Won't Get Fooled Again

Just came across this.

It's time to be brave.

The People Part 2

Continuing from yesterday's rant...

The same article in Foreign Affairs, 'The Long War Against Corruption' contains this next piece of intersting advice for governments and multi-nationals (I will intersperse my own thoughts after relevant items in parentheses), "To complement formal enforcement measures, developed nations must also take preventive actions, for example, by instituting whistle-blower protection laws (g - so far so good), government hot-lines (g - OK), and new accounting and auditing requirements (g - great!). Another important change would be to encourage corporations to voluntarily disclose evidence of bribery that they uncover during internal audits or through ombudsman activities (g - no argument from me). In exchange (g - uh-oh...) for reporting both supply and demand side corruption issues, corporations (g - uh, what about governments?) at fault (although not culpable individuals) should receive lenient sanctions in settlements (g - wtf? the corporation, which is made up of it's employees the last time I checked and not just rogue desk-jockeys, gets off but the sales representative on site gets the shaft? What about his boss and his boss and the executives and the directors? What if they're all complicit? Oh yeah, I remember now from yesterday, the people are unimportant)."

The People

Right. So I'm reading an article in Foreign Affairs called 'The Long War Against Corruption' by Ben W. Heineman Jr. & Fritz Heimann, both scholars and Heimann a co-founder of Transparency International which calls for the ending of corruption in global affairs. A worthy cause it seems to me and I was looking forward to reading this piece to understand the history of corruption faced by organizations (non-governmental, governmental and corporations) and what should be done about it going forward. My reading was progressing nicely when I came upon this paragraph,

"Although applying anticorruption rules to specific programs is increasingly necessary to sustain support for international financing, there is also the more complex and contentious issue of what to do about governments so corrupt that no safeguard will prevent graft in them. In the case of humanitarian crises brought on by tsunami, an earthquake, or an epidemic, aid may be provided through third parties outside government structures, such as the International Committee of the Red Cross or Doctors Without Borders. But because they have limited funds and face unlimited demand, international financial institutions might have to conduct a form of economic triage, disbursing money only to those needy nations where it is less likely to be stolen. Doing so might be a sensible and necessary approach to foreign assistance, but it creates a problem: one ignores corrupt states that are failed or failing at one's peril, because they are incubators of terrorism, the narcotics trade, money laundering, human trafficking, and other global crime - raising issues far beyond corruption."

Where to start...

Point 1 - The authors write, "In the case of humanitarian crises brought on by tsunami, an earthquake, or an epidemic, aid may be provided through third parties outside government structures, such as the International Committee of the Red Cross or Doctors Without Borders."

The authors seem to feel that corporations and governments do not have an obligation to their fellow man and woman in the case of a natural disaster. Let's just leave it to the bleeding hearts and let them lose their money to corruption. And the people still die.

Point 2 - The authors write, "But because they have limited funds and face unlimited demand, international financial institutions might have to conduct a form of economic triage, disbursing money only to those needy nations where it is less likely to be stolen."

So the needy people, although having no direct relation to the corrupt who are misapropriating the funds and resources, will suffer. In other words, punish the citizens of the too corrupt countries because their leaders are too corrupt. And the people still die.

Point 3 - The authors write, "...one ignores corrupt states that are failed or failing at one's peril, because they are incubators of terrorism, the narcotics trade, money laundering, human trafficking, and other global crime..."

So don't give money to these corrupt states but realize it is dangerous: not because the people who need help in these countries will die without aid but because they may create terrorists. So let's see, faced with the choice of dying because one nation didn't give aid because the leaders of my country are so corrupt and (if I manage to survive) become a terrorist (with food and clothing and shelter, at least until it's time for me to perform my atrocity which may not be for years and my family will be provided for) I wonder what I would choose. Given the choice between nothing and something, no matter how insane, what would you take. Why don't these authors take responsibilty for creating the horrors we face. And still, the people die.

The Monk's Stick

I am conscious of time. With every passing day I seem to grow even more conscious of time. I feel like there is not enough time left to me to do what needs to be done. I realize that this is me being foolish but somehow have a hard time stopping the foolishness. I am using every excuse in the book and some outside the book to not do what needs to be done.

