Nader 08

Seems appropriate that a pick-up truck be parked in the drive of the house which hosts this yard sign. Rancid Ralph and ... Bertie Gonzalez?

My response to this candidacy? Feh!

Ideé d’jour

Paths cannot be taught,
they can only be taken.
— Zen Saying

Idée d’jour

A hair in the head is worth two in the brush.
– Oliver Herford, writer and illustrator (1863-1935)

OMG!

I am so voting for Paris Hilton!

See more funny videos at Funny or Die

Feather in the Grass

Tuesday, July 29, 2008. The wind was low, but the feather turned as I was taking its picture - facing north-south to facing east-west.

Lantana

This represents a small fraction of the lantana that has volunteered itself on the east side of my house.

For the Netflix Que

See also Neil Young at Sundance

Old Dogs

This one's for you, Brother Dave.

Remember the Bonus Army

This week marks the 76th anniversary of the Bonus Army. This was a group of World War I veterans who marched on Washington, DC, for benefits. They had been promised benefits, but did not receive them. President Herbert Hoover, the spiritual godfather of the current president, called out active duty soldiers to smash the veterans' tent city.

So, the poor treatment veterans of the Afghan and Iraq wars have received is nothing new. It has continued into VA denying the effects of Agent Orange following the Viet Nam conflict, to so-called Gulf War Syndrome*, to recent stop-loss measures.

Brother Dave, a veteran of Viet Nam and current veteran's advocate, recommends we read Vets Under Siege: How America Deceives and Dishonors Those Who Fight Our Battles by Martin Schram to commemorate the anniversary of the Bonus Army. Click for a full review of the book.

*Calling something a "syndrome" suggests the symptoms are psychological. In fact, the dominant story concerning Gulf War Syndrome is that there is no known physical cause. As the review notes, Mr. Schram's book makes a good case that the "syndrome" is linked to exposure to chemical warfare agents at various sites in Iraq in the early 1990s.

Required Reading

To See This Clearly, by Maya Stein. Here are the opening lines:

I am no magic trick, no doer of miracles, no water walker.
I am no architect of glory, no layer-on of hands, no angel wing.
I am no weaver of gold, no mythmaker, no parachute artist.
I am no halo of stillness in a downpour.

Trust me, it just gets better.

Idée d’jour

Year after year
   on the monkey's face
    a monkey face.
— Basho

For the Netflix Cue

Haiku d’jour

Red morning sky —
   snail,
     are you glad of it?
– Issa

Idée d’jour

The struggle with evil by means of violence is the same as an attempt to stop a cloud, in order that there may be no rain.
— Leo Tolstoy, novelist and philosopher (1828-1910)

How It Goes

It goes in fits & starts.
It goes summer sun slow.
It goes with ham & eggs & flap jacks.
It goes past the creosote dumps.
It goes where no poem dares turn.
It goes with kettle bangs and wet whispers.
It goes like a gong.
It goes like sparklers chasing fireflies.
It goes like the terraces of a woman sleeping.
It goes like night terrors.
It goes well with white wine or vinegar.
It goes & it goes, & it rolls & it flows.

I walked with the morning light.
Now I sit shiva with the setting sun.
And it goes down soft and dusty.
It goes down smooth.
It goes on straight toward midnight.
It goes past memory
and takes a right at justice.
It goes to the heart of darkness
at the center of the light.
It goes & it glows & it rolls & it grows.

I like watching it go.
It goes like a lover's hips rolling
like a ship on steady waves.
It goes like pastures waving
in the harvest season.
It goes well with the hustlers and the street car punks
and the men huddled in doorways
and the women hidden in culverts.
It goes like a half-remembered riddle.
It goes & it goes & it rolls & it flows.

Begun as a free-write inspired by Dr. Omed on Twitter

Blossom, 08June12

The bush on the north edge of my property (my backyard) is blossoming. Does it celebrate southern sun? The impending arrival of solstice?

Whirlwind

Palm Reading

I trace the lines of my hands: blue highways of intimate discourse. Bright backroads where the stars taste my heartbeat.

This long diagonal line - does it aim to Scorpius? Or is it the left-hand side of the path from soul to mind? It slices my lifeline, which traverses the full palm map.

Seven loves flow from the heart. Blue highways near my thumb suggest alternate tales.

This line intersecting the Scorpion line at the left could be the Archer. Let my aim be plain and true. My words the plumb line into meandering destinies.

A new line flows from the top of that line, falling off the right to where monsters may dwell. An alternate future parallels from the base of the life line.

I would reveal all my secrets, but they remain hidden even to me.

Morning Prayer

I bind unto my self this day
the shattered stone.
I bind myself to the rift in the rock.
I take shelter under the sparrow's wing.
I rest in the shadow of the thistle.

I bind myself this day to the spring grass.
I bind myself to the summer tornado.
I take shelter in gathering winds.
I rest in early evening warmth.

I trust in the moon's vengeance.
I have faith in the compassionate breeze.
I study the scripture in the jewel
at the heart of the lotus.

I bind integrity to my right arm,
and discerned justice to my left.
My right hand is named "Love"
my left hand, "Honor".

