and land, or outside of pavement and land,
Belonging to the winders of the circuit of circuits.
man leaving charges before a journey.
Frivolous, sullen, moping, angry, affected, dishearten'd, atheistical,
I know every one of you, I know the sea of torment, doubt, despair.
How they contort rapid as lightning, with spasms and spouts of blood!
I take my place among you as much as among any,
The past is the push of you, me, all, precisely the same,
And what is yet untried and afterward is for you, me, all, precisely.
But I know it will in its turn prove sufficient, and cannot fail.
single one can it fall.
Nor the young woman who died and was put by his side,
Nor the little child that peep'd in at the door, and then drew back.
and was never seen again,
Nor the old man who has lived without purpose, and feels it with.
bitterness worse than gall,
Nor him in the poor house tubercled by rum and the bad disorder,
Nor the numberless slaughter'd and wreck'd, nor the brutish koboo.
call'd the ordure of humanity,
Nor the sacs merely floating with open mouths for food to slip in,
Nor any thing in the earth, or down in the oldest graves of the earth,
Nor any thing in the myriads of spheres, nor the myriads of myriads.
that inhabit them,
Nor the present, nor the least wisp that is known.
I launch all men and women forward with me into the Unknown.
There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them.
And other births will bring us richness and variety.
That which fills its period and place is equal to any.
I am sorry for you, they are not murderous or jealous upon me,
All has been gentle with me, I keep no account with lamentation,
(What have I to do with lamentation?)
On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches between the steps,
All below duly travel'd, and still I mount and mount.
Afar down I see the huge first Nothing, I know I was even there,
I waited unseen and always, and slept through the lethargic mist,
And took my time, and took no hurt from the fetid carbon.
Faithful and friendly the arms that have help'd me.
For room to me stars kept aside in their own rings,
They sent influences to look after what was to hold me.
My embryo has never been torpid, nothing could overlay it.
The long slow strata piled to rest it on,
Vast vegetables gave it sustenance,
Monstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths and deposited it.
Now on this spot I stand with my robust soul.
O manhood, balanced, florid and full.
Crowding my lips, thick in the pores of my skin,
Jostling me through streets and public halls, coming naked to me at night,
Crying by day, Ahoy! from the rocks of the river, swinging and.
chirping over my head,
Calling my name from flower-beds, vines, tangled underbrush,
Lighting on every moment of my life,
Bussing my body with soft balsamic busses,
Noiselessly passing handfuls out of their hearts and giving them to be mine.
after and out of itself,
And the dark hush promulges as much as any.
And all I see multiplied as high as I can cipher edge but the rim of.
the farther systems.
Outward and outward and forever outward.
He joins with his partners a group of superior circuit,
And greater sets follow, making specks of the greatest inside them.
If I, you, and the worlds, and all beneath or upon their surfaces,
were this moment reduced back to a pallid float, it would.
not avail the long run,
We should surely bring up again where we now stand,
And surely go as much farther, and then farther and farther.
not hazard the span or make it impatient,
They are but parts, any thing is but a part.
Count ever so much, there is limitless time around that.
The Lord will be there and wait till I come on perfect terms,
The great Camerado, the lover true for whom I pine will be there.
never will be measured.
My signs are a rain-proof coat, good shoes, and a staff cut from the woods,
No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair,
I have no chair, no church, no philosophy,
I lead no man to a dinner-table, library, exchange,
But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a knoll,
My left hand hooking you round the waist,
My right hand pointing to landscapes of continents and the public road.
You must travel it for yourself.
Perhaps you have been on it since you were born and did not know,
Perhaps it is everywhere on water and on land.
Wonderful cities and free nations we shall fetch as we go.
And in due time you shall repay the same service to me,
For after we start we never lie by again.
And I said to my spirit When we become the enfolders of those orbs,
and the pleasure and knowledge of every thing in them, shall we.
be fill'd and satisfied then?
And my spirit said No, we but level that lift to pass and continue beyond.
I answer that I cannot answer, you must find out for yourself.
Here are biscuits to eat and here is milk to drink,
But as soon as you sleep and renew yourself in sweet clothes, I kiss you.
with a good-by kiss and open the gate for your egress hence.
Now I wash the gum from your eyes,
You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every.
moment of your life.
Now I will you to be a bold swimmer,
To jump off in the midst of the sea, rise again, nod to me, shout,
and laughingly dash with your hair.
He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own proves the width of my own,
He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher.
but in his own right,
Wicked rather than virtuous out of conformity or fear,
Fond of his sweetheart, relishing well his steak,
Unrequited love or a slight cutting him worse than sharp steel cuts,
First-rate to ride, to fight, to hit the bull's eye, to sail a.
skiff, to sing a song or play on the banjo,
Preferring scars and the beard and faces pitted with small-pox over.
And those well-tann'd to those that keep out of the sun.
I follow you whoever you are from the present hour,
My words itch at your ears till you understand them.
I wait for a boat,
(It is you talking just as much as myself, I act as the tongue of you,
Tied in your mouth, in mine it begins to be loosen'd.)
And I swear I will never translate myself at all, only to him or her.
who privately stays with me in the open air.
The nearest gnat is an explanation, and a drop or motion of waves key,
The maul, the oar, the hand-saw, second my words.
But roughs and little children better than they.
The woodman that takes his axe and jug with him shall take me with.
The farm-boy ploughing in the field feels good at the sound of my voice,
In vessels that sail my words sail, I go with fishermen and seamen.
On the night ere the pending battle many seek me, and I do not fail them,
On that solemn night (it may be their last) those that know me seek me.
My face rubs to the hunter's face when he lies down alone in his blanket,
The driver thinking of me does not mind the jolt of his wagon,
The young mother and old mother comprehend me,
The girl and the wife rest the needle a moment and forget where they are,
They and all would resume what I have told them.
And I have said that the body is not more than the soul,
And nothing, not God, is greater to one than one's self is,
And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own.
funeral drest in his shroud,
And I or you pocketless of a dime may purchase the pick of the earth,
And to glance with an eye or show a bean in its pod confounds the.
learning of all times,
And there is no trade or employment but the young man following it.
may become a hero,
And there is no object so soft but it makes a hub for the wheel'd universe,
And I say to any man or woman, Let your soul stand cool and composed.
before a million universes.
For I who am curious about each am not curious about God,
(No array of terms can say how much I am at peace about God and.
Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself.
I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and each moment then,
In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass,
I find letters from God dropt in the street, and every one is sign'd.
And I leave them where they are, for I know that wheresoe'er I go,
Others will punctually come for ever and ever.
try to alarm me.
I see the elder-hand pressing receiving supporting,
I recline by the sills of the exquisite flexible doors,
And mark the outlet, and mark the relief and escape.
I smell the white roses sweet-scented and growing,
I reach to the leafy lips, I reach to the polish'd breasts of melons.
(No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.)
O suns--O grass of graves--O perpetual transfers and promotions,
If you do not say any thing how can I say any thing?
Of the moon that descends the steeps of the soughing twilight,
Toss, sparkles of day and dusk--toss on the black stems that decay.
Toss to the moaning gibberish of the dry limbs.
I perceive that the ghastly glimmer is noonday sunbeams reflected,
And debouch to the steady and central from the offspring great or small.
I sleep--I sleep long.
It is not in any dictionary, utterance, symbol.
To it the creation is the friend whose embracing awakes me.
It is not chaos or death--it is form, union, plan--it is eternal.
life--it is Happiness.
And proceed to fill my next fold of the future.
Look in my face while I snuff the sidle of evening,
(Talk honestly, no one else hears you, and I stay only a minute longer.)
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)
Who wishes to walk with me?
and my loitering.
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.
It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow'd wilds,
It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.
DayPoems Poem No. 1900.
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Simple option trading formulas by billy williams

Dois grandes anúncios hoje!
Em primeiro lugar, acabamos de lançar uma demo gratuita na web para o Yeah Jam Fury: UME on Newgrounds! Agora você não tem desculpa para não dar uma chance ao nosso maluco jogo de plataforma de quebra-cabeça. Você pode jogar aqui:
Em seguida, você quer ganhar um cartão Amazon eGift de US $ 100 e mais? Bem, você está com sorte! Hoje nós estamos anunciando o início de uma competição de 1 mês de duração para o Yeah Builder! (E qualquer um pode participar gratuitamente graças à demonstração!)
Nós o apelidamos: o Concurso Construtor de Fúria da Construtora Stage da Sra. Carrot!
A partir de agora até 16 de março de 2018, aceitaremos seus estágios personalizados exportados do criador de palco totalmente desbloqueado temporariamente disponível nas versões demo comerciais do jogo. Esta é a oportunidade perfeita para exercitar suas habilidades de design de jogos e provar que você é o melhor arquiteto de palco para o Yeah Jam Fury no mundo!
Vamos julgar por 3 categorias, com um vencedor para cada uma:
LIGA Artística / YEAH (Quão legal de uma foto você fez) LIGA ATLÉTICA / JAM (Quão agitado é) Quebra-cabeça / LIGA DE FÚRIA (Quão difícil é)
Os vencedores de cada categoria receberão todos os itens a seguir:
$ 100 Amazon eGift Card Uma chave de download do Steam para Yeah Jam Fury: U, eu, todo mundo! Downloads digitais dos álbuns YJF 2012 e YJFUME Um pôster de alta resolução de uma manga real! (ou imagem digital equivalente de uma manga para residentes fora dos EUA)

Song of Myself.
By Walt Whitman.
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their.
parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.
Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,
I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,
Nature without check with original energy.
I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it,
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.
distillation, it is odorless,
It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,
I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.
Echoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine,
My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing.
of blood and air through my lungs,
The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and.
dark-color'd sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,
A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms,
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag,
The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields.
The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising.
from bed and meeting the sun.
Have you practis'd so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions.
You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through.
the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books,
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.
beginning and the end,
But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.
Nor any more youth or age than there is now,
And will never be any more perfection than there is now,
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.
Always the procreant urge of the world.
increase, always sex,
Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life.
To elaborate is no avail, learn'd and unlearn'd feel that it is so.
entretied, braced in the beams,
Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical,
I and this mystery here we stand.
Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn.
Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they.
discuss I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself.
Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be.
less familiar than the rest.
As the hugging and loving bed-fellow sleeps at my side through the night,
and withdraws at the peep of the day with stealthy tread,
Leaving me baskets cover'd with white towels swelling the house with.
Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my eyes,
That they turn from gazing after and down the road,
And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent,
Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is ahead?
People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and.
city I live in, or the nation,
The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new,
My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues,
The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love,
The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss.
or lack of money, or depressions or exaltations,
Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news,
the fitful events;
These come to me days and nights and go from me again,
But they are not the Me myself.
Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary,
Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest,
Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next,
Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it.
linguists and contenders,
I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait.
And you must not be abased to the other.
Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not.
Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.
How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn'd over upon me,
And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue.
to my bare-stript heart,
And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you held my feet.
all the argument of the earth,
And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own,
And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own,
And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women.
my sisters and lovers,
And that a kelson of the creation is love,
And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields,
And brown ants in the little wells beneath them,
And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap'd stones, elder, mullein and.
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see.
and remark, and say Whose?
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I.
receive them the same.
It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them,
It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out.
of their mothers' laps,
And here you are the mothers' laps.
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing.
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken.
soon out of their laps.
And what do you think has become of the women and children?
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the.
end to arrest it,
And ceas'd the moment life appear'd.
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.
I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.
am not contain'd between my hat and boots,
And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good,
The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good.
I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and.
fathomless as myself,
(They do not know how immortal, but I know.)
For me those that have been boys and that love women,
For me the man that is proud and feels how it stings to be slighted,
For me the sweet-heart and the old maid, for me mothers and the.
mothers of mothers,
For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears,
For me children and the begetters of children.
I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no,
And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be shaken away.
I lift the gauze and look a long time, and silently brush away flies.
I peeringly view them from the top.
I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol.
The heavy omnibus, the driver with his interrogating thumb, the.
clank of the shod horses on the granite floor,
The snow-sleighs, clinking, shouted jokes, pelts of snow-balls,
The hurrahs for popular favorites, the fury of rous'd mobs,
The flap of the curtain'd litter, a sick man inside borne to the hospital,
The meeting of enemies, the sudden oath, the blows and fall,
The excited crowd, the policeman with his star quickly working his.
passage to the centre of the crowd,
The impassive stones that receive and return so many echoes,
What groans of over-fed or half-starv'd who fall sunstruck or in fits,
What exclamations of women taken suddenly who hurry home and.
give birth to babes,
What living and buried speech is always vibrating here, what howls.
restrain'd by decorum,
Arrests of criminals, slights, adulterous offers made, acceptances,
rejections with convex lips,
I mind them or the show or resonance of them--I come and I depart.
The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn wagon,
The clear light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged,
The armfuls are pack'd to the sagging mow.
I felt its soft jolts, one leg reclined on the other,
I jump from the cross-beams and seize the clover and timothy,
And roll head over heels and tangle my hair full of wisps.
Wandering amazed at my own lightness and glee,
In the late afternoon choosing a safe spot to pass the night,
Kindling a fire and broiling the fresh-kill'd game,
Falling asleep on the gather'd leaves with my dog and gun by my side.
My eyes settle the land, I bend at her prow or shout joyously from the deck.
I tuck'd my trowser-ends in my boots and went and had a good time;
You should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle.
the bride was a red girl,
Her father and his friends sat near cross-legged and dumbly smoking,
they had moccasins to their feet and large thick blankets.
hanging from their shoulders,
On a bank lounged the trapper, he was drest mostly in skins, his luxuriant.
beard and curls protected his neck, he held his bride by the hand,
She had long eyelashes, her head was bare, her coarse straight locks.
descended upon her voluptuous limbs and reach'd to her feet.