I know what needs to be done. I know how to achieve it.

What is missing is the will? intent? discipline? kick in the ass?

Funny how even after a year of living, travelling, journeying, working, playing and being we can still remain in the same place.

Great Caesar's Ghost!

Have I become so cynical that the mere mention of truth, justice and the american way leave me spitting?

I remember a time visiting relatives in Massachusetts when I was around 7 or 8. It was my first time in the good ole USA and I was very excited. It seemed familiar to my home yet somehow different as well. The streets and houses looked like what I had seen on tv shows like The Greatest American Hero or read about in Hardy Boys books. Good, wholesome, small town homes. Clean streets with laughing children riding big wheels.

My uncle's home was a traditional New England cottage, with a big back yard and 2 cars in the garage.

But my favourite part of the visit was watching tv. So many channels, with so many choices. I slept on the couch in the living room for the vist and remember the smell of the leather and staying up late to watch Superman, Flash Gordon, Batman and other old-time serials and thinking, yes, I could get to like this. Very much.

I wish I had the talent to accurately express my very warm and happy feelings of this and later times.

I visited many times over the intervening years; Vermont, New Hampshire, New York, Pittsburgh, Washington, Boston, Cape Cod, Rhode Island, Long Island, North Carolina, Miami, Orlando, Fort Lauderdale, Tampa, Key West, San Francisco, Scottsdale and many other fabulous places.

But I no longer wish to visit there. It seems to have grown colder, with less laughter. More suspicious and less tolerant. When I cross the border I no longer feel welcome, only a nuisance.

I think you can probably still watch the original George Reeves Superman show on some obscure channel but you have to really hunt for it.

Blah, Blah, Blah

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah...

I sometimes wish I could expose/subject some people I work with/for to Jim Osterburg and see what happens to their lives.

This is your brain. This is your brain on pop. Search it, yeah.

Blah, blah, blah.

Perchance To Dream

Extremely strange dreams the last few days. Weird sexual imagery, dark rooms and indeterminate bodies but very detailed faces. Almost hard-core visions. The draining away of excess stress perhaps. I'd describe some of them here but as they are quite disturbing to the dreamer, I assume they might be too much for the reader. Besides, some things should be left to private journals, only to be published or seen after death when critics or at least family members can wonder at the depravity behind the seemingly normal facade.

The Grilling

Why is it so hard to have people do complete work? I asked for a computer disk in order to re-install a program. I received the disk with no product key. I asked why and the person told me it's because it's written on the disk itself. I asked if he had checked and he said sure. Sure enough there is some numbers written on the disk itself, but it's not the product installation key. Now this person knows that the key should be 25 digits long not the 8 written on the disk. Why should he know? Because this has been his fricken job for the last umpteen years!

Anyway, since I couldn't do what I needed to do, I went home, fired up the BBQ and grilled me some pork chops and vegetables. Sunny and fairly warm day. Slight breeze brought the sounds of the neighbourhood and helped the grilling right along. The present moment was strong and I embraced it. A little wine and soon enough I felt no pain. That most days were like this.

Today's listening and viewing pleasure: The Black Crowes, Freak 'n' Roll...Into the Fog, Live at the Fillmore - San Francisco. I think I liked these guys better when they weren't so professional. The earlier, looser days seemed to have more soul. Still, they rock out like few do anymore. More than strong hints of the early 70's bands (in a good way).

Family History

A. came home today. She's allowed to spend the weekend in her own bed. This is indeed progress. I had a difficult time talking to her as she seems disinterested but I believe it's just distractedness. She has an inward look about her that is only slightly better than the completely lost and scared look she had before. Still, it's good that she's home.

I am still having a tough time focusing. I feel like I'm in a Phil Dick novel. I'm asking many inward looking questions: what is real? who am I? what is the truth? is there a truth?

Infinite feedback loop.

I realize that some of these answers will be found outside because the extreme introspection can lead to danger.

After all, the apple doesn't fall from the tree, does it.

Turd Or Toad

Today's lesson was misplaced anger.