I follow the example of volunteer clover.
I follow the path of the wild mint.
I heed the morning dove's cry.
I shall not forsake my name.

Even though my name is dust.
Even though my honor is fresh mown grass.
Even though my words are light as rain clouds.

I bind myself to the split stone.
I bind myself to the creek's memory.
I bind myself to morning flags
and evening traffic reports.

I bind unto myself this day
the Name beyond names;
the Path which has no route;
the Law which has no letters;
the People who have no borders.

Recommended

I just purchased Duffy's debut album, Rockferry, on iTunes after listening to samples of all the tracks. As you'll hear in the live sample embedded above, she's got a powerful vocal instrument. Never mind the hit single, Mercy, which I think sounds a bit too much like Amy Winehouse's "Rehab" for comfort. The other 12 songs on the album far out shine it. Check out Syrup & Honey for a peek at the artist at work.

There's a iRumor circulating that this Welsh singer calls herself Duffy as an homage to Dusty Springfield. She's close to Springfield, no question - just needs a little seasoning.

My Guitar Gently Weeps

935 Lies

Listen to the hit you won't hear on Clear Channel (tip o' the fedora to Brother Dave).

Jesus for President

Review of a book by Shane Claiborn, Chris Haw, and Friends
Recommended.

A little over 300 pages long (including appendix), this book covers salvation history from the Garden of Eden to the present. The history is, of course, made with very broad strokes. What is fascinating about the presentation of the history is how the authors constantly use events such as Israel's demand for a king (in I Samuel) to comment on current events.

The authors remind us that when the people of Israel asked for a king, God warned them that any human king would be no better than the Pharaoh. The ideal is that God is the only king we need.

It seems to me that this is the primary point of this book: we project onto our leaders all the hopes and dreams that can only be realistically fulfilled by God. We try to legislate a better society and better people, when this only be effected by changing the individual heart of each person.

This doesn't mean we don't vote. We choose a candidate we believe will do the most good and the least harm. But we fool ourselves if we believe any candidate will be able to do everything s/he promises. The only person who could deliver on all his promises was Jesus; and he promised nothing more than suffering and servanthood.

Look, the U.S. Constitution has a system of checks and balances which intends to prevent any one person or group of people from gaining absolute power. The only way any person could fulfill all his/her political promises is if that person were a dictator or emperor. There is a reason many have described the current administration as "the imperial presidency," and we are no experiencing the negative fall-out from its actions.

Human politics can only go so far. People obey laws as a duty to the social contract, or from fear of punishment. Typically, such laws do not change the human heart. The Law of Love, Jesus' platform, is written on the human heart.

Jesus, as Claiborn and his co-authors point out, would be a poor candidate in the traditional sense. Jesus would be "soft on defense": no where in the Gospels does Jesus take up a sword (the gun of his day). When asked whether to oppose Rome (by means of refusing to pay taxes), he rejected the question. For Jesus the point was not whether to oppose Rome or to support a new human leader, but to submit oneself to God.

Jesus would take a new view of welfare that might shock both Democrats and Republicans. Jesus did not judge the poor — as an itinerant preacher he was among them. Instead, Jesus fed those who were hungry. In the early church, pre-300 C.E., the norm was for the community to hold all property in common and share according to each member's need. What the U.S. has done, over time, is to cede the Christian responsibility to care for "the least of these" to the state; the results have been mixed, to say the least.

This is a thought-provoking book, with new readings of scripture (the Christian testament in particular) which I found enlightening. I recommend it to all who seek an expression of Christian life founded on practice rather than dogma.

Owl

This is one of the artifacts found in what are called the Spiro Mounds, in far eastern Oklahoma. These Native Americans are probably the ancestors of the Creek, Caddo, and others. They lived in this area from approximately 500 - 1450 CE.

My Last Poem

My last poem
will walk under storm-green skies
past haunted duplexes
through echoing culverts
through knee-high grass.
It will walk from New Jersey Pine Barrons
and coast up Gravity Hill;
it will walk from mother's horror
to father's death;
it will walk from the myth of Saturn
to the mouth of the whirlwind.
It will walk all this way
to sit on my chest,
some cat-like Buddha,
to flip through the uneven pages
of my unjustified heart.

My last poem and my first poem
will sit on the front porch
and tell tall tales
about the neighbors.
They'll compare rhetoric
and the scope of their rhythm.
"You've got a charming rhyme scheme,"
my last poem will say;
"You've got a mysterious metaphysic,"
my first poem will reply.
And they'll write sketches of the wind
while drinking green tea
with a pinch of fresh mint
and a spoon-full of local honey.

My last poem
may have forgotten every cherished image;
it may have lost
its connection to each borrowed symbol
and 40 years worth of repetends.
It may find itself confronted
by each unfinished stanza,
every half-begun epic,
each muse in passing
and muse in waiting -
each shopgirl, waitress,
movie star, pew mate,
class mate, anima projection -
all the false goddesses
and true harridans,
all the true goddesses
and faithless lovers.
It may have forgotten
their names in eternity.
It may have lost its breath
and its measured lines.
It may not want a song
or need one more sip of beer.