I heard his motions crackling the twigs of the woodpile,
Through the swung half-door of the kitchen I saw him limpsy and weak,
And went where he sat on a log and led him in and assured him,
And brought water and fill'd a tub for his sweated body and bruis'd feet,
And gave him a room that enter'd from my own, and gave him some.
coarse clean clothes,
And remember perfectly well his revolving eyes and his awkwardness,
And remember putting piasters on the galls of his neck and ankles;
He staid with me a week before he was recuperated and pass'd north,
I had him sit next me at table, my fire-lock lean'd in the corner.
Twenty-eight young men and all so friendly;
Twenty-eight years of womanly life and all so lonesome.
She hides handsome and richly drest aft the blinds of the window.
Ah the homeliest of them is beautiful to her.
You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room.
The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them.
Little streams pass'd all over their bodies.
It descended tremblingly from their temples and ribs.
sun, they do not ask who seizes fast to them,
They do not know who puffs and declines with pendant and bending arch,
They do not think whom they souse with spray.
at the stall in the market,
I loiter enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and break-down.
Each has his main-sledge, they are all out, there is a great heat in.
The lithe sheer of their waists plays even with their massive arms,
Overhand the hammers swing, overhand so slow, overhand so sure,
They do not hasten, each man hits in his place.
underneath on its tied-over chain,
The negro that drives the long dray of the stone-yard, steady and.
tall he stands pois'd on one leg on the string-piece,
His blue shirt exposes his ample neck and breast and loosens over.
His glance is calm and commanding, he tosses the slouch of his hat.
away from his forehead,
The sun falls on his crispy hair and mustache, falls on the black of.
his polish'd and perfect limbs.
I go with the team also.
To niches aside and junior bending, not a person or object missing,
Absorbing all to myself and for this song.
is that you express in your eyes?
It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life.
They rise together, they slowly circle around.
And acknowledge red, yellow, white, playing within me,
And consider green and violet and the tufted crown intentional,
And do not call the tortoise unworthy because she is not something else,
And the in the woods never studied the gamut, yet trills pretty well to me,
And the look of the bay mare shames silliness out of me.
Ya-honk he says, and sounds it down to me like an invitation,
The pert may suppose it meaningless, but I listening close,
Find its purpose and place up there toward the wintry sky.
chickadee, the prairie-dog,
The litter of the grunting sow as they tug at her teats,
The brood of the turkey-hen and she with her half-spread wings,
I see in them and myself the same old law.
They scorn the best I can do to relate them.
Of men that live among cattle or taste of the ocean or woods,
Of the builders and steerers of ships and the wielders of axes and.
mauls, and the drivers of horses,
I can eat and sleep with them week in and week out.
Me going in for my chances, spending for vast returns,
Adorning myself to bestow myself on the first that will take me,
Not asking the sky to come down to my good will,
Scattering it freely forever.
The carpenter dresses his plank, the tongue of his foreplane.
whistles its wild ascending lisp,
The married and unmarried children ride home to their Thanksgiving dinner,
The pilot seizes the king-pin, he heaves down with a strong arm,
The mate stands braced in the whale-boat, lance and harpoon are ready,
The duck-shooter walks by silent and cautious stretches,
The deacons are ordain'd with cross'd hands at the altar,
The spinning-girl retreats and advances to the hum of the big wheel,
The farmer stops by the bars as he walks on a First-day loafe and.
looks at the oats and rye,
The lunatic is carried at last to the asylum a confirm'd case,
(He will never sleep any more as he did in the cot in his mother's.
The jour printer with gray head and gaunt jaws works at his case,
He turns his quid of tobacco while his eyes blurr with the manuscript;
The malform'd limbs are tied to the surgeon's table,
What is removed drops horribly in a pail;
The quadroon girl is sold at the auction-stand, the drunkard nods by.
the bar-room stove,
The machinist rolls up his sleeves, the policeman travels his beat,
the gate-keeper marks who pass,
The young fellow drives the express-wagon, (I love him, though I do.
The half-breed straps on his light boots to compete in the race,
The western turkey-shooting draws old and young, some lean on their.
rifles, some sit on logs,
Out from the crowd steps the marksman, takes his position, levels his piece;
The groups of newly-come immigrants cover the wharf or levee,
As the woolly-pates hoe in the sugar-field, the overseer views them.
from his saddle,
The bugle calls in the ball-room, the gentlemen run for their.
partners, the dancers bow to each other,
The youth lies awake in the cedar-roof'd garret and harks to the.
The Wolverine sets traps on the creek that helps fill the Huron,
The squaw wrapt in her yellow-hemm'd cloth is offering moccasins and.
bead-bags for sale,
The connoisseur peers along the exhibition-gallery with half-shut.
eyes bent sideways,
As the deck-hands make fast the steamboat the plank is thrown for.
the shore-going passengers,
The young sister holds out the skein while the elder sister winds it.
off in a ball, and stops now and then for the knots,
The one-year wife is recovering and happy having a week ago borne.
her first child,
The clean-hair'd Yankee girl works with her sewing-machine or in the.
factory or mill,
The paving-man leans on his two-handed rammer, the reporter's lead.
flies swiftly over the note-book, the sign-painter is lettering.
with blue and gold,
The canal boy trots on the tow-path, the book-keeper counts at his.
desk, the shoemaker waxes his thread,
The conductor beats time for the band and all the performers follow him,
The child is baptized, the convert is making his first professions,
The regatta is spread on the bay, the race is begun, (how the white.
The drover watching his drove sings out to them that would stray,
The pedler sweats with his pack on his back, (the purchaser higgling.
about the odd cent;)
The bride unrumples her white dress, the minute-hand of the clock.
The opium-eater reclines with rigid head and just-open'd lips,
The prostitute draggles her shawl, her bonnet bobs on her tipsy and.
The crowd laugh at her blackguard oaths, the men jeer and wink to.
(Miserable! I do not laugh at your oaths nor jeer you;)
The President holding a cabinet council is surrounded by the great.
On the piazza walk three matrons stately and friendly with twined arms,
The crew of the fish-smack pack repeated layers of halibut in the hold,
The Missourian crosses the plains toting his wares and his cattle,
As the fare-collector goes through the train he gives notice by the.
jingling of loose change,
The floor-men are laying the floor, the tinners are tinning the.
roof, the masons are calling for mortar,
In single file each shouldering his hod pass onward the laborers;
Seasons pursuing each other the indescribable crowd is gather'd, it.
is the fourth of Seventh-month, (what salutes of cannon and small arms!)
Seasons pursuing each other the plougher ploughs, the mower mows,
and the winter-grain falls in the ground;
Off on the lakes the pike-fisher watches and waits by the hole in.
the frozen surface,
The stumps stand thick round the clearing, the squatter strikes deep.
Flatboatmen make fast towards dusk near the cotton-wood or pecan-trees,
Coon-seekers go through the regions of the Red river or through.
those drain'd by the Tennessee, or through those of the Arkansas,
Torches shine in the dark that hangs on the Chattahooche or Altamahaw,
Patriarchs sit at supper with sons and grandsons and great-grandsons.
In walls of adobie, in canvas tents, rest hunters and trappers after.
their day's sport,
The city sleeps and the country sleeps,
The living sleep for their time, the dead sleep for their time,
The old husband sleeps by his wife and the young husband sleeps by his wife;
And these tend inward to me, and I tend outward to them,
And such as it is to be of these more or less I am,
E destes todos e todos eu tecer a canção de mim mesmo.
Regardless of others, ever regardful of others,
Maternal as well as paternal, a child as well as a man,
Stuff'd with the stuff that is coarse and stuff'd with the stuff.
One of the Nation of many nations, the smallest the same and the.
largest the same,
A Southerner soon as a Northerner, a planter nonchalant and.
hospitable down by the Oconee I live,
A Yankee bound my own way ready for trade, my joints the limberest.
joints on earth and the sternest joints on earth,
A Kentuckian walking the vale of the Elkhorn in my deer-skin.
leggings, a Louisianian or Georgian,
A boatman over lakes or bays or along coasts, a Hoosier, Badger, Buckeye;
At home on Kanadian snow-shoes or up in the bush, or with fishermen.
At home in the fleet of ice-boats, sailing with the rest and tacking,
At home on the hills of Vermont or in the woods of Maine, or the.
Comrade of Californians, comrade of free North-Westerners, (loving.
their big proportions,)
Comrade of raftsmen and coalmen, comrade of all who shake hands.
and welcome to drink and meat,
A learner with the simplest, a teacher of the thoughtfullest,
A novice beginning yet experient of myriads of seasons,
Of every hue and caste am I, of every rank and religion,
A farmer, mechanic, artist, gentleman, sailor, quaker,
Prisoner, fancy-man, rowdy, lawyer, physician, priest.
Breathe the air but leave plenty after me,
And am not stuck up, and am in my place.
The bright suns I see and the dark suns I cannot see are in their place,
The palpable is in its place and the impalpable is in its place.)
are not original with me,
If they are not yours as much as mine they are nothing, or next to nothing,
If they are not the riddle and the untying of the riddle they are nothing,
If they are not just as close as they are distant they are nothing.
This the common air that bathes the globe.
I play not marches for accepted victors only, I play marches for.
conquer'd and slain persons.
I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit.
in which they are won.
I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them.
And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea!
And to those themselves who sank in the sea!
And to all generals that lost engagements, and all overcome heroes!
And the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes known!
It is for the wicked just same as the righteous, I make appointments.
I will not have a single person slighted or left away,
The kept-woman, sponger, thief, are hereby invited,
The heavy-lipp'd slave is invited, the venerealee is invited;
There shall be no difference between them and the rest.
This the touch of my lips to yours, this the murmur of yearning,
This the far-off depth and height reflecting my own face,
This the thoughtful merge of myself, and the outlet again.
Well I have, for the Fourth-month showers have, and the mica on the.
side of a rock has.
Does the daylight astonish? does the early redstart twittering.
through the woods?
Do I astonish more than they?
I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.
How is it I extract strength from the beef I eat?
Else it were time lost listening to me.
That months are vacuums and the ground but wallow and filth.
goes to the fourth-remov'd,
I wear my hat as I please indoors or out.
doctors and calculated close,
I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones.
And the good or bad I say of myself I say of them.
To me the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow,
All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means.
I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept by a carpenter's compass,
I know I shall not pass like a child's carlacue cut with a burnt.
I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or be understood,
I see that the elementary laws never apologize,
(I reckon I behave no prouder than the level I plant my house by,
If no other in the world be aware I sit content,
And if each and all be aware I sit content.
And whether I come to my own to-day or in ten thousand or ten.
I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can wait.
I laugh at what you call dissolution,
And I know the amplitude of time.
The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me,
The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate.
into new tongue.
And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man,
And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men.
We have had ducking and deprecating about enough,
I show that size is only development.
It is a trifle, they will more than arrive there every one, and.
I call to the earth and sea half-held by the night.
Night of south winds--night of the large few stars!
Still nodding night--mad naked summer night.
Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees!
Earth of departed sunset--earth of the mountains misty-topt!
Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just tinged with blue!
Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river!
Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake!
Far-swooping elbow'd earth--rich apple-blossom'd earth!
Smile, for your lover comes.
O unspeakable passionate love.
I behold from the beach your crooked fingers,
I believe you refuse to go back without feeling of me,
We must have a turn together, I undress, hurry me out of sight of the land,
Cushion me soft, rock me in billowy drowse,
Dash me with amorous wet, I can repay you.
Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths,
Sea of the brine of life and of unshovell'd yet always-ready graves,
Howler and scooper of storms, capricious and dainty sea,
I am integral with you, I too am of one phase and of all phases.
Extoller of amies and those that sleep in each others' arms.
(Shall I make my list of things in the house and skip the house that.
of wickedness also.
Evil propels me and reform of evil propels me, I stand indifferent,
My gait is no fault-finder's or rejecter's gait,
I moisten the roots of all that has grown.
Você adivinhou que as leis celestes ainda precisam ser trabalhadas e corrigidas?
Soft doctrine as steady help as stable doctrine,
Thoughts and deeds of the present our rouse and early start.
There is no better than it and now.
The wonder is always and always how there can be a mean man or an infidel.
E o meu uma palavra do moderno, a palavra En-Masse.
Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time absolutely.
That mystic baffling wonder alone completes all.
Materialism first and last imbuing.
Fetch stonecrop mixt with cedar and branches of lilac,
This is the lexicographer, this the chemist, this made a grammar of.
the old cartouches,
These mariners put the ship through dangerous unknown seas.
This is the geologist, this works with the scalper, and this is a.
Your facts are useful, and yet they are not my dwelling,
I but enter by them to an area of my dwelling.
And more the reminders they of life untold, and of freedom and extrication,
And make short account of neuters and geldings, and favor men and.
women fully equipt,
And beat the gong of revolt, and stop with fugitives and them that.
plot and conspire.
Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking and breeding,
No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart from them,
No more modest than immodest.
Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs!
And whatever is done or said returns at last to me.
By God! I will accept nothing which all cannot have their.
counterpart of on the same terms.
Voices of the interminable generations of prisoners and slaves,
Voices of the diseas'd and despairing and of thieves and dwarfs,
Voices of cycles of preparation and accretion,
And of the threads that connect the stars, and of wombs and of the.
And of the rights of them the others are down upon,
Of the deform'd, trivial, flat, foolish, despised,
Fog in the air, beetles rolling balls of dung.
Voices of sexes and lusts, voices veil'd and I remove the veil,
Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigur'd.
I keep as delicate around the bowels as around the head and heart,
Copulation is no more rank to me than death is.
Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me.
The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer,
This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds.
my own body, or any part of it,
Translucent mould of me it shall be you!
Shaded ledges and rests it shall be you!
Firm masculine colter it shall be you!
Whatever goes to the tilth of me it shall be you!
You my rich blood! your milky stream pale strippings of my life!
Breast that presses against other breasts it shall be you!
My brain it shall be your occult convolutions!
Root of wash'd sweet-flag! timorous pond-snipe! nest of guarded.
duplicate eggs! it shall be you!