Rather than directing the anger inward at the root and true cause, it was directed outward to innocent bystanders. Why? Jeez, pick one. Because they were there. Because it was easier to explode than to reflect. Because inflicting pain rather than accepting responsibility and thus causing internal pain is a lesson little boys don't readily learn or aren't taught at all. Because no time was taken to avoid an automatic action or reaction. Because I'm a turd (sometimes). Because I'm human and still learning.

Today's listening pleasure (because the crazy cookie monster vocals matched my mood) was: Opeth's Ghost Reveries. Nice mix between brute strength and masculine beauty creates a powerful force.

Mon Coeur

"Et, comme le soleil dans son enfer polaire,
Mon coeur sera plus qu'un bloc rouge et glace."

From: Chant D'Automne by Charles Baudelaire.

Today's listening pleasure: Marillion, Misplaced Childhood.

Walking In Your Footsteps

Took some extra time during lunchtime today and went to see A. She looks tired but that's to be expected. She had her second treatment yesterday and it seems to be helping. We went for a walk around the grounds and after about ten minutes I asked if she was tired and wanted to go back in. She responded in a most feisty way. Told me she was in the hospital for her head not her body. Sounds more like her regular self. Not sure anymore if this is a good thing or not. I'm tired and need some space and/or time to regain some clarity but that's not an option right now.

Good But Hard

Sometimes the hardest thing in the world to say is "I don't know".

But it can also be the best thing in the world to say in many cases.

Sometimes the hardest thing in the world is to say "I was wrong".

But it can also be the best thing in the world to say in many cases.

Sometimes the hardest thing in the world to say is "I'm sorry".

But it is the best thing to say.

Are you listening world?

Lazy

Extremely tired today. The pace of the last two weeks has been unsustainable. Unfocused, fragmented and lazy. I could not reach a centerto get myself back on track so I did what I learned recently is one of the things that sometimes help me in these situations: I up and left the office early, got home and plopped myself on the couch and read a little. Something totally unrelated to work. I'm not sure Tenzing would approve.

Now normally I would fight my way to the center, but today it just felt too much like a losing battle. I realize that I could and should have done things differently but screw it, not today.

I didn't even visit A. I'll pay for that later. I always do.

Today's reading pleasure (no music today, no not even Deep Purple): Michael Reynold's Hemingway biographies. There were always two stories in Hemingway's fiction and life; one on the surface, and one buried beneath the public display.

Palpable Heat

Lovely day. Brisk yet sunny enough to fire up the barbeque and cook up some spring lamb chops and down a beer or two. Raked up some of the detritus of winter and unveiled a few bulbs. Crocus I think. Bright bluish purple flowers against a dark tan and brown crud was striking. It felt good to get my hands moist with the earth. The ladybugs and worms didn't like my jostling them about, but I was gentle.

Went to the hospital around 7:30pm but didn't stay past the end of visiting hours this time. I was very tired and the heat generated by the patients just about wiped me out. Or maybe the staff just keep the ward overheated.

I sensed that A. both did and did not want me there. This is actually a good sign.

Didn't stay to talk to anybody tonight. Just waved hello and goodbye. G. introduced me to her mother in the elevator as had been allowed to go out for a walk. She brought back chocolates for the others. Some weren't quite sure how to say thank you but they all found a way to express it.

I never thought much about the expression "heavy heart" but driving home I felt a presure in or on my chest that I've never felt before.

Listen to your body. It has many things to say to you.

Today's listening pleasure (in the morning only): Bob Marley, Songs of Freedom. Marley singing, "...songs of freedom, they're all I ever had..." in Redemption Song always makes me misty.

Love Cannot Bear

Went to the hospital to see A. again this evening. She's walking around with firmer steps and her face has still retained the natural unlined look of yesterday. She's aware that she's causing pain to others now, which is good news as it means she may have reached the bottom step and is looking back up the stairs if not the skylight. Two days ago I would have said she was ready to lie on the floor, face down and never look back up again. Spoke to her about time and need and stroked her shoulders. Her neck muscles are not hard as ice anymore. I promised to cook up some soup and bring some for lunch as she's not eating any of the food on offer. She needs to eat.