My last poem
will shake your hand and greet you.
It will welcome you like an old friend.
It will walk with you anywhere.

Idée d’jour

God must have loved the people in power, for he made them so much like their own image of him.
— Kenneth Patchen, poet and novelist (1911-1972)

The Biggest Lie

"The biggest lie of our low dishonest decade is that we are doing so much better now than [arbitrary date in the last five years]. Casualties are down from [day/month/year arbitrarily chosen to make this point.] Now that [Bush lands on aircraft carrier / Saddam is captured / executed/ elections are held / one particular group is not attacking Americans as often], we have proved how wrong opponents of the war really were all this time. This lie gets repeated over and over again, with the bracketed parts changing. Sure, we messed it up for the first [one, two, three, four, five, six] years, but NOW things are going our way, and it's unpatriotic to suggest otherwise!"
— Jonathan, at Bemsha Swing!

This Week's Cat

The lady poses for her close-up.

ISO 1600; f.5.0 @ 1/10; flash

Worst President? Ask the Twins

Idée d’jour

The flowers fall, for all our yearning; weeds grow, regardless of our dislike.
— Zen saying

Another variant of this wisdom is found in Judeo-Christian Scripture: It rains upon the just and the unjust.

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Photo details: ISO 200, f/7.1 @ 1/400; cloudy, natural light

April 4

The moon hauls in the water
the wind tears up the street
the stars hail down

The weather vane lost true north
the mailbox flag is frozen
the robin is far from home

She opens the drowsy window
watches rain wash the screen
she dreams her morning fog
in the swirl of her morning coffee

Day Job

To pick up on how my employment situation has affected my blog/creative output:
My primary function (assisting with grant applications) is very seasonal. Plus, there is a limited amount I can do without information from the applicant. So, even when a grant is due, I have a considerable amount of "free" time. During which I would edit photographs, craft essays, and go surfing for topics or supporting evidence.

Until fairly recently, grant applications have been paper-based. Then, about three years ago, a number of agencies switched to electronic submission. Most NIH grants are now electronic submission only. Which means that there is even less for a secretary to do.

Finally, there are only three researchers who use my services on a regular basis. Even though I assisted with a grant application every month but three last year, there still was not enough for me to do.

Now, the average manager would probably respond, "There's always something to do." I accept that; but it doesn't necessarily mean that I would know what else needs to be done.

In any case, our primary boss started noticing. I do my best to be discrete in my surfing (mostly work-safe sites), and I typically have a "boss key" handy, but I was occasionally caught surfing. So, the boss said something to my immediate supervisor. A caution which was repeated to me twice – once in '06 and once in '07.

The first time my supervisor reported this caution, I responded with my view of the situation - pretty much as I've detailed above. My supervisor responded by saying it seemed like I needed to transition to another function. But nothing more was said.

When she repeated the caution in '07, I responded by listing the things I am doing, and how I spend my down time. I solicited ideas for other things to do, but she had none.

That's the point at which I started to apply for other positions. About the same time, I noticed the department was hiring part-time personnel to assist in our billing area. I immediately began researching whether this might be a function I could take on.

To make a long story less long, I sold management on the idea that I could serve the same function as the part-timer while continuing with my grant-support functions (as well as my web master job).

I'm not getting paid more for this (at present), but I do believe there is greater job security. Our business manager (who joined the department late last year)was especially impressed that I took the initiative. She has also told me several times what a good job I'm doing, and how glad the people in the billing area are that I have joined that corner.

So, now I have fairly full days at work. While I miss the opportunity to indulge in my creative pursuits, I do feel less anxious about being caught or being in a situation where I might lose my job. I feel more useful, as well, which has given my self-image a shot in the arm.

State of the Blog

I have been unusually quiet. If not for a few "Idée d’jour" and photographs, you might think I fell off the earth. You might think, as Brother Dave possibly did, that I was seriously depressed.

I was moderately depressed, something that seems to be common for me in the dark months. I was under the weather for over a month. The two combined for a greater depression.

But I was also tired of the sound of my own voice. I didn't have anything to say. What little I did have to say, I couldn't think of new ways to say it. There are, after all, a limited number of ways to say "I hate Bush".

There is another reason I've had less to say — I seem to have less time to say anything. Over the past few years, I've written an embarrassing amount at work. I'll have more to say about my work situation in a different post.

I intend to maintain this space. I know I will be glad of the creative outlet once the quality of light springs my seratonin level back to normal. I won't make promises, but you're likely to hear from me more often.

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Picture details: ISO 100; f/8.0 @1/60; zoom lens, 150mm; taken ~ 5:30 p.m., 14.Mar.08

Jonquil 08Mar17

This was a bud on Friday. Now, it opens to welcome the predicted rain.

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Shot details:
ISO 100 f/6.3 @ 1/100; 95 mm

Ideé d’jour

Lose your mind and come to your senses.
— Fritz Perls

Idée d’jour

The more intelligent and cultured a man is, the more subtly he can humbug himself.
– Carl Jung

Idée d’jour

Cold you may be
but don't warm yourself by the fire,
Buddha of snow!
— Sokan

Cat Friday

Ideé d’jour

Which of us is not forever a stranger and alone?
— Thomas Wolfe

Something

. . . about a stone, found along an unkempt path. Something about the striations of gray and white. Something about the path, unattended for more than a decade. Something about the lightning-felled tree. Something about the moss on the tree. Something about winter, and the new moon.