Mix'd tussled hay of head, beard, brawn, it shall be you!
Trickling sap of maple, fibre of manly wheat, it shall be you!
Sun so generous it shall be you!
Vapors lighting and shading my face it shall be you!
You sweaty brooks and dews it shall be you!
Winds whose soft-tickling genitals rub against me it shall be you!
Broad muscular fields, branches of live oak, loving lounger in my.
winding paths, it shall be you!
Hands I have taken, face I have kiss'd, mortal I have ever touch'd,
it shall be you.
Each moment and whatever happens thrills me with joy,
I cannot tell how my ankles bend, nor whence the cause of my faintest wish,
Nor the cause of the friendship I emit, nor the cause of the.
friendship I take again.
A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics.
The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows,
The air tastes good to my palate.
Scooting obliquely high and low.
Seas of bright juice suffuse heaven.
The heav'd challenge from the east that moment over my head,
The mocking taunt, See then whether you shall be master!
If I could not now and always send sun-rise out of me.
We found our own O my soul in the calm and cool of the daybreak.
With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds and volumes of worlds.
It provokes me forever, it says sarcastically,
Walt you contain enough, why don't you let it out then?
Do you not know O speech how the buds beneath you are folded?
Waiting in gloom, protected by frost,
The dirt receding before my prophetical screams,
I underlying causes to balance them at last,
My knowledge my live parts, it keeping tally with the meaning of all things,
Happiness, (which whoever hears me let him or her set out in search.
Encompass worlds, but never try to encompass me,
I crowd your sleekest and best by simply looking toward you.
I carry the plenum of proof and every thing else in my face,
With the hush of my lips I wholly confound the skeptic.
To accrue what I hear into this song, to let sounds contribute toward it.
clack of sticks cooking my meals,
I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice,
I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following,
Sounds of the city and sounds out of the city, sounds of the day and night,
Talkative young ones to those that like them, the loud laugh of.
work-people at their meals,
The angry base of disjointed friendship, the faint tones of the sick,
The judge with hands tight to the desk, his pallid lips pronouncing.
The heave'e'yo of stevedores unlading ships by the wharves, the.
refrain of the anchor-lifters,
The ring of alarm-bells, the cry of fire, the whirr of swift-streaking.
engines and hose-carts with premonitory tinkles and color'd lights,
The steam-whistle, the solid roll of the train of approaching cars,
The slow march play'd at the head of the association marching two and two,
(They go to guard some corpse, the flag-tops are draped with black muslin.)
I hear the key'd cornet, it glides quickly in through my ears,
It shakes mad-sweet pangs through my belly and breast.
Ah this indeed is music--this suits me.
The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring and filling me full.
The orchestra whirls me wider than Uranus flies,
It wrenches such ardors from me I did not know I possess'd them,
It sails me, I dab with bare feet, they are lick'd by the indolent waves,
I am cut by bitter and angry hail, I lose my breath,
Steep'd amid honey'd morphine, my windpipe throttled in fakes of death,
At length let up again to feel the puzzle of puzzles,
And that we call Being.
(Round and round we go, all of us, and ever come back thither,)
If nothing lay more develop'd the quahaug in its callous shell were enough.
I have instant conductors all over me whether I pass or stop,
They seize every object and lead it harmlessly through me.
To touch my person to some one else's is about as much as I can stand.
Flames and ether making a rush for my veins,
Treacherous tip of me reaching and crowding to help them,
My flesh and blood playing out lightning to strike what is hardly.
different from myself,
On all sides prurient provokers stiffening my limbs,
Straining the udder of my heart for its withheld drip,
Behaving licentious toward me, taking no denial,
Depriving me of my best as for a purpose,
Unbuttoning my clothes, holding me by the bare waist,
Deluding my confusion with the calm of the sunlight and pasture-fields,
Immodestly sliding the fellow-senses away,
They bribed to swap off with touch and go and graze at the edges of me,
No consideration, no regard for my draining strength or my anger,
Fetching the rest of the herd around to enjoy them a while,
Then all uniting to stand on a headland and worry me.
They have left me helpless to a red marauder,
They all come to the headland to witness and assist against me.
I talk wildly, I have lost my wits, I and nobody else am the.
I went myself first to the headland, my own hands carried me there.
Unclench your floodgates, you are too much for me.
Did it make you ache so, leaving me?
Rich showering rain, and recompense richer afterward.
Landscapes projected masculine, full-sized and golden.
They neither hasten their own delivery nor resist it,
They do not need the obstetric forceps of the surgeon,
The insignificant is as big to me as any,
(What is less or more than a touch?)
The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul.
Only what nobody denies is so.)
I believe the soggy clods shall become lovers and lamps,
And a compend of compends is the meat of a man or woman,
And a summit and flower there is the feeling they have for each other,
And they are to branch boundlessly out of that lesson until it.
And until one and all shall delight us, and we them.
And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg.
And the tree-toad is a chef-d'oeuvre for the highest,
And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven,
And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery,
And the cow crunching with depress'd head surpasses any statue,
And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels.
grains, esculent roots,
And am stucco'd with quadrupeds and birds all over,
And have distanced what is behind me for good reasons,
But call any thing back again when I desire it.
In vain the plutonic rocks send their old heat against my approach,
In vain the mastodon retreats beneath its own powder'd bones,
In vain objects stand leagues off and assume manifold shapes,
In vain the ocean settling in hollows and the great monsters lying low,
In vain the buzzard houses herself with the sky,
In vain the snake slides through the creepers and logs,
In vain the elk takes to the inner passes of the woods,
In vain the razor-bill'd auk sails far north to Labrador,
I follow quickly, I ascend to the nest in the fissure of the cliff.
I stand and look at them long and long.
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins,
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God,
Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of.
Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of.
Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth.
They bring me tokens of myself, they evince them plainly in their.
Did I pass that way huge times ago and negligently drop them?
Gathering and showing more always and with velocity,
Infinite and omnigenous, and the like of these among them,
Not too exclusive toward the reachers of my remembrancers,
Picking out here one that I love, and now go with him on brotherly terms.
Head high in the forehead, wide between the ears,
Limbs glossy and supple, tail dusting the ground,
Eyes full of sparkling wickedness, ears finely cut, flexibly moving.
His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure as we race around and return.
Why do I need your paces when I myself out-gallop them?
Even as I stand or sit passing faster than you.
What I guess'd when I loaf'd on the grass,
What I guess'd while I lay alone in my bed,
And again as I walk'd the beach under the paling stars of the morning.
I skirt sierras, my palms cover continents,
I am afoot with my vision.
Along the ruts of the turnpike, along the dry gulch and rivulet bed,
Weeding my onion-patch or hosing rows of carrots and parsnips,
crossing savannas, trailing in forests,
Prospecting, gold-digging, girdling the trees of a new purchase,
Scorch'd ankle-deep by the hot sand, hauling my boat down the.
Where the panther walks to and fro on a limb overhead, where the.
buck turns furiously at the hunter,
Where the rattlesnake suns his flabby length on a rock, where the.
otter is feeding on fish,
Where the alligator in his tough pimples sleeps by the bayou,
Where the black bear is searching for roots or honey, where the.
beaver pats the mud with his paddle-shaped tall;
Over the growing sugar, over the yellow-flower'd cotton plant, over.
the rice in its low moist field,
Over the sharp-peak'd farm house, with its scallop'd scum and.
slender shoots from the gutters,
Over the western persimmon, over the long-leav'd corn, over the.
delicate blue-flower flax,
Over the white and brown buckwheat, a hummer and buzzer there with.
Over the dusky green of the rye as it ripples and shades in the breeze;
Scaling mountains, pulling myself cautiously up, holding on by low.
Walking the path worn in the grass and beat through the leaves of the brush,
Where the quail is whistling betwixt the woods and the wheat-lot,
Where the bat flies in the Seventh-month eve, where the great.
goldbug drops through the dark,
Where the brook puts out of the roots of the old tree and flows to.
Where cattle stand and shake away flies with the tremulous.
shuddering of their hides,
Where the cheese-cloth hangs in the kitchen, where andirons straddle.
the hearth-slab, where cobwebs fall in festoons from the rafters;
Where trip-hammers crash, where the press is whirling its cylinders,
Wherever the human heart beats with terrible throes under its ribs,
Where the pear-shaped balloon is floating aloft, (floating in it.
myself and looking composedly down,)
Where the life-car is drawn on the slip-noose, where the heat.
hatches pale-green eggs in the dented sand,
Where the she-whale swims with her calf and never forsakes it,
Where the steam-ship trails hind-ways its long pennant of smoke,
Where the fin of the shark cuts like a black chip out of the water,
Where the half-burn'd brig is riding on unknown currents,
Where shells grow to her slimy deck, where the dead are corrupting below;
Where the dense-starr'd flag is borne at the head of the regiments,
Approaching Manhattan up by the long-stretching island,
Under Niagara, the cataract falling like a veil over my countenance,
Upon a door-step, upon the horse-block of hard wood outside,
Upon the race-course, or enjoying picnics or jigs or a good game of.
At he-festivals, with blackguard gibes, ironical license,
bull-dances, drinking, laughter,
At the cider-mill tasting the sweets of the brown mash, sucking the.
juice through a straw,
At apple-peelings wanting kisses for all the red fruit I find,
At musters, beach-parties, friendly bees, huskings, house-raisings;
Where the mocking-bird sounds his delicious gurgles, cackles,
Where the hay-rick stands in the barn-yard, where the dry-stalks are.
scatter'd, where the brood-cow waits in the hovel,
Where the bull advances to do his masculine work, where the stud to.
the mare, where the cock is treading the hen,
Where the heifers browse, where geese nip their food with short jerks,
Where sun-down shadows lengthen over the limitless and lonesome prairie,
Where herds of buffalo make a crawling spread of the square miles.
Where the humming-bird shimmers, where the neck of the long-lived.
swan is curving and winding,
Where the laughing-gull scoots by the shore, where she laughs her.
Where bee-hives range on a gray bench in the garden half hid by the.
Where band-neck'd partridges roost in a ring on the ground with.
their heads out,
Where burial coaches enter the arch'd gates of a cemetery,
Where winter wolves bark amid wastes of snow and icicled trees,
Where the yellow-crown'd heron comes to the edge of the marsh at.
night and feeds upon small crabs,
Where the splash of swimmers and divers cools the warm noon,
Where the katy-did works her chromatic reed on the walnut-tree over.
Through patches of citrons and cucumbers with silver-wired leaves,
Through the salt-lick or orange glade, or under conical firs,
Through the gymnasium, through the curtain'd saloon, through the.
office or public hall;
Pleas'd with the native and pleas'd with the foreign, pleas'd with.
the new and old,
Pleas'd with the homely woman as well as the handsome,
Pleas'd with the quakeress as she puts off her bonnet and talks melodiously,
Pleas'd with the tune of the choir of the whitewash'd church,
Pleas'd with the earnest words of the sweating Methodist preacher,
impress'd seriously at the camp-meeting;
Looking in at the shop-windows of Broadway the whole forenoon,
flatting the flesh of my nose on the thick plate glass,
Wandering the same afternoon with my face turn'd up to the clouds,
or down a lane or along the beach,
My right and left arms round the sides of two friends, and I in the middle;
Coming home with the silent and dark-cheek'd bush-boy, (behind me.
he rides at the drape of the day,)
Far from the settlements studying the print of animals' feet, or the.
By the cot in the hospital reaching lemonade to a feverish patient,
Nigh the coffin'd corpse when all is still, examining with a candle;
Voyaging to every port to dicker and adventure,
Hurrying with the modern crowd as eager and fickle as any,
Hot toward one I hate, ready in my madness to knife him,
Solitary at midnight in my back yard, my thoughts gone from me a long while,
Walking the old hills of Judaea with the beautiful gentle God by my side,
Speeding through space, speeding through heaven and the stars,
Speeding amid the seven satellites and the broad ring, and the.
diameter of eighty thousand miles,
Speeding with tail'd meteors, throwing fire-balls like the rest,
Carrying the crescent child that carries its own full mother in its belly,
Storming, enjoying, planning, loving, cautioning,
Backing and filling, appearing and disappearing,
I tread day and night such roads.
And look at quintillions ripen'd and look at quintillions green.
My course runs below the soundings of plummets.
No guard can shut me off, no law prevent me.
My messengers continually cruise away or bring their returns to me.
pike-pointed staff, clinging to topples of brittle and blue.
I take my place late at night in the crow's-nest,
We sail the arctic sea, it is plenty light enough,
Through the clear atmosphere I stretch around on the wonderful beauty,
The enormous masses of ice pass me and I pass them, the scenery is.
plain in all directions,
The white-topt mountains show in the distance, I fling out my.
fancies toward them,
We are approaching some great battle-field in which we are soon to.
We pass the colossal outposts of the encampment, we pass with still.
feet and caution,
Or we are entering by the suburbs some vast and ruin'd city,
The blocks and fallen architecture more than all the living cities.
I turn the bridgroom out of bed and stay with the bride myself,
I tighten her all night to my thighs and lips.
They fetch my man's body up dripping and drown'd.
The courage of present times and all times,
How the skipper saw the crowded and rudderless wreck of the.
steamship, and Death chasing it up and down the storm,
How he knuckled tight and gave not back an inch, and was faithful of.
days and faithful of nights,
And chalk'd in large letters on a board, Be of good cheer, we will.
How he follow'd with them and tack'd with them three days and.
would not give it up,
How he saved the drifting company at last,
How the lank loose-gown'd women look'd when boated from the.
side of their prepared graves,
How the silent old-faced infants and the lifted sick, and the.
sharp-lipp'd unshaved men;
All this I swallow, it tastes good, I like it well, it becomes mine,
I am the man, I suffer'd, I was there.