The others were upset as they missed smoking time. The ward is run pretty tight and they can only smoke at certain hours of the day. When the cigarettes failed to show at the appropriate time, even the Big Chief spoke up. A. tells me he hasn't said a word in five days. I don't know his name but he reminds me of the chief in Kesey's novel except for the black and swollen eye and cuts on his cheeks.

I talk to G. for awhile and she gives me the usual paranoia. I'm not sure how much to believe about her talk of judges and court orders and how the staff are plotting to keep her ignorant because she's studying law and could get them all fired.

V. is around and chatters on. She looks familiar but I can't place where I might have seen her before. Later I find that I did meet her years ago where she used to work.

Listen to Mrs. B. for awhile as it looks as if the staff are having a hard time with her son. He continues pacing while his mother assures me that he'll be fine if the staff will just verify the medication and maybe up it a little. The implications of her request trouble me.

Partly, they're just lonely. It is quite boring here.

Tonight's listening pleasure: Robert Fripp, Love Cannot Bear. Upon first listening, the first thing that came to mind is that his soundscapes have matured.

On The Birth Of Van Gogh And The Death Of A Nameless Girl

october in the blood red earth
or
how i got arrested at the national gallery, london

with
apologies to
jack kerouac

staring at the van gogh’s, i see, peripherally,
two children
running by, chasing each other with sunflowers
on the cover
of newsweek magazine,
eyes lidded but i know they are dead
because it says so
in the headline

people flock to look at irises and lily gardens,
greens and pale yellows
mix with the red at the feet of the photographer
and on the
sweaters, the strings laid casually across
her neck
as if put there by the wind
in the cornfields; the peasant bends down
to retrieve the bright golden
husks
which are placed in wooden coffins
made too small

i scream at the people studying
slanted, cubic faces, faces with large brown eyes, oversized
and
looking at themselves, studying themselves,
through the people
i am screaming at

i am crying on a plane bound
for
london’s heathrow airport
at thirty-three thousand feet
and
seven hundred
and
fifty-four kilometres per hour,
trying not to let the passenger next to me
notice that tears are streaming down,
the face of the virgin,
the face of a little angel,
dried out by the forest air,
and her sister-friend-cousin
lying next to her
sur l’herbe
and i am screaming again as i nail this poem
to the wall to the immediate right
of van gogh’s starry, starry night,
and the security guards try to wrestle me
out of the room
but they’re not that tough to fight off,
they are only the sad and old
and incomprehensible
and they need to call others to wrestle me
to the ground
and i’m screaming, screaming
can’t you see? can’t you all fucking see?
are you all blind as well as stupid?
can’t you see the little girl
on the front fucking cover
of newsfuckingweek magazine
for october the fucking 12th
and do you see her executioners? her assassins? her murderers?
walking and studying and holding their hands to their chins
in deep, contemplative thought
of a bright, yellow glaucomal chair?
do you see the uniforms, cerulean blue, ruby red, olive green,
it doesn’t matter
they’re all the same,
struggling to get me under control
trying to smother me under their combined magisterial weight
but they can’t, they can’t,
i’m too strong, i have to much life left me
i am strong and can eat, shit and blow my nose any time I want to,

i throw them off
and yell
do you see? goddamit?
do you see her sandy blonde hair, limp, strands
straggling out from under her hood
which the killers
put over her head
so that they wouldn’t have to look at her face
when they shot her,
when they shot her….I don’t know where they fucking shot her…

but i can see her face clearly and so can everyone if they look really hard
i have a picture of her in my wallet where she is one year old with a soccer ball
in her hand, smiling for the camera, honey, the nice man is going to
take a picture that we can give to grandma

i could get on a plane and go there
but
she would be buried
and
the mourners would be dying
and
halfway across the world
another picture would be taken
and
people would go on studying
the van gogh’s
as i sit and watch
the two young girls
running across the floor
chasing each other
as their mothers and fathers
cross their hands
and
wonder at why that brushstroke is there
and just so thin
at that particular spot
but over here it expands
and see…here it is raised from the canvas
as if he wanted to have us feel the earth
underneath her feet

i sit and watch
and wonder
why my head doesn’t explode
right this very moment,
scattering the nearby paintings
with bright, red
blood
bathing the people in bright red
blood
and wondering, just where did van gogh get
that particular shade of red
he’s used

i sit and watch
and take out my son’s picture
from my wallet
and thank god
it isn’t me

much like the others
studying the pastoral landscapes
of provence
that look to much like
the earth underneath
the dead girl
on the cover of
newsweek magazine
for the 12th of october
in the year of our lord
nineteen hundred and ninety eight
amen