The stone is smoothed by wind and rain. I hold it in my hand and feel the weight of forgotten mountains. I perceive the ocean. I hear the waters rise and fall. I feel the mammoth's delicate tread. The stone knows more than I.

The stone now lies in the bottom of a double-wall basket. The reeds come all the way from China. The stone remembers the Cherokee women who originally wove this type of basket. The stone ponders, but does not compare.

There is something about a stone's wisdom which causes the clouds to part.

Friday Cat

Idée d’jour

The whole aim of practical politics is to keep the populace alarmed -- and hence clamorous to be led to safety -- by menacing it with an endless series of hobgoblins, all of them imaginary.
— H.L. Mencken, writer, editor, and critic (1880-1956)

Ideé d’jour

... those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.
— Friedrich Nietzsche

Cat Friday

This picture confirms DJ's solemn belief that the world revolves around her.

Idée d’jour

The more talking and thinking, the farther from the truth.
— Seng-Ts’an

Photo details: ISO 400, 1/13, f5.6

Street Phantom

Ink stains on the pillow where dreams turned to rust
phantoms on fog streets walk over broken grass
thunderous brows open kitchen sink coffee grounds
counting the rest stops alone your life lines
counting the diversions in your tea leaves
opening blue evening closing your eyes
loving the calendar like a waitress
where dreams turn to rust and collections are untrue
where you open your hand and the rest stops are closed
where you open the central line and the heart beats faster
where the ink stains burn holes into your pillow

Midtown

This is one of three "Midtown" markers I have noticed in my travels. This is on NW 10th Street, half a block east of Robinson.

Idée d’jour

We boil at different degrees.
— Ralph Waldo Emerson

Idée d’jour

Our heads are round so that thoughts can change direction.
— Francis Picabia, painter and poet (1879-1953)

Idée d’jour

Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.
— Leonardo da Vinci

Original First Christian Church

The south entrance of the original First Christian Church, on the corner of NW 10th and Robinson.

Idée d’jour

When you've got it,there's no place for it but a poem.
— Wu Pen

Idée d’jour

Open your mouth and you're wrong.
— Zen Saying

1st Baptist Church

A fine example of "Okie Gothic" near down town OKC. What strikes me as odd is the fact that it is a Baptist church.

Idée d’jour

Seriousness is the only refuge of the shallow.
— Oscar Wilde

Composite Jonah

Not quite Warhol, but still different.

Shrub

This is the first picture I've taken using the RAW format. [GEEK ALERT].

I took a Photoshop class year before last, and the first thing the instructor did was write the following equation on the board:
“JPG = E V I L”
The instructor extolled the virtues of RAW. He claimed it was as good as film quality. The learned user certainly has more control than over a JPG, and the quality of the original file is never comprised. I've read that a JPG file loses quality each time the user opens it – even if s/he does not edit the file; the explanation has to do with the compression/decompression method.

Anyway, the colors in this image do seem to "pop", don't they?

By the way — this shrub is scheduled to get a trim this Saturday.

Perusing Inspiration

One way to become a better photographer is to study the work of the masters. Here, your correspondent is flipping through a Christmas present from a friend, a collection of photographs from the National Geographic. It's possible I'm also concentrating on the radio-controlled shutter release in my right hand.

Ideé d’jour

I need someone to protect me from all the measures they take in order to protect me. — Banksy, street artist (b. 1974)

---

Take the Patriot Act ... PLEASE.

Idée d’jour

Faith which does not doubt is dead faith.
— Miguel de Unamuno, philosopher and writer (1864-1936)

Idée d’jour

When I play from my mind I get in trouble.
— Stevie Ray Vaughan

1st Christian

The facade of the original First Christian Church in Oklahoma City. This building is now home to "City Church," and the First Christian community has been meeting in "the dome church" since sometime in the 1950s.

Friday Five: New Year's Resolutions

This week's series of questions is offered by Sally:

1. Do you make New Year resolutions?
   Yes, but rarely more than one or two. In middle age, I try to aim for what I perceive to be reasonably attainable goal.
2. Is this something you take seriously, or is it a bit of fun?
   Mostly fun. Though I'd be unaccountably pleased with myself if I accomplished even one resolution.
3. Share one goal for 2008.
   Less TV; more time with living folk. I already missed one chance, yesterday evening. My justification was the fact that it was quite chilly, and I need to protect my vocal folds; I'm performing this evening. So - perhaps I should give myself a dispensation.
4. Money is no barrier, share one wild/ impossible dream for 2008
   Travel to Ireland. I recently received a sum of money which could cover this trip, and I have plenty of vacation time accrued. However, my practical side is lobbying for using the money to return to school, with the goal of finally earning my Bachelor's.
      I watched "Once" this past weekend (highly recommended), and it re-ignited my desire to spend a week in Ireland. I even developed the fantasy of buying a guitar in a second-hand shop once I arrived, and busking from town to town. I've got the tenor voice for it.
5. Someone wants to publish a story of your year in 2008, what will the title of that book be?
   Jonah Learns to Love the Whale, one man's discovery of romance and quotidian love

Review: A Short History of Myth, by Karen Armstrong

Published by Canongate as an introductory volume to their "The Myths", Short History of Myth is about the length of a pamphlet (176 pgs). Canongate's "Myth" series are retellings of classic myths by modern authors. Ms. Armstrong's volume is a digested introduction of theories put forward more compellingly by Joseph Campbell, Mircea Eliade, and others.