The mother of old, condemn'd for a witch, burnt with dry wood, her.
children gazing on,
The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the fence,
blowing, cover'd with sweat,
The twinges that sting like needles his legs and neck, the murderous.
buckshot and the bullets,
All these I feel or am.
Hell and despair are upon me, crack and again crack the marksmen,
I clutch the rails of the fence, my gore dribs, thinn'd with the.
ooze of my skin,
I fall on the weeds and stones,
The riders spur their unwilling horses, haul close,
Taunt my dizzy ears and beat me violently over the head with whip-stocks.
I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the.
My hurts turn livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe.
Tumbling walls buried me in their debris,
Heat and smoke I inspired, I heard the yelling shouts of my comrades,
I heard the distant click of their picks and shovels,
They have clear'd the beams away, they tenderly lift me forth.
Painless after all I lie exhausted but not so unhappy,
White and beautiful are the faces around me, the heads are bared.
of their fire-caps,
The kneeling crowd fades with the light of the torches.
They show as the dial or move as the hands of me, I am the clock myself.
I am there again.
Again the attacking cannon, mortars,
Again to my listening ears the cannon responsive.
The cries, curses, roar, the plaudits for well-aim'd shots,
The ambulanza slowly passing trailing its red drip,
Workmen searching after damages, making indispensable repairs,
The fall of grenades through the rent roof, the fan-shaped explosion,
The whizz of limbs, heads, stone, wood, iron, high in the air.
He gasps through the clot Mind not me--mind--the entrenchments.
(I tell not the fall of Alamo,
Not one escaped to tell the fall of Alamo,
The hundred and fifty are dumb yet at Alamo,)
'Tis the tale of the murder in cold blood of four hundred and twelve.
Nine hundred lives out of the surrounding enemies, nine times their.
number, was the price they took in advance,
Their colonel was wounded and their ammunition gone,
They treated for an honorable capitulation, receiv'd writing and.
seal, gave up their arms and march'd back prisoners of war.
Matchless with horse, rifle, song, supper, courtship,
Large, turbulent, generous, handsome, proud, and affectionate,
Bearded, sunburnt, drest in the free costume of hunters,
Not a single one over thirty years of age.
massacred, it was beautiful early summer,
The work commenced about five o'clock and was over by eight.
Some made a mad and helpless rush, some stood stark and straight,
A few fell at once, shot in the temple or heart, the living and dead.
The maim'd and mangled dug in the dirt, the new-comers saw them there,
Some half-kill'd attempted to crawl away,
These were despatch'd with bayonets or batter'd with the blunts of muskets,
A youth not seventeen years old seiz'd his assassin till two more.
came to release him,
The three were all torn and cover'd with the boy's blood.
That is the tale of the murder of the four hundred and twelve young men.
Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars?
List to the yarn, as my grandmother's father the sailor told it to me.
His was the surly English pluck, and there is no tougher or truer,
and never was, and never will be;
Along the lower'd eve he came horribly raking us.
My captain lash'd fast with his own hands.
On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire,
killing all around and blowing up overhead.
Ten o'clock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the gain,
and five feet of water reported,
The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after-hold.
to give them a chance for themselves.
They see so many strange faces they do not know whom to trust.
The other asks if we demand quarter?
If our colors are struck and the fighting done?
We have not struck, he composedly cries, we have just begun our part.
of the fighting.
One is directed by the captain himself against the enemy's main-mast,
Two well serv'd with grape and canister silence his musketry and.
clear his decks.
They hold out bravely during the whole of the action.
The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the powder-magazine.
He is not hurried, his voice is neither high nor low,
His eyes give more light to us than our battle-lanterns.
Two great hulls motionless on the breast of the darkness,
Our vessel riddled and slowly sinking, preparations to pass to the.
one we have conquer'd,
The captain on the quarter-deck coldly giving his orders through a.
countenance white as a sheet,
Near by the corpse of the child that serv'd in the cabin,
The dead face of an old salt with long white hair and carefully.
The flames spite of all that can be done flickering aloft and below,
The husky voices of the two or three officers yet fit for duty,
Formless stacks of bodies and bodies by themselves, dabs of flesh.
upon the masts and spars,
Cut of cordage, dangle of rigging, slight shock of the soothe of waves,
Black and impassive guns, litter of powder-parcels, strong scent,
A few large stars overhead, silent and mournful shining,
Delicate sniffs of sea-breeze, smells of sedgy grass and fields by.
the shore, death-messages given in charge to survivors,
The hiss of the surgeon's knife, the gnawing teeth of his saw,
Wheeze, cluck, swash of falling blood, short wild scream, and long,
dull, tapering groan,
These so, these irretrievable.
In at the conquer'd doors they crowd! I am possess'd!
Embody all presences outlaw'd or suffering,
See myself in prison shaped like another man,
And feel the dull unintermitted pain.
It is I let out in the morning and barr'd at night.
and walk by his side,
(I am less the jolly one there, and more the silent one with sweat.
on my twitching lips.)
My face is ash-color'd, my sinews gnarl, away from me people retreat.
I project my hat, sit shame-faced, and beg.
Somehow I have been stunn'd. Stand back!
Give me a little time beyond my cuff'd head, slumbers, dreams, gaping,
I discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake.
That I could forget the trickling tears and the blows of the.
bludgeons and hammers!
That I could look with a separate look on my own crucifixion and.
I resume the overstaid fraction,
The grave of rock multiplies what has been confided to it, or to any graves,
Corpses rise, gashes heal, fastenings roll from me.
Inland and sea-coast we go, and pass all boundary lines,
Our swift ordinances on their way over the whole earth,
The blossoms we wear in our hats the growth of thousands of years.
Continue your annotations, continue your questionings.
Is he waiting for civilization, or past it and mastering it?
Is he from the Mississippi country? Iowa, Oregon, California?
The mountains? prairie-life, bush-life? or sailor from the sea?
They desire he should like them, touch them, speak to them, stay with them.
head, laughter, and naivete,
Slow-stepping feet, common features, common modes and emanations,
They descend in new forms from the tips of his fingers,
They are wafted with the odor of his body or breath, they fly out of.
the glance of his eyes.
You light surfaces only, I force surfaces and depths also.
Say, old top-knot, what do you want?
And might tell what it is in me and what it is in you, but cannot,
And might tell that pining I have, that pulse of my nights and days.
When I give I give myself.
Open your scarf'd chops till I blow grit within you,
Spread your palms and lift the flaps of your pockets,
I am not to be denied, I compel, I have stores plenty and to spare,
And any thing I have I bestow.
You can do nothing and be nothing but what I will infold you.
On his right cheek I put the family kiss,
And in my soul I swear I never will deny him.
(This day I am jetting the stuff of far more arrogant republics.)
Turn the bed-clothes toward the foot of the bed,
Let the physician and the priest go home.
O despairer, here is my neck,
By God, you shall not go down! hang your whole weight upon me.
Every room of the house do I fill with an arm'd force,
Lovers of me, bafflers of graves.
Not doubt, not decease shall dare to lay finger upon you,
I have embraced you, and henceforth possess you to myself,
And when you rise in the morning you will find what I tell you is so.
And for strong upright men I bring yet more needed help.
Heard it and heard it of several thousand years;
It is middling well as far as it goes--but is that all?
Outbidding at the start the old cautious hucksters,
Taking myself the exact dimensions of Jehovah,
Lithographing Kronos, Zeus his son, and Hercules his grandson,
Buying drafts of Osiris, Isis, Belus, Brahma, Buddha,
In my portfolio placing Manito loose, Allah on a leaf, the crucifix.
With Odin and the hideous-faced Mexitli and every idol and image,
Taking them all for what they are worth and not a cent more,
Admitting they were alive and did the work of their days,
(They bore mites as for unfledg'd birds who have now to rise and fly.
and sing for themselves,)
Accepting the rough deific sketches to fill out better in myself,
bestowing them freely on each man and woman I see,
Discovering as much or more in a framer framing a house,
Putting higher claims for him there with his roll'd-up sleeves.
driving the mallet and chisel,
Not objecting to special revelations, considering a curl of smoke or.
a hair on the back of my hand just as curious as any revelation,
Lads ahold of fire-engines and hook-and-ladder ropes no less to me.
than the gods of the antique wars,
Minding their voices peal through the crash of destruction,
Their brawny limbs passing safe over charr'd laths, their white.
foreheads whole and unhurt out of the flames;
By the mechanic's wife with her babe at her nipple interceding for.
every person born,
Three scythes at harvest whizzing in a row from three lusty angels.
with shirts bagg'd out at their waists,
The snag-tooth'd hostler with red hair redeeming sins past and to come,
Selling all he possesses, traveling on foot to fee lawyers for his.
brother and sit by him while he is tried for forgery;
What was strewn in the amplest strewing the square rod about me, and.
not filling the square rod then,
The bull and the bug never worshipp'd half enough,
Dung and dirt more admirable than was dream'd,
The supernatural of no account, myself waiting my time to be one of.
The day getting ready for me when I shall do as much good as the.
best, and be as prodigious;
By my life-lumps! becoming already a creator,
Putting myself here and now to the ambush'd womb of the shadows.
My own voice, orotund sweeping and final.
Come my boys and girls, my women, household and intimates,
Now the performer launches his nerve, he has pass'd his prelude on.
the reeds within.
climax and close.
Music rolls, but not from the organ,
Folks are around me, but they are no household of mine.
Ever the eaters and drinkers, ever the upward and downward sun, ever.
the air and the ceaseless tides,
Ever myself and my neighbors, refreshing, wicked, real,
Ever the old inexplicable query, ever that thorn'd thumb, that.
breath of itches and thirsts,
Ever the vexer's hoot! hoot! till we find where the sly one hides.
and bring him forth,
Ever love, ever the sobbing liquid of life,
Ever the bandage under the chin, ever the trestles of death.
To feed the greed of the belly the brains liberally spooning,
Tickets buying, taking, selling, but in to the feast never once going,
Many sweating, ploughing, thrashing, and then the chaff for payment.
A few idly owning, and they the wheat continually claiming.
Whatever interests the rest interests me, politics, wars, markets,
The mayor and councils, banks, tariffs, steamships, factories,
stocks, stores, real estate and personal estate.
I am aware who they are, (they are positively not worms or fleas,)
I acknowledge the duplicates of myself, the weakest and shallowest.
is deathless with me,
What I do and say the same waits for them,
Every thought that flounders in me the same flounders in them.
Know my omnivorous lines and must not write any less,
And would fetch you whoever you are flush with myself.
But abruptly to question, to leap beyond yet nearer bring;
This printed and bound book--but the printer and the.
The well-taken photographs--but your wife or friend close and solid.
The black ship mail'd with iron, her mighty guns in her turrets--but.
the pluck of the captain and engineers?
In the houses the dishes and fare and furniture--but the host and.
hostess, and the look out of their eyes?
The sky up there--yet here or next door, or across the way?
The saints and sages in history--but you yourself?
Sermons, creeds, theology--but the fathomless human brain,
And what is reason? and what is love? and what is life?
My faith is the greatest of faiths and the least of faiths,
Enclosing worship ancient and modern and all between ancient and modern,
Believing I shall come again upon the earth after five thousand years,
Waiting responses from oracles, honoring the gods, saluting the sun,
Making a fetich of the first rock or stump, powowing with sticks in.
the circle of obis,
Helping the llama or brahmin as he trims the lamps of the idols,
Dancing yet through the streets in a phallic procession, rapt and.
austere in the woods a gymnosophist,
Drinking mead from the skull-cap, to Shastas and Vedas admirant,
minding the Koran,
Walking the teokallis, spotted with gore from the stone and knife,
beating the serpent-skin drum,
Accepting the Gospels, accepting him that was crucified, knowing.
assuredly that he is divine,
To the mass kneeling or the puritan's prayer rising, or sitting.
patiently in a pew,
Ranting and frothing in my insane crisis, or waiting dead-like till.
my spirit arouses me,
Looking forth on pavement and land, or outside of pavement and land,
Belonging to the winders of the circuit of circuits.
man leaving charges before a journey.
Frivolous, sullen, moping, angry, affected, dishearten'd, atheistical,
I know every one of you, I know the sea of torment, doubt, despair.
How they contort rapid as lightning, with spasms and spouts of blood!
I take my place among you as much as among any,
The past is the push of you, me, all, precisely the same,
And what is yet untried and afterward is for you, me, all, precisely.
But I know it will in its turn prove sufficient, and cannot fail.
single one can it fall.
Nor the young woman who died and was put by his side,
Nor the little child that peep'd in at the door, and then drew back.
and was never seen again,
Nor the old man who has lived without purpose, and feels it with.
bitterness worse than gall,
Nor him in the poor house tubercled by rum and the bad disorder,
Nor the numberless slaughter'd and wreck'd, nor the brutish koboo.
call'd the ordure of humanity,
Nor the sacs merely floating with open mouths for food to slip in,
Nor any thing in the earth, or down in the oldest graves of the earth,
Nor any thing in the myriads of spheres, nor the myriads of myriads.
that inhabit them,
Nor the present, nor the least wisp that is known.
I launch all men and women forward with me into the Unknown.
There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them.
And other births will bring us richness and variety.
That which fills its period and place is equal to any.
I am sorry for you, they are not murderous or jealous upon me,
All has been gentle with me, I keep no account with lamentation,
(What have I to do with lamentation?)
On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches between the steps,
All below duly travel'd, and still I mount and mount.
Afar down I see the huge first Nothing, I know I was even there,
I waited unseen and always, and slept through the lethargic mist,
And took my time, and took no hurt from the fetid carbon.
Faithful and friendly the arms that have help'd me.
For room to me stars kept aside in their own rings,
They sent influences to look after what was to hold me.
My embryo has never been torpid, nothing could overlay it.
The long slow strata piled to rest it on,
Vast vegetables gave it sustenance,
Monstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths and deposited it.
Now on this spot I stand with my robust soul.
O manhood, balanced, florid and full.