Delusions

I often try to read Foreign Affairs because I find that as the articles go into further depth than regular newspaper reporting, I tend to get more complete analyses of the aims of the U.S. in the world. The biases still remain for the most part but they do tend to offer a balanced or at least un-edited view. Of course, I could be incredibly naive about all this.

At any rate, in the latest issue, a paragraph from the lead story, 'Saddam's Delusions' by Kevin Woods, James Lacey and Williamson Murray, caught my eye. The article deals with a U.S. Joint Forces Command commissioned study of the inner workings and behaviour of Saddam Hussein's regime. The paragraph that makes me quite sad today when I hear about the 'militant uprisings' or whatever other double-speak is in use today is this one: "Even with U.S. tanks crossing the Iraqi border, an internal revolt remained Saddam's biggest fear. In order to quell any postwar revolt. he would need the bridges to remain intact and the land in the south to remain unflooded. On this basis, Saddam planned his moves."

Any one still wondering where all the weapons the militants are using to kill civilians and soldiers alike came from? Anyone still wondering why we didn't just help an 'internal revolt' instead of an invasion and occupation?

Keep digging and eventually you come to see us as dirty as anyone else in this world.

Take Out The Garbage

Spent the day working on death and taxes.

The spouse asked me to take out the garbage.

The children asked to play inapropriate games on the computer.

If I had a dog I might have kicked it.

Don't come over unless you have a bottle of wine and some damn funny stories.

Stop Making Sense

While driving in the car, my wife and I were talking about stress and how hard it was to stop damaging and unwanted thoughts from intruding on an otherwise nice day. The kids were yelling and fighting in the backseat about something or other and in an effort to stop the noise I challenged them to not think about anything. I told them that the hardest thing in the world to do was to not think. They both immediately took up the challenge and were silent for aproximately 15 seconds. Then my son said, "See, I just did it" and my daughter piped in "Me too!" and they proceeded to start bugging each other again at high volume. I looked over at my wife and decided to let the noise be part of the otherwise nice day.

In No Particular Order

A little late I know but here is my list of top 5 albums (ok, ok - CD's) of 2005. Now these are cd's I actually listened to in 2005, they may not have been neccessarily released in 2005.

In no particular order:

Sigur Ros - Takk
Opeth - Ghost Reveries
Thelonius Monk Quartet with John Coltrane - At Carnegie Hall
Robert Fripp - Love Cannot Bear
The Dears - Thank You Good Night Sold Out

Honorary mention (but, really, could have been in my top 5, probably should have made a top 7 but who makes a top 7?):

The Mars Volta - Frances, The Mute
John Coltrane - One Down, One Up: Live At The Half Note

Aghhh!

I'm officially old.

Holding the elevator door open for a woman in her mid twenties today, she thanked me and called me sir.

The Work Life Part 2

Paralyses rules my day.

From The Inside

Sometimes from the outside a work place might seem chaotic or aribitrary. Especially in personnel decisions or certain project successes or failures. From the inside though, i's interesting to watch the strings being pulled from certain quarters or behind the scenes. It's interesting to watch the politics and moves being made, an elaborate chess game on several boards and within several dimensions. Business is a battle and you'd better be careful where you stick your neck.

Desire

"We call nonexistant that which we do not desire." Columbus to Isabella.

From the play Christopher Columbus in the collection Three Plays by Nikos Kazantzakis. Simon & Schuster, New York, 1969 - page 65.

This to be used as an argument only, to sway someone to something we ourselves want, surely. Alternatively, if we do not desire something, it has no hold on us.