It is possibly unfair to compare Ms. Armstrong's pamphlet to these others. It is intended as nothing more than a brief introduction, which leads her to make pronouncements with little documentation. She is, in effect, attempting to cover the same material in 176 pages that Joseph Campbell attempted to cover in The Masks of God, which covers four volumes; any one of which is three times longer than Ms. Armstrong's book.

Most of Ms. Armstrong's history corresponds with Campbell's work. However, she does not clearly demark opinion from fact or generally accepted theory, which I see as a flaw. Coupled with the lack of citations, this flaw rates the work as a very slight monograph at best.

I think it likely these flaws result from the book's brevity. The other books in "The Myths" series are about the same length, and could reasonably be called "novellas" rather than novels. My suspicion is that Ms. Armstrong was asked to write an introduction less than 200 pages long, so the book would be about the same size as the other books in the series.

I suppose the book works as a simplistic and very general introduction. It might be useful for a high school student who couldn't read Joseph Campbell.

There is one final flaw, which I find the most disappointing: the last chapter attempts to argue that new myths are being created in books. The problem with this argument is that most of the monograph has approached myth-making as a communal event. Reading is a strikingly individual pursuit. I think a stronger argument can be made that movies are the new mythology (Joseph Campbell actually made this argument) because groups of people typically share movies in a pseudo-cave.

Idée d’jour

We should be careful to get out of an experience only the wisdom that is in it — and stop there — lest we be like the cat that sits down on a hot stove-lid. She will never sit down on a hot stove-lid again, and that is well; but also she will never sit down on a cold one any more.
— Mark Twain, author and humorist (1835-1910)

Cupola

This continues a series of photographs I began at Jonah 365. The penultimate picture there was of the south-west corner of this building, the original location of the 1st Christian Church. There is a plaque on the facade which lists 1911.

State of the Blog

I just posted the final entry on Jonah 365, which began as a "sister blog" to this space. The original intent of that space was to document one particular year, 2007, in images - photographic and verbal. The year has ended, and the Jonah 365 project ends with it.

As I mention in the linked entry, Dr. Omed recently asked what I learned from the discipline of Jonah 365. In addition to the things I mention in that post, I learned that I could not effectively maintain two blog sites at once. Jonah 365 got most of my attention, and this space, my original blog, suffered for it.

The entries for "Love During Wartime" this past year have been primarily from other sources. A quick review suggests 78 were "Idée d’jour" — in other words, quotes cribbed from the Word-A-Day list or my Zen Calendar.

At Jonah 365, I detailed the top five entry labels. I'll do the same here. After "Idée d’jour", to my surprise, the next largest number is "poetry", at 28 entries - and most of those are my original poems. Sixteen entries are labeled "spirituality"; 21 are labeled "Friday Five"; and 15 are labeled "politics". Several entries have more than one label.

My goal for "Love During Wartime" in the next year is to post at least one original entry a week. It may seem a minor goal after posting an image a day at "Jonah 365", but it's a goal I feel certain I can attain.

Thanks for visiting, and follow me into 2008!

State of the Blog (Promo)

Tune/click in tomorrow for comments on the state of this space, as well as the future of "LDW" and its sister site, Jonah 365.

Ideé d’jour

The man who can make others laugh secures more votes for a measure than the man who forces them to think.
— Malcolm De Chazal, writer and painter (1902-1981)

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Yeah, but who's laughing now?

Song D'Jour: Merry Xmas

War is over. If you want it.
Are you ready to reject the war in your heart?

Song D'Jour: Hammond

The latest issue/CD of the Oxford American (Issue #58) includes this song, which has definitely grown on me with each listen. The article actually mentions the Soundstage Performance embedded here.

Song D'Jour: Valencia

Ignore the vid, enjoy the music.

Don't Mess With Santa

Santa Catches Shoplifter

Someone has been very, very naughty.

Idée d’jour

A tragic indicator of the values of our civilization is that there's no business like war business.
— Douglas Mattern, peace activist (b. 1933)

Idée d'jour

You can outdistance that which is running after you, but not what is running inside you.
— Rwandan Proverb

Cat Friday

Cats Talking

Haiku d’jour

The first winter shower.
  My name shall be
   "Traveler."
— Basho

Friday Five: Holiday Grump

Today's Friday Five was suggested by Will Smama: “Please tell us your least favorite/most annoying seasonal....”