Crowding my lips, thick in the pores of my skin,
Jostling me through streets and public halls, coming naked to me at night,
Crying by day, Ahoy! from the rocks of the river, swinging and.
chirping over my head,
Calling my name from flower-beds, vines, tangled underbrush,
Lighting on every moment of my life,
Bussing my body with soft balsamic busses,
Noiselessly passing handfuls out of their hearts and giving them to be mine.
after and out of itself,
And the dark hush promulges as much as any.
And all I see multiplied as high as I can cipher edge but the rim of.
the farther systems.
Outward and outward and forever outward.
He joins with his partners a group of superior circuit,
And greater sets follow, making specks of the greatest inside them.
If I, you, and the worlds, and all beneath or upon their surfaces,
were this moment reduced back to a pallid float, it would.
not avail the long run,
We should surely bring up again where we now stand,
And surely go as much farther, and then farther and farther.
not hazard the span or make it impatient,
They are but parts, any thing is but a part.
Count ever so much, there is limitless time around that.
The Lord will be there and wait till I come on perfect terms,
The great Camerado, the lover true for whom I pine will be there.
never will be measured.
My signs are a rain-proof coat, good shoes, and a staff cut from the woods,
No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair,
I have no chair, no church, no philosophy,
I lead no man to a dinner-table, library, exchange,
But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a knoll,
My left hand hooking you round the waist,
My right hand pointing to landscapes of continents and the public road.
You must travel it for yourself.
Perhaps you have been on it since you were born and did not know,
Perhaps it is everywhere on water and on land.
Wonderful cities and free nations we shall fetch as we go.
And in due time you shall repay the same service to me,
For after we start we never lie by again.
And I said to my spirit When we become the enfolders of those orbs,
and the pleasure and knowledge of every thing in them, shall we.
be fill'd and satisfied then?
And my spirit said No, we but level that lift to pass and continue beyond.
I answer that I cannot answer, you must find out for yourself.
Here are biscuits to eat and here is milk to drink,
But as soon as you sleep and renew yourself in sweet clothes, I kiss you.
with a good-by kiss and open the gate for your egress hence.
Now I wash the gum from your eyes,
You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every.
moment of your life.
Now I will you to be a bold swimmer,
To jump off in the midst of the sea, rise again, nod to me, shout,
and laughingly dash with your hair.
He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own proves the width of my own,
He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher.
but in his own right,
Wicked rather than virtuous out of conformity or fear,
Fond of his sweetheart, relishing well his steak,
Unrequited love or a slight cutting him worse than sharp steel cuts,
First-rate to ride, to fight, to hit the bull's eye, to sail a.
skiff, to sing a song or play on the banjo,
Preferring scars and the beard and faces pitted with small-pox over.
And those well-tann'd to those that keep out of the sun.
I follow you whoever you are from the present hour,
My words itch at your ears till you understand them.
I wait for a boat,
(It is you talking just as much as myself, I act as the tongue of you,
Tied in your mouth, in mine it begins to be loosen'd.)
And I swear I will never translate myself at all, only to him or her.
who privately stays with me in the open air.
The nearest gnat is an explanation, and a drop or motion of waves key,
The maul, the oar, the hand-saw, second my words.
But roughs and little children better than they.
The woodman that takes his axe and jug with him shall take me with.
The farm-boy ploughing in the field feels good at the sound of my voice,
In vessels that sail my words sail, I go with fishermen and seamen.
On the night ere the pending battle many seek me, and I do not fail them,
On that solemn night (it may be their last) those that know me seek me.
My face rubs to the hunter's face when he lies down alone in his blanket,
The driver thinking of me does not mind the jolt of his wagon,
The young mother and old mother comprehend me,
The girl and the wife rest the needle a moment and forget where they are,
They and all would resume what I have told them.
And I have said that the body is not more than the soul,
And nothing, not God, is greater to one than one's self is,
And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own.
funeral drest in his shroud,
And I or you pocketless of a dime may purchase the pick of the earth,
And to glance with an eye or show a bean in its pod confounds the.
learning of all times,
And there is no trade or employment but the young man following it.
may become a hero,
And there is no object so soft but it makes a hub for the wheel'd universe,
And I say to any man or woman, Let your soul stand cool and composed.
before a million universes.
For I who am curious about each am not curious about God,
(No array of terms can say how much I am at peace about God and.
Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself.
I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and each moment then,
In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass,
I find letters from God dropt in the street, and every one is sign'd.
And I leave them where they are, for I know that wheresoe'er I go,
Others will punctually come for ever and ever.
try to alarm me.
I see the elder-hand pressing receiving supporting,
I recline by the sills of the exquisite flexible doors,
And mark the outlet, and mark the relief and escape.
I smell the white roses sweet-scented and growing,
I reach to the leafy lips, I reach to the polish'd breasts of melons.
(No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.)
O suns--O grass of graves--O perpetual transfers and promotions,
If you do not say any thing how can I say any thing?
Of the moon that descends the steeps of the soughing twilight,
Toss, sparkles of day and dusk--toss on the black stems that decay.
Toss to the moaning gibberish of the dry limbs.
I perceive that the ghastly glimmer is noonday sunbeams reflected,
And debouch to the steady and central from the offspring great or small.
I sleep--I sleep long.
It is not in any dictionary, utterance, symbol.
To it the creation is the friend whose embracing awakes me.
It is not chaos or death--it is form, union, plan--it is eternal.
life--it is Happiness.
And proceed to fill my next fold of the future.
Look in my face while I snuff the sidle of evening,
(Talk honestly, no one else hears you, and I stay only a minute longer.)
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)
Who wishes to walk with me?
and my loitering.
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.
It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow'd wilds,
It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.
DayPoems Poem No. 1900.
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YMMV / Family Guy.
Edit Locked.
Aw, jeez, this is getting worse than that time I visited that place where nerds go to disagree on things!
Acceptable Targets: Everything that ever existed, but especially celebrities. More recently, anyone who doesn't agree with the writers. Alas, Poor Scrappy: This happens to Brian when he is briefly killed. Brian may be hated by some people, but the way he dies is utterly tragic and is without doubt the single most tearjerking part of the whole show, yet was quickly undone with aretcon. And on that note, despite not being an actual death, Vinnie gets a touching send-off when Stewie realizes that saving Brian's life means that the Griffins will never adopt him . Muriel Goldman in "And Then There Were Fewer", especially considering that she was about to expose Diane Simmons for who she really was. Alternative Character Interpretation: Does Lois try to do the right thing for her children and husband or has her current characterization turned her into a horrible woman who is just as bad a parent as Peter is? Peter Griffin: a well-meaning idiot who doesn't know any better, or a dangerous sociopath (though given the episode where he's declared mentally retarded, it might be both) It seems like the label was meant to obscure / hand wave Peter's sociopathic behaviors. Meg Griffin: Is the family's mistreatment of her actually resentment that's been building over the years from back when she was whiny, spoiled and selfish in earlier seasons, or is that Meg merely lashing out of frustration for being in a family of Jerkassses? Is she staying with her family out of concern for their well being or is she suffering from Stockholm Syndrome? Did Bertram think Stewie was bluffing before he killed Leonardo Da Vinci or believe that Stewie was telling the truth? He said it was Worth It but was it to take a risk on his bluff or was it a case of Taking You with Me? "If "Tiegs For Two" and "Brian The Closer" are any indication, has Quagmire's treatment in recent seasons caused Brian to hate him just as much? Brian taking a level in jerkass after "Life Of Brian". Was it mere flanderisation of the character's more selfish traits from earlier seasons, or did Brian's knowledge of the fact that he died in the old timeline cause his true colors to be revealed? Was Quagmire flaccid when Lois trusted him because consent is his turn off? Was Dylan choosing to forgive Brian in "Brian's A Bad Father" out of love or pity for his father? Anvilicious: The show at its most serious, which a lot of fans don't like about many episodes of the Post-Uncanceled seasons. This is exacerbated by the fact that it tends to anvilizes on important and controversial topics such as politics and religion. Audience-Alienating Premise: While the premise wasn't the main cause, it was the popularity that caused the Cult Classic animated series to become a pop-culture behemoth, thus alienating and betraying its fanbase. Author's Saving Throw: After the backlash Season 7 got for constantly portraying Brian's ultra-liberal preaching in the right, following seasons will usually have characters point out the absurdity of a dog lecturing people about politics. After Quagmire was rewritten into a Take That, Scrappy! avatar who loathed and called out Brian on a regular basis, some fans complained it was overdone or skewed due to Quagmire's own shortcomings. Later episodes Took a Third Option and made Brian hate Quagmire back, with both characters trading equal blows and calling out each other's hypocrisies, usually with neither character portrayed as particularly more moral than the other. With the 14th and 15th seasons considered to be improvements compared to seasons 12-13 by some people, it looks like Alec Sulkin might fix the show's major problems it had during its Dork Age. This interview explains how he's going to make the show better again for its upcoming season once he takes over as showrunner. Awesome Art: The Disney universe in "Road to the Multiverse". It's widely considered the best part of the episode. Awesome Music: "Bag of Weed." "The Freakin' FCC" and its unloved twin "You Can Find It On TV", which shares the same tune as the first one. Peter's version of "Shipoopi". Any of the "special" credits themes, and all of the themes to the "Road to. " episodes "Mr. Booze" From the show's early days: "Give Up the Toad ". "Down Syndrome Girl" Seamus playing "Great Balls of Fire" on the church organ. Badass Decay: Stewie is considered to have undergone this by many during the show's later seasons. A quick example is "Halloween on Spooner Street," wherein Stewie not only cries after some bullies steal his Halloween candy, he also wonders if he's gone too far promptly after shooting a rocket at them. This is in complete contrast to his characterization in the earlier seasons. He occasionally lapses back into his old characterization, but it's quickly dropped afterward each time. Another example is "Patriot Games" where Stewie goes from mercilessly beating Brian to get his money to completely cowering about Brian beating him up. Joe has pretty much been reduced to a joke about the handicapped with rage issues. Few people seem to remember he was a pretty efficient cop who just so happened to be in a wheelchair after getting paralyzed while on duty (initially, it was from fighting The Grinch on Christmas Eve, but a later episode revealed that he was shot during a drug sting). That aspect of him returned in Season 9, however. Like Stewie, his old characterization seems to come and go. In "Herpes, the Love Sore", he gave up after someone tripped him out of his wheelchair. Old Joe wouldn't do that. Base-Breaking Character: Stewie, post-Badass Decay, with some arguing that he's a pathetic shadow of his former self (something that has been occasionally addressed within the show itself). The fact that the current Stewie is probably one of the most likable members of the current Griffin family, as well as providing a good chunk of the series' humor, still keeps him fairly popular. Meg. She is either the biggest woobie ever or a lame Flat Character who deserves her Butt-Monkey status. Her abuse is either funny ("Shut up Meg" is Memetic Mutation) or the worst thing about the show (for her fans). Peter is either loved because his random and stupid antics keep the show entertaining or hated for being a Psychopathic Manchild and abusing his daughter for his own amusement. Fans seem divisive as to whether turning Quagmire into a Self-Deprecation avatar counts as an Author's Saving Throw or the complete destruction of his character. Brian. People either like him for being the Only Sane Man and his friendship with Stewie, or hate him for being a self-absorbed Author Avatar. His death is either the best thing to ever happen to the show (for those that hate him for being said self-absorbed Author Avatar), or the absolute worst thing to happen to the show (for his own fans). Consuela: Half of the fandom thinks she's an utterly hysterical Ensemble Darkhorse and a Fountain of Memes ("No. no. "), while the other half looks at her as being the Ethnic Scrappy who's only there to be obnoxious and troll the Griffins. Better on DVD: The DVD version (at least for the episodes made after the show was saved from being cancelled) is not like the version you see on TV (not even the [adult swim] version). Words like "fuck" and "shit" aren't bleeped, there are alternate scenes and lines (some of which are better than what the TV version has, but most are a little too disgusting or in bad taste.), and you get commentary and deleted scene reels on what was originally supposed to be in the episode. Zigzagged with the Netflix version, where it's a mix between the uncut DVD versions and the edited for TV (not syndication edits, but edited when it first aired on FOX or Global, if you're Canadian) versions. The episode "Boys Don't Cry" is an odd mix, as it has all the scenes that aired on the DVD version, yet the shot of the sign that says, "Welcome to Texas: The Fuck You State" had "Fuck" pixellated. Big-Lipped Alligator Moment: The show might as well be renamed as "Big Lipped Alligator Moment: The Show" for its ridiculous amount of cutaway gags which are mostly there to fill in the remaining time of an episode's length, for at least Once per Episode. It got even worse in modern episodes, were the first cutaway gag may be shown less than 10 seconds in. Bizarro Episode: "Da Boom" which is the episode with the nuclear explosion due to the Millennium Bug. The Griffins try to find a lost Twinkie factory, and decide to form a new town, with Stewie turning into an octopus. (It all makes sense in context.) At the end, a Dallas character wakes up from a dream and tells Bobby about this weird episode. Bobby doesn't understand what Family Guy is, which freaks her out even more. And it was the first episode to feature Ernie the Giant Chicken and his fights with Peter. Since its one of the most well loved episodes this is probably a case of Tropes Are Not Bad Broken Base: As far as the general public's opinion of the show goes, you're in one of three camps: " Family Guy Is The Best Show Ever," " Family Guy Sucks Because It's A Rip-Off of The Simpsons and/or South Park ," or " Family Guy Used to Be Good Until [insert Seasonal Rot scenario here: "They Revived It In 2005," "Brian Became a Preachy Liberal", or "I Found Out American Dad! Was Funnier"]. Brian and Quagmire fans are quite divided over their recurring rivalry, especially since Brian has started hating Quagmire back. Season 4. Is it part of the show's classic era or the beginning of its decline? Season 9. Is it an improvement over seasons 7-8 or hated for being slower-paced? Which is worse: Season 7, 10, 12 or 13? Was it a good idea to kill off Brian in "Life of Brian"? and then bring him back three weeks later in "Christmas Guy"? Which Stewie is better: The evil Diabolical Mastermind Stewie of the earlier seasons or the nicer Camp Gay Stewie of the later seasons? The storyline of Brian being kicked out of the Griffin household that lasted for three episodes ("The D in Apartment 23", "Petey IV" and "Crimes and Meg's Demeanor") Was it a great way of showing that the show continues to be Growing the Beard after several lackluster seasons earlier, or was it pointless to drag out an idea that's clearly better off only being a single episode? It already didn't h elp that the remaining two episodes dealing with the plot only had it as the subplot meaning that it wasn't even the main focus. What's worse was that both the supporters and detractors of the idea were in agreement that its continuation as shown in "Petey IV" would've been better off being left on the cutting room floor. Lastly, the detractors point out how its conclusion in "Crimes and Meg's Demeanor" could've very easily taken place with Brian still living with the Griffins especially since the scene where he is welcomed back into their household (by being claimed as a local hero for unintentionally busting Principal Sheppard for stealing food from the high school cafeteria) feels very tacked on. Cargo Ship: Parodied in the episode "I Dream of Jesus", where, after Peter loses his "Surfin' Bird" record, he goes on a rant and lets slip the fact that he had sex with it. Also this, from the end of the "Li'l Rascals" parody:
Peter and a cardboard standee of Kathy Ireland. Crazy Awesome: Mayor West, who punched the constellation of Orion ( revealing it to be Orion Pictures ), among other things. Some of Peter's wacky antics. As long as they may be, the Peter vs Ernie the Giant Chicken fights certainly qualify. Creator's Pet: Brian, without a doubt, as even episodes that feature prominent Take That, Scrappy! moments against him usually end with Brian still coming out on top. In fact, only the slightest form of retribution Brian gets would be when characters point out the absurdity of a dog lecturing people about politics. In "Quagmire's Dad", Brian finds out the woman he just had sex with was actually Quagmire's recently transgendered father, gets beat up by an enraged Quagmire afterwards, but manages to get the last word. Then in "Valentine's Day in Quahog", Brian is confronted by his former girlfriends who try to explain that their relationships with him failed due to Brian's immaturity and self-centered nature. Brian however refuses to acknowledge that he could possibly be at fault and instead tries to lay the blame on them, enraging them into chasing him through town, only for Brian to somehow talk his way out of it off screen and even convincing them to all have sex with him at once. Critical Dissonance: Extraordinarily popular with regular viewers, and some critics, but other critics feel it’s very lowbrow, formulaic and just rips off other franchises under the moniker ‘parody’ while much of it just feels more like ‘plagiarism’, especially in the later seasons. Critical Research Failure: Their Carol Burnett parody that said her customary eartug was saying goodnight to her mother instead of her grandmother like it was in the show. In "Quagmire's Dad", Ida had sex with Brian a few days after her vaginoplasty. In Real Life, trans-women who have undergone a vaginoplasty have months of recovery before sex can safely take place. The episode "Amish Guy" where the Amish are portrayed as fundamentalists who are disapproved of the new-generation outsiders (i. e. Ezekiel forbidding his son, Eli, from seeing Meg because he fears that Meg would corrupt his son). In Real Life, the Amish encourage their young people to go out into the larger world to see how other people live, before returning to their community (that's what Rumspringa is). The episode "Tea Peter" where the Tea Partiers were protesting for no government. In Real Life, the Tea Partiers wanted less government interference, not no government at all. They seem to know that already, since there is a scene where a guy holding a sign wanting a little government (I. E a real Tea Party viewpoint) is beaten. The show often slips into this where Christianity is concerned, to the point it often crosses into The War on Straw. The cutaway gag in "Friends of Peter G." about there being no war before Christianity. It also implies that the birth of Jesus was a bad thing, as it shows two formerly friendly men acting violently towards towards each other after they hear the news. Also, there is a cutaway gag where Judas and Pontius Pilate befriend each other after they both say they want to kill Jesus. First, they never met; Judas teamed up with some Jewish religious leaders (Pharisees) to kill Jesus (and was guilt-stricken afterwards). Second, Pilate tried to save Jesus, but didn't due to risk of revolt from people who wanted Jesus dead (which those Pharisees involved indirectly encouraged). Furthermore, historical evidence uncovered after this episode infers that Pilate had a low opinion of Jewish people, even compared to his fellow Romans at the time (to the point that Ceasar eventually demoted Pilate). The "Road to the Multiverse" episode, which acts as though the world would have progressed much further and faster technologically if Christianity never existed. The problem with that is that the Catholic Church has always been a huge supporter of the sciences, astronomy and medical science in particular, and that numerous important scientific discoveries and theories, such as the field of genetics and the Big Bang theory, were put forth by Catholic scientists. There's also how most of the information that survived the collapse of the Roman Empire only did so due to the efforts of monks. It also would cancel out every invention invented by a Christian; it also ignores every act of censorship, perseuction and subjugation done by adherents of every other religion and the non-religious. Finally, the theory runs on the long-debunked idea that the Dark Ages were a period where the religious oppressed scientific thought (When in truth most of the records and facts from the time survived because religious people - mostly monks - kept the records in their libraries. Also, the slight slowing of scientific progress was due more to people being more preoccupied with picking up the pieces after the collapse of the Roman Empire). When Jesus presented an award with The Pussycat Dolls in "I Dream Of Jesus", all the women were shown as white despite half of them, including lead singer Nicole Scherzinger, being clearly non-white. The show sometimes makes gratuitous usage of horse-related terminology. In one episode, Carter describes Lois as a "wild stallion", even though a stallion is a male horse. Also, Nate Griffin, in one of his diary entries, refers to a female horse as a "colt", even though that word is meant to describe a young male horse/pony. Although the latter could probably be Justified by Nate being an African-American slave from the 1800s, and thus likely wouldn't have received the kind of education to understand the different terms to describe the gender/age of a horse. In "Fresh Heir", Peter tells Chris that Vermont is the only state where a man can legally marry his son. In actuality, the only state with no laws against adult incest is Rhode Island. you know, the state Family Guy is set in? When Mayor West was on trial for murder, Carter, Brian, and Peter should not have been on the jury as they are family members and therefore would not to be able to give an impartial verdict. In "Screams of Silence: The Story Of Brenda Q," the abuse is ridiculously over the top yet Joe won't arrest him unless she files a report, despite the fact that he does it out in the open and in front of several witnesses, including Joe himself. In Quagmire's Mom, Quagmire is put on trial for sleeping with an underage girl. However, he was surprised to find out that she was a minor, exclaiming that she said she was over 18. Because she lied about her age, she should be the one on trial. One scene in the episode "Dog Gone" has Consuela listening to Spanish radio as she dusts the Griffins' house. The song on the radio is an upbeat salsa song with an overenthusiastic horn section, and a singer belting out, "Muchos hornos!" over and over again. Unfortunately, "horno" is the Spanish word for oven , not horn. In the episode "Padre de Familia", Peter learns that he was born in Mexico, after his mother attempted to have an abortion there. As a result, Peter is technically a Mexican citizen and is treated as an illegal immigrant. However, the episode seems to ignore the fact that between December 24, 1952 and November 14, 1986, if a baby was born out of wedlock in a foreign country to an American mother who lived in the United States for over a year or so, they are an American citizen. Peter fits all of these requirements (having an American mother, born out of wedlock, and he's in his forties, making him birthday between 1958-67, as per the episode's November 18, 2007 airdate), though since Family Guy runs on Rule of Funny, this could've been easily negated for the funny. Crosses the Line Twice: Boy howdy. Start with Terri Schiavo, The Musical. In "Airport 07", the news report on the plane crash contains three simulations: what would have happened if the plane crashed into a school, if it crashed into a school for bunnies, and if it crashed into a school for bunnies and a surviving passenger took his anger out on his wife. Peter's pitch for a 9/11-themed screwball comedy in "Back To The Woods" is intentionally as tasteless and offensive as possible. Until he says "The voice of the plane is David Spade," at which point it becomes hysterical. In fact, a major criticism of the newer episodes is that it only crosses the line once, so something that was intended to be offensive to the point of hilarity comes off as just offensive, meaning the show only needs to Cross the Line Thrice in order to Cross the Line Twice.
Darkness-Induced Audience Apathy: A logical occurrence given perceived Flanderization of the characters, namely with a great many of them becoming Jerkasses and weakening their ability to have an audience sympathize with them. Some episodes deal with this by attempting to make the characters more sympathetic (such as Life Of Brian when Brian is killed off for real. for about two episodes.) Designated Hero: Peter, Brian and Lois at their worst, and even Meg in some episodes when she grabs the Jerkass Ball (for example, making constant passes at Brian, who was dating Jillian at the time, and then attempting to rape him, blackmailing her brother (and continuing to blackmail him even after he completes the list that she gives him) and having Bonnie arrested just to be closer to Joe, etc). Discredited Trope: Many, especially Meg's role and how gaysare characterized. Don't Shoot the Message: For a time, Brian's liberal atheist viewpoints and his need to constantly preach them to characters/the audience (most notoriously in "Not All Dogs Go To Heaven") were taken to such levels that it even began to annoy the show's Democratic viewer base, many of whom agreed with the general message but thought the execution simply made him look bad. Draco in Leather Pants: For a Sadist Show, a few characters qualify. Stewie. Yes, he did become nicer in later seasons of the show, but fans forgot that he originally started off as an evil baby who was willing to murder his own mother. Lois may qualify. Some of her defenders usually try to excuse her abuse towards Meg by saying that because other characters are cruel to Meg, that justifies her abuse. While it's true that other characters are cruel to Meg, the only reason Lois is vilified for it while Peter isn't is because she is the smarter of the two. Not to mention she's Meg's mother. Ear Worm: Parodied and played for laughs on the "I Dream Of Jesus" episode with the Trashmen's "Surfing Bird". Peter's obsession for the song quickly degenerates into a nightmare for the rest of the family, with Stewie and Brian eventually stealing and destroying the record, Office Space style. A bag of weed, a bag of weed! Oh, everything is better with a bag of weed! Friendship is the best thing ever! Don't mess with Mr. Booze! The theme song. Give it up! Give up the toad now! Its no joke! Kentucky is a state. Kentucky is a state. All the people there are dicks, Kentucky is a state. "Gonna gonna gonna buy me a rainbow. " It's a wonderful day for pie! Can't touch me! The fellas at the freakin' FCC! Cause the spirit of Massachusetts is the Spirit of America, the spirit of what's old and what's new. You and I are too awfully different. Have you ever put butter on a Pop-Tart? It's so freakin good. I'm just a prom night dumpster baby. Who wants to live in Korea? Their name sounds like "Gonorrhea!" You know you don't thank the lord, you thank the whites! note Despite the awful lyrics. Ensemble Dark Horse: There's Facebook groups based around one-off characters such as Sneakers O'Toole and Mayor Bee. Ernie the Giant Chicken, Death, the Evil Monkey, Ollie Williams, Seamus, Herbert, Greased-up Deaf Guy, and Bruce (the Performance Artist that has "Oh no!" as a Catch Phrase) are all popular among fans. They were also one time characters before cancellation but due to their popularity they became Recurring Extras soon after. Matt Groening has said he's quite jealous of Ernie, and wishes he'd come up with the idea. You don't get much more dark horse-y than that. Ethnic Scrappy: An LGBT example, Brian's cousin Jasper for being a walking offensive stereotype. Jerome who has since his arrival, went from a Nice Guy who simply dated Lois in the past to nothing but a bunch of black stereotypes rolled into one and ultimately with Cleveland back he's just redundant. Evil Is Cool: Stewie Griffin. Fair for Its Day: In "The Fat Guy Strangler", Peter starts an organization that advocates the promotion of fat men and the episode deconstructs his idea to do so. Years later came the fat acceptance movement which would denounce the negative portrayal his organization's members. Family-Unfriendly Aesop: "Seahorse Seashell Party" has an infamous example; you shouldn't stand up for yourself if you're the target of verbal, emotional, or physical abuse from your family. Your suffering makes the rest of your family closer as a whole, and therefore you are a "hero" for acting like an abuse lightning rod. Faux Symbolism: Sometimes it is implied that Chris is some sort of Messianic Archetype - his name, his disposition as the kindest and most innocent member of the family and his blond hair all go towards this. Sometimes the jokes are pushed a little further, such as when he was cast as Luke Skywalker when Peter parodied the story of Star Wars, and when he dressed up as Optimus Prime from Transformers, both of whom are messianic archetypes themselves. Of course it's all a gag. First Installment Wins: Fans generally consider the first two seasons to be the best. "Funny Aneurysm" Moment: Now has its own page Growing the Beard: Season 8, especially when compared with Season 7. For example, "Dog Gone" which shows that the show can indeed have emotional depth (something that it hasn't had since "Brian Wallows and Peter Swallows"), and "Quagmire's Baby" showing that, while the show can bring in a few Crowning Moments of Heartwarming, the show still has its tasteless magic. Season 9 shows that the writers are going out of their way to improve the show as much as possible, as the show is now in 720p high-definition, the stories are better written (though some weak episodes do crop up), there are now actually pretty emotional moments every now and then, and the humor has been stepping up in quality as less and less recycled gags are used. Critical Dissonance: Though most critics after season seven have blasted the show for not being as funny as it used to be and writing off seasons 8, 9, and 10 as Seasonal Rot. This should be qualify as So Okay, It's Average, but seasons 14 and 15 had been rather more-well received to some people compared to the past several seasons of the show. This is due to the fact that it doesn't have that many jokes that make you want yell "END IT ALREADY!", bloody/grossout moments, or political, serious plots. Even the Meg abuse had been toned down, in which she had been treated with more respect in a few episodes such as Saturated Fat Guy. Harsher in Hindsight: "Turban Cowboy" focused on Peter unwittingly joining a terrorist organization that planned on blowing up a bridge. That episode contained a cutaway gag about Peter winning the Boston Marathon by driving through the racers and killing them. That episode aired three weeks before the Boston Marathon Bombing. Brian "Road To The Multiverse" ended with Brian's alternate-universe counterpart being hit by a car after returning from his journey. This ends up happening to the real Brian at the end of "Life Of Brian", killing him; however, this managed to be stopped later on, possibly erasing two-and-a-half episodes. In "Dog Gone", Brian ends up accidentally running over and killing another dog with his car. but his family doesn't care whatsoever. This ultimately happened to Brian himself, but was thankfully prevented. Any episode where Brian laments his mortality ("Brian Sings and Swings", "Brian and Stewie", etc.) or someone laments it for him ("Wasted Talent", etc.) becomes this after Brian ends up dying in "Life of Brian". This particular line, from "Wasted Talent", is gut-wrenchingly prophetic:
Jerkass Woobie: You could make this case for almost every regular in the show. Lois is a good example, to start. Yes, she is self centered, snarky, abusive, and quite the sociopath, but she probably ended up like that because she has to put up with the insanity of the world (mostly caused by her legally retarded, Psychopathic Manchild husband, Peter). Glenn Quagmire, himself. Described by Seth MacFarlane as a "heartless sex maniac," this man also has a lot of problems that do make you feel sorry for him: the one woman he truly loved (Cheryl Tiegs) left him (which is what made him into a "heartless sex maniac"), his niece has cancer and is going through chemo, his sister dated a man who abused her, his father abandoned him years ago, then returned, and got a sex change operation, his pet cat was brutally murdered by Peter out of spite (and forgotten about in favor of Brian's story about trying to get marijuana legalized), and he had to give his daughter up for adoption because he felt that he wasn't a good father. Brian is (or, rather, has become, as the early episodes had him as Peter's sane half who liked to drink) a condescending weasel who a frequent amount of times shows a complete intolerance and apathy for anything under him. He provokes the endless abuse he gets each episode a lot less than most of the other borderline sociopaths in Quahog, however, and is frequently mocked and treated as sub human for being a dog. Peter. Yes, he's a self-centered sociopath who gets away with virtually anything he does, but unlike the above three who are intelligent and aware to a certain degree, violence is probably all Peter knows when dealing with something he can't handle, and when he tries to do another method he usually screws up badly or find himself in a more difficult situation. Also unlike Lois, Quagmire, and Brian who live with the knowledge of how much their Parents love them, Peter's own parents are implied not to be so good to him. It's implied, but never stated outright, that Peter's abusive personality may have came from his own troubled background: His real father was never there for him, his mother is implied to be emotionally abusive or at least neglective towards him (as seen as where a young Peter has a sore tooth and she responds by pitching a glass of wine at him), his false dad yells at him a lot, and his peers mistreat him daily. Apparently, he's been used as a sex-slave when he was younger for 8 years, unlike others who enjoy or even motivated by sexual thrill, Peter doesn't enjoy being sexually harassed or being raped, so he's always out to fend for himself. Perhaps Peter's attitude in later episodes is just him finally snapping. Like You Would Really Do It: When it was announced that a member of the Griffin family would be Killed Off for Real, the audience felt that Brian, what with being Seth Macfarlane's Author Avatar, would be the last character to be killed off. And sure enough, one episode afterward, yeah they were bluffing. "Christmas Guy" brought Brian back. MacFarlane himself lampshaded this. It didn't help that Vinnie's voice actor wasn't credited to appear in the Simpsons crossover. Love to Hate: Of course old Stewie, the original Breakout Character. Magnificent Bitch: Diane Simmons in the Season 9 opening. Memetic Molester: Quagmire. One particularly memorable joke involved him raping Marge Simpson and then murdering every member of The Simpsons family. As you might expect Matt Groening was so appalled that he threatened never to speak to Seth MacFarlane ever again as a result. Seth himself eventually realized that he'd gone too far with that one. Memetic Mutation: Mostly spawned by those mocking the show, most famously South Park and its supposition that the show is written by manatees with words scrawled on balls; the idea caught on enough that the Family Guy writers, in DVD commentaries, refer to weak jokes with comments such as "The manatees were kinda off that day". In the episode "Mother Tucker", Peter dies from watching a video from Mannequin , a parody of The Ring . This clip became popular on YouTube, with the uploader replacing the Mannequin video with something considered so unwatchably bad that it would kill them the way Peter was killed on the show. "Stewie just said that" is quickly becoming this, though it may just be a Forced Meme. IRAQ LOBSTER! An image macro of Peter with the caption "Oh my god, who the hell cares?!" Because you touch yourself at night. DAMN NATURE, YOU SCARY! Shut up, Meg! You know what really grinds my gears? Memetic Mutations. Laughing Ostrich . The scenes where Stewie beats the over-loving hell out of Brian for not paying the bet dues in time. "Where's my money?" The Peter Griffin Sideboob Hour. [Insert Scientific Invention with no money here] "WHY ARE WE NOT FUNDING THIS?!" It's a Cheeseburger. BUTT SCRATCHAAAAA. Pepperidge Farm remembers. "That happened, and we all let it happen." "HEY PETER" The "Family Guy Funny Moments" compilations on YouTube have also become the butt of many ironic shitposts. Moral Event Horizon: See here. Most Wonderful Sound: The "public radio" gag can trigger ASMR in some people. Nausea Fuel: "Who Wants Chowder?". Made even worse in "Yug Ylimaf" when time goings backwards forces the vomit back up their mouths . Stewie asking (and finally convincing) Brian to clean out Stewie's diaper when they are trapped together in the bank vault. by eating Stewie's shit . Which causes Stewie to puke, and then he asks and convinces Brian to eat that, too . It was the single grossest thing on Family Guy and pretty much the deal breaker scene for anyone who watches the 150th episode "Brian and Stewie." Peter and Quagmire vomited in each other's mouth while kissing on the episode where Quagmire tries to convince a hooker he drunkenly married that he's gay. Brian jamming Stewie's dislocated arm back into the socket in "Be Careful What You Fish For". Brian's hairless body in "A Fistful of Meg". Stewie's, Brian's, and Chris' sores in "Herpes, The Love Sore." The Grossup Closeups do not help. Stewie giving birth in "Stewie is Enceinte". Even if the birth itself isn't shown, it doesn't help that the babies are birthed throughout various body parts of him, such as his mouth . The testicle cutaway from "Fresh Heir". Any time one of the bones pop out of the legs of the characters. Never Live It Down: Some fans will never look at Neil Goldman the same way again after the scene in "Follow the Money" where he shockingly tells his late mother than she can burn in Hell whilst apathetically dumping money on a park bench dedicated to her. Nightmare Retardant: Brian and Stewie's clones melting, then Brian wanting to eat their remains (this was on the TV version. The DVD version replaces this dialogue with Brian asking Stewie if he should search their remains because he left his bank card in one of the clones). Older Than They Think: A cartoon using "Surfin' Bird"? Family Guy had to be the first, right? Não. Try CBS's short-lived 1998 cartoon Birdz , which used it… as the opening theme, no less. In "Hell Comes to Quahog", the "Do you remember [X]? Pepperidge Farm remembers." joke had also been done in the Futurama episode "A Fishful of Dollars" seven years earlier, which makes some say "They Copied It, So It Sucks." In "Ratings Guy", Peter tells Homer Simpson "Looks like this is one we beat you to!" after the latter came in telling he broke television. Funnily enough, this episode isn't the only one Family Guy beat The Simpsons to. The Simpsons' "Treehouse of Horror XIV" segment "Reaper Madness", whose plotline has Homer taking over as the Grim Reaper, was beaten to the punch by the plotline of Family Guy's "Death Is A Bitch" three years earlier. In "Seahorse Seashell Party", pointing one's finger like a gun and going "bang" is a referred to as a fingerbang. This was the subject of the South Park episode, "Something You Can Do with Your Finger", from 2000.
Replacement Scrappy Vinny, the dog the Griffins adopted in the Deleted Timeline after Brian's death. This has since been changed, however, so that it has never happened. Ironically enough, Brian has become this for Vinnie ever since he was brought back. The fact that Brian Took a Level in Jerkass after his revival (with episodes like "Brian's a Bad Father" and "Herpe, the Love Sore", but especially the latter, see Moral Event Horizon above and The Scrappy below) while Vinnie was undoubtedly a Jerk with a Heart of Gold and arguably one of the nicer characters on the show by that point has made Vinny's status as a Replacement Scrappy an Inverted Trope. Joyce Kinney is this for fans of Diane Simmons. While fans were Rooting for the Empire in her debut episode, her overall lack of appearances and bland personality causes her to be this (when compared to Diane). Rescued from the Scrappy Heap: Later episodes have been trying to show to us that Brian isn't this perfect Author Avatar that everyone agrees with, but is actually the most flawed character on this show and not as smart or important as he believes. Vinny won a lot of people over when he helped Stewie go back in time to save Brian. Even though he never knew Brian, he knew that Stewie really loved and missed him, and was willing to give up meeting the Griffin family so that Stewie could have Brian back . Scapegoat Creator: As can be seen on this very page, Seth MacFarlane is often blamed for just about everything wrong with the later episodes. With a few exceptions, he really hasn't written written or directed an episode in a long time. Of course, he is executive producer—he may not come up with a certain script himself, but he has to approve all of them (and voice about half the characters himself), so he's still responsible for deciding what does and does not get into the show. However, whether or not it's due to his apathy post-Seasonal Rot, there have been numerous jokes that Seth didn't care for that still managed to make it past the final cut, making one think he'd be a bit more mindful of what he puts out. The Scrappy: Brian has become this to a portion of the fanbase after being derailed into becoming the Author Avatar. Although his death in "Life of Brian" elicited an Alas, Poor Scrappy response from the fans, two of his actions after coming back to life are making some of them wish he stayed dead, namely, giving Stewie and Chris an incurable STD in "Herpe The Love Sore" (thanks for saving my life, Stewie!) , and purposely screwing over Quagmire in "Brain The Closer" '', after Quagmire, despite his hatred of Brian, helped him when the latter got disfigured. Ungrateful Bastard doesn't even begin to describe Brian now. Jasper is loathed with a hell-fire burning passion by LGBT fans (which would explain why he has only appeared in a cameo since "You May Now Kiss. Uh..The Guy Who Receives") and even ones who aren't. Possibly because he is a walking embodiment of every negative gay stereotype even though the writers say use him as an advocate for gay rights. Lois is hated intensely by fans for being flanderized into a massive Jerkass who gets away whatever she does more easily than anyone, especially Peter. Quagmire for being reduced to a selfish, non-empathetic, annoying sex maniac who despises Brian over petty hypocritical reasons. Killing his sister's abusive boyfriend is about his only remaining redeeming quality. Vinny was initially hated by fans for replacing Brian but once Brian returned, most people warmed up to him and some even complained that he shouldn't have been written off the show. Peter, if only because he seems to be involved in most of the Overly Long Gag shots. Herbert to a capital T. The entire implication of him constantly stalking Chris and the references to his pedophilia and his annoying voice just comes off as overused these past seasons. Add to the fact no one besides Stewie (and possibly Meg, who calls him a creepy old man) notices his pedophilia doesn't help. Seasonal Rot: A lot of fans tend to argue that Season 7 was the worst season, due to the characters being flanderized into essentially one-note characters, episodes focusing on Brian's views (the most notable one being the infamous "Not All Dogs Go to Heaven") and poor plotlines. note Part of the reason the rot occurred being Seth MacFarlane's apathy kicking in during Season 6 after the Writers' Strike of 2007-2008, during which FOX aired 3 barely finished episodes during the strike without MacFarlane's permission, leading MacFarlane to call out the network for their "colossal dick move". There are also some fans who feel that this began to kick in as early as Season 4. There was a time between the 7th and 12th seasons where many said that Season 10 was the worst (and to some still is). Episodes that are prime examples of this include "Seahorse Seashell Party" (for as Mr. Enter pointed out, having the worst example of Status Quo Is God), "Screams of Silence: The Story of Brenda Q" (portraying domestic violence totally straight on a show that makes a living out of doing it for laughs both before and since), "The Blind Side" (all blind people are gullible), "Be Careful What You Fish For" (mostly for the subplot with Brian and Stewie), and "Tea Peter" (the plot can easily offend anyone who's studied politics and containing a joke saying that Autism is an excuse for kids to act ill-mannered). There's another side of the fandom that does say that it is (or was before Season 12) the worst season but only because most of the episodes were completely forgettable. Season 12 is the current low point for the series according to most fans. The main reason being Brain getting killed off in “Life of Brian” only to be brought back three weeks later in “Christmas Guy” in a ratings grab so desperate and shallow that it caused several longtime fans to lose whatever respect that they still had for the show by that point. Other episodes that play a big part in why the season is so reviled include “Peter Problems” (for the one-minute long scene of Peter accidentally killing a whale while trying to push it back into the ocean using a forklift), “Brian’s a Bad Father” (the main plot