The Rosebush And The Dung Pile

"The secret that sin too is in the employ of God."

Columbus to the Abbot. From the play Christopher Columbus by Nikos Kazantzakis in the collection, Three Plays. Simon & Schuster, New York, 1969 - page 78.

God uses sin to make us see what we do wrong? To make us wish for something better? To debase ourselves first so that we will know the low and know how high the high actually is? I haven't quite grasped the meaning of the above quote.

The Oldest Advice

"Good! There goes that life, too. We lived it, and it was brief, but what does it matter? We enjoyed it, in a flash, like lightning, all of it."

Lycophron to Alka in the play Melissa by Nikos Kazantzakis. From the collection Three Plays. Simon & Schuster, New York 1969 - page 189.

As always, the old advice. Live in the present moment.

The Moderns Part 2

"My whole life has been a wild, unceasing struggle uphill, plagued by terrible virtues and equally terrible vices."

Periander to Lycophron. From the play Melissa by Nikos Kazantzakis in the collection Three Plays; Simon & Schuster, New York, 1969 - page 139.

The plight and the paradox of modern man.

Shiny, Happy People

"Happiness shames man, my child, it disrupts the order of the world."

Nurse to Alka. From the play Melissa by Nikos Kazantzakis in the collection, Three Plays. Simon & Schuster, New York, 1969 - page 127.

All the better to be happy then.

The casting out of Eden, paradise, rest and play, to work and toil, forever.

Happiness is the road back to Eden, paradise.

The Ends

"Can you, even at the moment of your strength and victory, keep your mind clear and detached, fixed not on yourself, but on your god?"

Minos to Theseus from the play Kouros in the collection Three Plays by Nikos Kazantzakis, Simon & Schuster, New York, 1969 - page 269.

God is the goal. It is the outcome. It is the ends. Not the means. Not the player, musician, worker, artist, labourer, painter, sculptor, bricklayer or scientist. The end result is the goal. The goal is god.

The danger here is that the ends could justify the means. But there is danger everywhere, especially in literature and reality.

To Be Strong

"...to be strong is to control your strength..."

Minos to Theseus from the play Kouros in the collection Three Plays by Nikos Kazantzakis, Simon & Schuster, New York, 1969 - page 245.

A proper zen koan if you will. Hard to live up to for most. How does one maintain such integrity in the face of such temptation? How about it America? The west? Me and you?

Life On Earth

"Beloved, are you still concerned with gods? What curse is this that drives men so! They battle unceasingly, incurably, with shadows, never realizing that god exists and toils and rejoices only in the flesh!"

Ariadne to Theseus from the play Kouros in the collection Three Plays by Nikos Kazantzakis, Simon & Schuster, New York, 1969 - page 266.

This could only be written by a meditteranean. My life is here on earth. Some may take this passage to mean that we should revel in the material but I take it as meaning that all we need is right here on earth, there is no need to hunger after insubstantialities. There are plenty of mysteries and adventures in substantial things, today, right now.

Out Of Reach

"I, too, will choose the highest, most innacessible mountain to enthrone my god so that I, too, may climb it alone and converse with him."

Theseus to Ariadne from the play Kouros in the collection Three Plays by Nikos Kazantzakis, Simon & Schuster, New York, 1969 - page 236.

That seems to be the problem. We've set god far away from us in an inaccessible place. We've chained him to a lofty location and enslaved ourselves to a low place and we never meet...What we we need are gods we can keep close to us, so close we can smell them, taste them and have a true feeling for them.

The Unexpected

Captain - "What do you expect to find?"
Theseus - "The unexpected..."

From the play Kouros in the collection Three Plays by Nikos Kazantzakis, Simon & Schuster, New York, 1969 - page 220.

This is a daunting concept for most, never completely accepted.

What Do You Speak?

What slanguage do you speak?

I didnt't quite know what this meant before either but take the quizz and have fun. It eventually makes sense.

Myself? Canadian slang naturally.

The Mirror Stares Back At Me

I stare into the mirror but do not see what others see. Is the fault in my eyes or the mirror or the others or in the space between all? Or is there a fault at all?