1. dessert/cookie/family food
   The less said about fruit cake the better. Several years ago, someone gave me a book titled 101 Uses for Fruitcake as a stocking stuffer; sample uses include doorstop and building material..
2. beverage (seasonal beer, eggnog w/ way too much egg and not enough nog, etc...)
   Someone mentioned the other day they had pumpkin beer (for Turkey Day). I got a hangover just picturing it.
3. tradition (church, family, other)
   It has become a tradition for shops to promote Christmas earlier each year. In time, I'm sure we'll see displays in February. Other traditions, at home or church, warm my heart.
4. decoration
   Santa kneeling at creche. Seems maudlin and sentimental.
5. gift (received or given)
   None come to mind, but this does remind me of a story. A former employer hosted a Dirty Santa party. An ugly vase was the traditional gag gift. Whoever received this vase was duty-bound to recycle it the following year. Part of the challenge was wrapping it in such a way that a person couldn't tell it was the gag gift.

Bonus: Song/CD that makes you want to tell the elves where to stick it.
Almost all pop covers of carols are intolerable. Kenny G, for example, can take one of my favorite carols (O, Holy Night) and transmute it into schlock.

More on the internet cat

The cat's performance in the link in the previous entry may seem familiar:

Cat Friday

The musical stylings of the common internet kitty

William Blake

An on-line friend at MySpace reminded me that today is William Blake's birthday (born Nov. 28, 1757; died Aug. 12, 1827). As I thanked my friend for the reminder, I commented that Blake was "my muse in eternity".

The better part of Blake's life was spent refining a mythos which would reflect his vision and world view. This mythos plays out primarily in a series of illumnated epic poems, beginning with The Marriage of Heaven & Hell and ending (roughly) with Jerusalem.

Beginning in 1981, I tried to form a mythos, titled "The Saturn Sequence", primarily in free verse. As I note in my introduction, the role of Saturn shifts from benign to malevolent to apocalyptic. As a mythic symbol, it is inconsistent.

The same accusation could be made of Blake: a character may serve a positive function (the narrative voice is approving) in one poem, and less so in a later poem. However, his overall mythic system remains consistent.

I consider Blake a muse - or a mentor, if you prefer - because I admire his dedication to his vision. His determination to create his own system rather than be a slave to another's. I admire his prosody - a poem like "The Tyger" (for example) continues to be anthologized because of its sound and rhetoric, as much as its theodicic theme.

The infrequent posts on "Love During Wartime" reflect a dry period. I find myself mostly bored with the (figurative) sound of my own voice. Blake also went through dry periods, one lasting multiple years, yet he returned with full power.

His example, and my own experience, gives me hope that my dry spell will end in good time. Blake continued to be creative in the plastic arts, as painter and etcher, during that dry spell. Just as I continue to create as photographer.

It seems to me that I may be true to Blake's example by following what he called "genius". He used this term in its archaic sense, as a sort of guiding spirit (as I used "muse" above).

Thus, one's genuis may lead through the plastic arts of paint, the liberal arts of words, or the etheral arts of floating notes. What can one do but follow?

Idée d’jour

Sell your cleverness
and buy bewilderment.
— Rumi

First Amendment

Jim Hightower writes:

George W likes to claim that global terrorists are out to attack America because "They hate our freedoms." But we’re learning that it’s really the Bushites themselves who hate America’s freedoms.
Retired Army Col. Ann Wright and one of America’s leading peace activists, Medea Benjamin, have recently felt the bullying hate of the Bush regime. Both women have been very vigorous practitioners of our freedom to speak out and assemble in opposition to government policies, using these freedoms to protest the war in Iraq. They’ve put themselves on the line and been willing to undergo several arrests for their nonviolent civil disobedience.
This is as American as the 4th of July. Yet Wright, Benjamin, and civil libertarians everywhere were stunned to learn last August that Bush’s FBI has suddenly turned this misdemeanor into a weapon of political intimidation, using it to bar the two women from traveling to Canada… and perhaps to other nations.
When they tried to visit Canada, Wright and Benjamin were detained by Canadian customs officials and told that their names were on an FBI no-entry list. Even though this list is meant to stop fugitives, potential terrorists, and violent felons – not peaceful protesters – they were told that they would have to apply for "criminal rehabilitation" and pay a fine if they ever wanted to enter Canada.
Unintimidated, the women have since tried to re-enter, this time at the invitation of five members of parliament to come speak to that assembly. Yet, Canada’s officials have bowed to the Bushites, honoring the FBI’s no-entry list, rather than respecting their own parliament. The FBI refuses to say why non-violent protesters are on a terrorist list.
Chillingly, the U.S. media have ignored this story, but you can learn more about this blatant assault on our freedoms by going to www.codepinkalert.org.

Brother Dave comments: "Lot more of that going on that folks know. The 'list' is now over 1 million names long and growing by about 20,000 a month."

See also:


It appears people in America are only free to speak if they agree with B*sh, Faux News, and other war mongers. There's a reason freedom of speech and assembly are the first two rights preserved in the Bill of Rights: those are the things most feared by tyrants. Note, as a glaring example, what is currently happening in Pakistan.