being Exactly What It Says on the Tin according to some and the subplot ending with an overly-gory scene of Quagmire shooting Peter in the head), “Fresh Heir” (aka “Let’s See How Many Unfunny Incest Jokes We Can Force Down Your Throat in 22 Minutes”), and “Herpe, the Love Sore” (Brian intentionally gives Stewie & Chris herpes when he becomes blood brothers with them, which is not helped by the fact that this took place some time after Stewie saved Brian, and the subplot involving Peter, Joe, and Quagmire which has one of the worst Unfortunate Implications from the show, if not the worst Unfortunate Implication from Western Animation). Season 13, despite the opener being the much-anticipated crossover with The Simpsons , continues the rot with episodes like "Brian the Closer" (Brian screws over Quagmire), "The 2,000 Year Old Virgin" (All Men Are Perverts, including Jesus), "Our Idiot, Brian" (Exactly What It Says on the Tin), "Quagmire's Mom" (Quagmire here becomes Unintentionally Unsympathetic), and "Stewie is Enceinte" (Enciente meaning "Pregnant", think about it). Not helping matters is the notable increase in Peter-focused episodes that season, which had some of the other Griffins (notably Meg & Chris) often going several episodes without speaking or even appearing, resulting with the Fan Nickname The Peter Griffin Show . Shallow Parody: The Quentin Tarantino portion of "Three Directors" doesn't really have much to say or offer other than "Tarantino movies are violent as shit!". As a result, the whole segment is very off-putting thanks to it being the most pointlessly violent and graphic the show has been since Season 13 note Examples including Peter stabbing Dr. Hartman in the eyes, the disturbing ways that some of the Tricia clones die (one gets a beer bottle impaled in her eye while another has her spine broken with her busted skeleton being exposed) and Angelia getting sliced in half. . Snark Bait: Very rarely will you find a positive discussion about the show in its post-revival years, particulary one that doesn't saying anything about its offensive and cruel humor. Some Anvils Need to Be Dropped: "Road to the North Pole": Be grateful with what you have and don't be selfish during the holiday season. Rush Limbaugh telling Brian to actually give differing opinions a chance before passing judgment on them as heard in "Excellence in Broadcasting" "Friends of Peter G.": Keep your addictions in moderation and don't let them control your life. "I Am Peter, Hear Me Roar": Feminism is about choice. Choosing to be a wife and mother doesn't make a woman any less empowered. Also: men need to realize that women are people too and should be treated equally (or at least that was the moral they were aiming for). "[i]f you're watching a TV show and you decide to take your values from that, you're an idiot. Maybe you should take responsibility for what values your kids are getting. Maybe you shouldn't be letting your kids watch certain shows in the first place if you have such a big problem with them, instead of blaming the shows themselves." (looks at the camera) "Yeah." There's a reason why Jeffrey Fecalman was played completely straight. From "Brian Writes a Bestseller,": Putting faith in your work is often more important than the quality of the work itself. Controversial as it may be, "Extra Large Medium" correctly makes the point that simply having a mental disorder doesn't negate a person from being a rude Jerkass. Squick: Peter breastfeeding Stewie on "I Am Peter, Hear Me Roar" The morbid humor of keeping Stewie's severe head injury a secret on the episode where Brian pitches a TV show that gets co-opted by James Woods. Chris and Meg unknowingly making out with each other on the episode "Halloween on Spooner Street." The ipecac drinking contest on "8 Simple Rules for Buying My Teenaged Daughter." Then "Yug Ylimaf" went and made that scene even worse . Brian shaving all his fur off and going around bald to get back at Peter. Stewie's herpes. Stewie's pregnancy and the birth of his and Brian's deformed hybrid babies. Strawman Has a Point: When Brian is forced to move out in "The D in Apartment 23" due to the racist tweet he sent, he questions why it is that Peter is still allowed to stay in the Griffin household in spite of all the crap he's pulled over the years. Take That, Scrappy!: Brian gets it with Quagmire's "The Reason You Suck" Speech and No-Holds-Barred Beatdown. Another notable instance is, of course, Brian's death, in the now Deleted Timeline it occurred in. Played seriously for the most part, but right after being hit by the car, a squirrel comes down, spits on him, and states that he sucked. This could also apply for the few fans who hate him as much as Quagmire does. Pretty much anytime he gets his ass handed to him in any episode where he acts as a major douche, such as the episode "Brian the Closer" where Quagmire knocks all his teeth out after smacking him in the face with a lamp, and "Peternormal Activity" where he gets smacked in the face by Stewie with a baseball bat, thus causing the broken glass in his glasses to cut his eyes. Quagmire gets his own just desserts when a hardened Chris, a 13 year old boy, beats the crap out of him just so he can take his car. Brian has also started requiting Quagmire's hatred of him, appeasing those who thought the latter was a hypocrite, conning him out of his money in "Brian The Closer" and calling him out over his own self righteousness in "Tiegs For Two" and "Quagmire's Mom". Even fans who hate both of them can now get gratification from them both never giving the other a break. Come the latest episode "Bookie of the Year", Quagmire gets a taste of his own medicine when he gets his arm broken badly from getting hit by a baseball accidentally thrown by Chris, who got his arm broken due to Quagmire, Cleveland, and Joe (all dressed as teenagers in disguise) beating him up to keep him from playing in the finals to win a bet prior to that scene. Lois in "Seahorse Seashell Party" where she breaks into tears when Meg calls her out for being a horrible mother. Peter gets it in "Stewie Kills Lois" and "Lois Kills Stewie". He gets framed for murdering his wife, Stewie beats him up so he can give out what he thinks of his macaroni art, and people start throwing apples at him. And in "Dial Meg For Murder", he gets raped by a bull and gets beaten to a pulp by his ceaselessly mistreated daughter. They Copied It, So It Sucks: From day one, the show has been incessantly compared to The Simpsons for its vaguely similar family dynamic (father, mother, boy, girl, baby, dog) and humor. While Seth MacFarlane has said that The Simpsons was a huge influence on him, the show's peek period airing while he was in college, the two shows actually have very little in common, the most notable difference being that The Simpsons has always prided itself on deconstructing sitcom cliches while Family Guy openly embraces them. They Wasted a Perfectly Good Character: A lot of people felt that Vinny's potential as a character was severely underused, and felt bad that he was written out of the story after three episodes. Some of his former haters even opined that he wasn't that bad a character and wouldn't mind seeing more of him, just as long as he was not used as a replacement for Brian. They Wasted a Perfectly Good Plot: In "Road to Germany", we learn that Mort's grandparents were Polish Holocaust survivors who got married the day the Nazis invaded. The story of their survival is one with a lot potential, but instead it was forgotten in favor of Stewie, Brian, and Mort figuring out how to get home. "Stew-Roids" wastes two : Stewie growing large muscles and Connie getting Hidden Depths and/or Character Development. "Not All Dogs Go to Heaven" was the episode that had appearances from all the major actors of Star Trek: The Next Generation, kidnapped by Stewie and forced to spend the day with him. This amounts to a few minutes worth of scenes at most in which they go through a McDonald's drive-thru and go bowling. The episode is mostly about Meg becoming a Christian and trying to demonize Brian for being an atheist. "Seahorse Seashell Party" is seen as a lost opportunity to get rid of Meg, especially considering the fact that the writers started abusing her because they wanted to write her out!! This is also true the other way around: Several fans believed it to be an opportunity for groundbreaking Character Development for the family and particularly Meg, however, Status Quo Is God reigns supreme and the episode ends with one of the worst aesops in history: "abuse victims should stay in an unhealthy relationship for the sake of their abusers and that's something noble to do", after that, everyone treats Meg like crap again and nobody learns anything. This is why a lot of fans hate "Back To The Pilot", finding the 9/11 plot nothing more than a tasteless and unneccesary excuse to mention that Seth MacFarlanealmost went on one of the planes in said attacksbut ended up missing it, and wishing there would be more of riffing the first episode. The "Life Of Brian" arc ended two episodes after it began and was resolved in a way that left many people unsatisfied, although that didn't stop millions of others from rejoicing. The idea of who ran over Brian Griffin would've been a great murder mystery plot but ever since Brian was Brought Back from the Dead, it seems that Brian's killer will never be known. In "Our Idiot Brian", not only was it wrong for Brian to take Meg's SAT scores for her, it was also completely unnecessary. He could've quizzed her and it would have had the same effect. Some fans wish that "Inside Family Guy" was more like the episode of The Simpsons that it was clearly copying ("Behind the Laughter" from Season 11) and had more instances of Self-Deprecation (such as acknowledging the increase of over the top gore and violence and well as commenting on some of the show's more infamous episodes like "Not All Dogs Go to Heaven" and "Screams of Silence: The Story of Brenda Q.") rather than just wasting a good portion of the episode focusing solely on Peter with occasional commentary by James Woods saying things more for shock value rather than feeling like actual jokes. In "Chris Has Got a Date, Date, Date, Date", a lot of people thought it was weird that Brian was seemingly oblivious to the fact that Peter was using his car as an uber without his permission or consent. Ultimately somewhat subverted as a deleted scene from the episode that can be found on the Season 15 DVD set reveals that Brian was aware of his car being missing and reported it stolen. This is then followed by Peter saying that that explains why he was involved in a high-speed chase in his car the day prior where he killed a man in a phone booth but tells Brian that he caused that. Some wish that the subplot for "How the Griffin Stole Christmas" had continued to focus on Brian & Stewie crashing various office Christmas parties rather than abruptly switching gears 2/3's of the way into it for two brief scenes of Stewie working at the office and essentially forgetting Brian's involvement. True Art Is Incomprehensible: Diane Simmons' short movie Lint. Stewie's music video he made for Susie.
Comunidade.
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Uma História: a Palavra do Ano do Dicionário.
Palavra do ano.
Nossa escolha de Palavra do Ano serve como um símbolo dos eventos mais significativos de cada ano e das tendências de pesquisa. É uma oportunidade para refletirmos sobre a linguagem e as ideias que representam a cada ano. Então, dê um passeio pela estrada da memória para lembrar de todas as nossas seleções anteriores da Palavra do Ano.
Não foi moda, engraçado, nem foi cunhado no Twitter, mas achamos que a mudança contou uma história real sobre como nossos usuários definiram 2010. Ao contrário de 2008, a mudança não era mais um slogan de campanha. Mas o termo ainda tinha muito peso. Aqui está um trecho do nosso anúncio da Palavra do Ano em 2010:
O debate nacional pode ser resumido pela pergunta: Nos últimos dois anos, houve mudanças suficientes? Tem havido muito? Enquanto isso, muitos americanos continuam enfrentando mudanças em suas casas, contas bancárias e empregos. Só o tempo dirá se a última onda de mudanças pela qual os americanos votaram nas eleições intermediárias resultará em um resultado negativo ou positivo.
Tergiversar.
Esta palavra rara foi escolhida para representar 2011 porque descreveu muito do mundo ao nosso redor. Tergiversar significa "mudar repetidamente a atitude ou opiniões de uma pessoa em relação a uma causa, assunto, etc." Os editores do dicionário viram o mercado de ações, os grupos políticos e a opinião pública passarem por uma montanha-russa de mudanças ao longo de 2011. E assim, nomeamos tergiversar a Palavra do Ano de 2011.
Em um ano conhecido pelo movimento Occupy e o que ficou conhecido como a Primavera Árabe, nossos lexicógrafos escolheram a tag como sua Palavra do Ano de 2012. Aqui está um trecho do nosso lançamento que dá uma boa explicação para a nossa escolha:
2012 viu as campanhas políticas mais caras e alguns dos eventos climáticos mais extremos da história da humanidade, desde enchentes na Austrália a ciclones na China, ao furacão Sandy e muitos outros.
Ficamos sérios em 2013. A privacidade de todos estava naquele ano, desde a revelação de Edward Snowden do Project PRISM até a chegada do Google Glass. Aqui está um trecho do nosso anúncio em 2013:
Muitos de nós abraçamos as mídias sociais, optando por oferecer informações íntimas e fotografias pessoais no Facebook, Twitter e Instagram; Esta participação robusta ecoa uma observação de Mark Zuckerberg em 2010 de que o nível de conforto do público em compartilhar informações pessoais on-line é uma “norma social” que “evoluiu com o tempo”. Mesmo assim, uma pesquisa recente da Harris Poll mostra que os jovens estão agora monitorando e alterando suas configurações de privacidade mais do que nunca, um desenvolvimento que o USA Today apelidou de “efeito de Edward Snowden”.
Alerta de spoiler: As coisas não ficaram menos sérias em 2014. Nossa Palavra do Ano foi a exposição, que destacou o surto do vírus Ebola no ano, chocantes atos de violência tanto no exterior quanto nos EUA e o roubo generalizado de informações pessoais. Aqui está o que nós tivemos a dizer sobre a exposição em 2014:
Do senso de vulnerabilidade que permeia o Ebola à visibilidade de atos de crime ou má conduta que provocaram conversas críticas sobre raça, gênero e violência, vários sentidos de exposição foram expostos ao público este ano.
A fluidez da identidade foi um grande tema em 2015. A linguagem em torno do gênero e da identidade sexual se ampliou, tornando-se mais inclusiva, com acréscimos ao dicionário, como gênero fluido, bem como o prefixo neutro de gênero Mx. A identidade racial também teve muito debate em 2015, depois que Rachel Dolezal, uma mulher branca se apresentando como uma mulher negra, disse que se identificou como biracial ou transracial. Nossa Palavra do Ano em 2015 refletiu as muitas facetas da identidade que surgiram naquele ano.
Xenofobia.
Em 2016, selecionamos a xenofobia como nossa Palavra do Ano. O medo do "outro" foi um tema enorme em 2016, do Brexit à retórica de campanha do presidente Donald Trump. Em nosso anúncio, pedimos aos nossos leitores que refletissem sobre este termo em vez de celebrá-lo:
Apesar de ser escolhida como a Palavra do Ano de 2016, a xenofobia não deve ser celebrada. Pelo contrário, é uma palavra para refletir profundamente à luz dos acontecimentos do passado recente.
A palavra cúmplice surgiu em conversas em 2017 sobre aqueles que se manifestaram contra figuras e instituições poderosas e sobre aqueles que permaneceram em silêncio. Foi um ano de verdadeiro despertar para a cumplicidade em vários setores da sociedade, da política à cultura pop. De nosso anúncio de Palavra do Ano de 2017:
Nossa escolha para Palavra do Ano é tanto sobre o que é visível quanto sobre o que não é. É uma palavra que nos lembra que até a inação é um tipo de ação. A aceitação silenciosa do erro é como chegamos a esse ponto. Não devemos deixar que isso continue a ser a norma. Se fizermos isso, então somos todos cúmplices.