Ideé d’jour

If you love the sacred and despise the ordinary, you are still bobbing in the ocean of delusion.
— Lin-Chi

Friday Five: Extravagant Unbusyness

This week's theme suggested by Sally, who asks:
What do you do to:

1. to care for your body
   Truth to tell, I don't take good care of my body. My ambitious plan to walk a local (mostly abandoned) mall lasted a couple of months, then petered out when I got sick early this year.
2. to care for your spirit
   Coincidentally, I'm off to care for my spirit this afternoon. I'm going to the annual "Guitar Weekend" sponsored by my church, which will be at a camp center in southeastern Oklahoma.
   Additionally, I'm striving to reinstate the discipline of being with people more often. I hope to find just the right balance of alone time and crowd time. At least one evening a week with flesh and blood folk (opposed to those on a TV screen) seems a modest enough goal.
3. to care for your mind
   I am devoted to life-long learning. I read every day. I read at breakfast, lunch, and during commercial breaks.
4. to bring a sparkle to your eye
   My feline companion does much to sparkle my eye. She can bring that sparkle when she lies on my lap and purrs.
5. to place a spring in your step
   My experience to date suggests this is a choice. The trick seems to be to force the body to lead the emotions. That is to say, one can chose to hold his head up, and to walk briskly. I have noticed that I do feel better emotionally when I do this.
6. Bonus which one on the list are you determined to put into action?
   In addition to the discipline of spending more time around people, I hope to reinstate the discipline of walking.

Koan d’jour

Pull a five-story pagoda out of a teapot.

Idée d’jour

There's no money in poetry, but then there's no poetry in money, either.
— Robert Graves, poet and novelist (1895-1985)

Comments

It appears one or more robots have spammed my comments. Therefore, I have initiated word verification for my comment box. I generally don't like these verification modules on other blogs, and have resisted this move. But, after over 75 comments promoting viagra and some other spurious drug, I felt it was warranted.

I Wanna Be Your Blues

I wanna be your blues.
I want to wear my black hat
and pace the lines of your calendar.
I'll strum my guitar
until I find your Coney Island street map.
I'll divide your verbs
and conquer your adjectives.

I wanna be your blues.
I'll be the obscured reflection
in your poison mercury mirror.
I'll be the trade wind routes
wrapped around your vision
like DNA ladders.
I'm your stolen alphabet,
your last will and testimony.

I wanna be your blues.
I'll be the clutched heart valve.
The fallen breath.
The thorn's embrace.
I'll be the black top cataclysm
of a thousand coffee cups.
I'll sing your dark corner.
I'll trace the varicose blue highways.

I wanna be your blues.
The dissected chords
of a regretful morning.
The melting clouds
behind desert eyes.
The last broken string
of a haunted love affair.

---

Written in response to this.

Idée d’jour

I am not an atheist, but an earthiest. Be true to the earth.

Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire, "Down the River"

---

As I mention, I am thoroughly enjoying this book. This line leapt out at me because I have been pondering the qualities of human nature of late.

I don't suppose being true to the earth would be the same as being true to our human nature. If the 21st century version of human nature is any indication, humans are about as far from being true to the earth as possible.

Consider: changes in geologic forms take multiple human life times. Changes in atmospheric conditions, at least until the industrial revolution, were similarly slow.

Consider: human nature seems dominated by straight lines, boxes, rectangles, and grids. None of these exist in nature; all relate to a human concept of "perfection" which has held sway at least since Aristotle.

To the best of my knowledge, a "perfect circle" does not exist in nature. Neither does a right angle, or something as perfectly straight as a plumb-line or laser beam. Even the average human body, whether male or female, does not contain a truly straight line or perfectly round circle.

Humans struggle to make life easier. We may not be alone in using and constructing tools (even some bugs use sticks as tools), but we do seem the only species who improve on the tools and methods used by previous generations.

Thus, we move into desert regions, such as the better part of southern California, and we find ways to force streams into the desert, as it were. We do not consider the repurcusions; we act as if the water is an inexhaustable resource.

In our dreams of providence and manifest destiny, we suppose that humans miles away need the water more than the mountain or lake, and its environs.

Perhaps it was when we built the pipelines from lake and mountain. The years of inexhaustable water, however, seem well behind us. The demand, measured by an increasing number of thirsty humans and artificially green lawns, has outstripped the supply. And, many scientists believe, the supply has decreased as well.

I do not judge southern California's city planners, developers, or home owners. I recognize the hubris and short-sightedness because I am also culpable. I have been equally short-sighted and head strong in ways big and small.

The situation in southern California is a striking example, however, of how our human ingenuity has played its part in creating this "perfect storm".

Ghosts in the Attic

Thunder pulls the lightening
ahead of the cold front
with the storm close behind.

The couch cover is tossed,
the floor is jumbled.
Cobwebs keep watch.

The cat dashes from
warmth to warmth
crying
in response to the ghosts in the attic.

I'm a Dedicated Reader

What Kind of Reader Are You? Your Result: Dedicated Reader You are always trying to find the time to get back to your book. You are convinced that the world would be a much better place if only everyone read more.
Literate Good Citizen
Obsessive-Compulsive Bookworm
Book Snob
Fad Reader
Non-Reader
What Kind of Reader Are You? Create Your Own Quiz

For the record, I'm currently reading Desert Solitaire by Edward Abbey, which I am loving; the latest issue of Shambhalla Sun and I just started the latest issue of the Oxford American (the music issue). Coming up soon: a Nero Wolf novel I picked up at the thrift shop and The Year of Living Biblically (I'm waiting my turn for the library copy of this one).

Idée d’jour

What men call social virtues, good fellowship, is commonly but the virtue of pigs in a litter, which lie close together to keep each other warm.
— Henry David Thoreau, naturalist and author (1817-1862)

Idée d’jour

Our life is a faint tracing on the surface of mystery.
— Annie Dillard

Idée d’jour

Zen is like looking for the spectacles that are sitting on your nose.
— D.T. Suzuki

Ideé d’jour

You cannot avoid paradise. You can only avoid seeing it.
— Charlotte Joko Beck

Quote d’jour

His family's lives "were governed by joyless rabbis who introduced [him] to the Hebrew God, 'an abusive, belligerent god, a god who awoke millennia ago on the wrong side of the firmament and still hasn't cheered up.'"
— Entertainment Weekly, review of Shalom Auslander's Foreskin's Lament

Robert K-

June 4, 1985 - Sept. 29, 2007

Robert died last Saturday, in an automobile collision. As you see, he was very young - he just recently celebrated his 22nd birthday. His funeral was this Thursday. I attended; and served as videographer, as a favor to his family.

One of the more profound moments of the service came during the homily, when the young minister pointed to our baptismal font - a gleaming structure of white Italian marble - and said, "Robert was baptized 21 years ago today in this baptismal font. As he was united with Christ at the beginning of his life, he now joins Christ at the end of his life."

I only met Robert once. The occasion was my first time to assist at the Vacation Bible School in Watonga, four years ago. Robert needed a ride, and I volunteered. Robert had assisted at the VBS at least once before.

During our trip, Robert shared what I might expect. His favorite part was playing and interacting with the children. He also prepared me for the scheduled sweat lodge. Although he personally did not have a profound mystical experience the times he went, he knew others who had. And, even though he did not have a "mountain-top" experience, he valued the opportunity.

Robert also shared his love of multi-user on-line role-playing games (MUDs). There, he had discovered a community with whom he could easily relate. People on-line could not see how profoundly over-weight was, and thus could not judge him based on his physical appearance.

I was not so charitable. I didn't judge him because of his weight, but because his most valued community was "virtual". Later, during the VBS, I judged him because he seemed to only do the minimum required. If you asked him to perform a task, he'd do that one thing, then sit back down. I didn't even see him play with the children, compared to the other volunteers his age.

I was aware of the irony and unfairness of my judgment, even then. Most of my community was "virtual" in nature, though I could claim a valued handful of folks I could see and touch. And, in my less charitable moments, I perceive myself as one of those "only do the minimum required" types.

I suppose this is a natural response at a funeral, to repent of old opinions, or ways you may have hurt another. I trust Robert never was aware of my judgment; when I visited with him, I strove to sound interested, and he was very open and sharing.

Robert was no angel; he had his share of problems. Twenty-one and working at Braum's (where his mother also works). Still, so far as I know, profoundly overweight. He's had minor problems with the law. That trip to Watonga four years ago was primarily to fulfill a community service sentence; he never went again.

One got the impression that he had few flesh-and-blood friends. Not a negative (again, the same can be said of me), but possibly unhealthy.

The minister didn't gloss over these challenges. He mentioned how Robert appeared to be making positive strides with furthering his education and controlling his weight. He said one of the profound tragedies of Robert's death at a young age was that we would not see what sort of person he would become as he improved in these areas.

I wonder if others go to funerals and think of Tom Sawyer & Huck Finn, eaves-dropping on their own funeral? I certainly did.

I set up the video camera in the choir loft, and thus had a view of the whole church. With the exception of a open half-pew here and there, the church was full. I was later told there were 227 in attendance.

I couldn't help but wonder if an equal number of people would come to my funeral. Although many were present to show support for his parents, I imagine a fair number represented the people whose lives Robert had touched.

Can I claim to have touched so many people in a positive way? Can I claim to have served to represent the light of Christ to people all around the world, as Robert did in his MUD activity?

One more thing about that "virtual" world of friends. It represented people all over our actual globe. One of the main on-line groups Robert was involved with sent flowers to his mother. There is an on-line guest book which runs to five pages of condolences and remembrances, over half of which are from his MUD world.

May I have the grace to touch an equal number of lives.

Idée d’jour

You are what you is.
— Frank Zappa, musician (1940-1993)

---

My minimal experience of Mr. Zappa's music does not correspond with my preconceptions or understanding of Zen. Yet, here he is, recorded in my Zen Calendar (Workman Press).

Up-Coming Gigs

All locations in Oklahoma City, OK

Saturday, Oct. 13, Heritage Hills Home Tour; I'll be playing in the Overholser Mansion (NW 15th & Hudson).

Friday, Oct. 19, Red Cup Cafe, NW 31st & Classen, beginning at 8pm. I'll be banging my Seagull (and 12-string Alvarez) while Ben pounds the keyboards.

Saturday, October 20, beginning at 2: Forest Park, exact location unknown. Ben and I will repeat our dynamic performance from Friday night.