Radio, Radio

There are lots of internet radio stations but I happen to like this one because I believe it is quite useful in building a station that plays the type of music I want to hear and also adds in some pleasant surprises.

Running To Stand Still

Today I had a lunch appointment with a colleague and went to a bank first to get some cash. As I walked out of the bank and ran up to meet with my lunch partner, I realized that most of my adult life seems to consist of running from one meeting to another of whatever sort (personal, professional or otherwise), giving little time or thought to the meaning of the experience or even to my feelings about the experience. Even less time is spent telling the other party what the experience meant or felt.

So…I had a great time at lunch today. Thank you!

Men At War

Rosalind: “I’d rather keep it as a beautiful memory – tucked away in my heart.”
Amory: “Yes, women can do that – but not men. I’d remember always, not the beauty of it while it lasted, but just the bitterness, the long bitterness.”

This Side of Paradise by F.Scott Fitzgerald, Scribner’s, New York, 1998 8th printing - page 181.

If men could learn to transcend this we might have fewer struggles.

The Ministry Of Information

“If we could only learn to look on evil as evil, whether it is clothed in filth or monotony or magnificence.”

This Side of Paradise by F.Scott Fitzgerald, Scribner’s, New York, 1998 8th printing - page 144.

Do you hear that Fox News?

In Our Time

“He thought how much easier patriotism had been to a homogenous race…”

This Side of Paradise by F.Scott Fitzgerald, Scribner’s, New York, 1998, 8th printing - page 139.

Perhaps a clue (from a writer who saw some of thebefore and aftermath of the First World War) as to how to end certain conflicts in our own time…Put aside your land and tribe. Let us own each other’s culture.

Awakenings

“…and when Amory crept shivering into bed it was with his mind aglow with ideas and a sense of shock that someone else had discovered the path he might have followed.”

This Side of Paradise by F.Scott Fitzgerald, Scribner's, New York, 1998 8th printing - page 119.

And so another man stuck in adolescence grows up…

The Becoming

“It was always the becoming he dreamed of, never the being.”

This Side of Paradise by F.Scott Fitzgerald, Scribner's, New York, 1998 8th printing - page 24.

This is a trap of adolescence. A trap because many of us bring this attitude into adulthood and are constantly searching instead of living. Some can make great art out of this search but most just dream away their lives.

Harm

Violence is a subject that intrigues and troubles me just about every day. Maybe it's because I'm a father and read the newspaper every day. This is probably no surprise to anyone who reads this blog (all three of you).

I’m still really torn on the issue of using violence. So, how about an examination of both sides, however superficial it might be.

Firstly, the use of violence:

Violence may not always be unreasonable; but in order to formulate a reasonable response to atrocities we should try to figure out what is going on first and that includes understanding the other guy's side. Violence may indeed be an answer once we have ascertained the five w’s. The old saying, "to defeat your enemy you must first know him" applies here. For example, going to Afghanistan and bombing the heck out of the Taliban and hunting down bin Laden probably was a reasonable response after the events of Sept. 11. Going to Iraq was not.

Secondly, the use of non-violence:

Let he who is without sin cast the first stone. But whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God. Blessed are the gentle, for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.

I have used here only examples from the New Testament because it is the book I am most familiar with but I could have easily used the Old Testament, Qu’ran or Buddhist texts to come to similar sayings. And I believe that the writings on compassion, love and responsibility far outweigh the writings on calls to violent action in these very same books. Amen.

Share The Blame

During an argument recently, an American Christian fundamentalist said to me, “If you haven't noticed the entire world is vehemently arrayed against Jesus in everything it says and does.”

I wonder why then her own vehemence seems to be only directed at Muslims. Why is there no rage against evil, greedy marketing folk or corrupt papists or atheists or scientists…all of whom have done arguably worse to Christianity than Islam…

Lots Of Zeroes

In 1997 the CIA's budget was $26.6 billion dollars.

In 1996/97 the federal portion of total expenditure for elementary school education in the US was $22.2 billion dollars.

World View

Too much seriousness again. So time for anothe fun quiz. What is your world view. It might make you think or throw up. Either way, it has produced something.

As for myself - Cultural Creative. But then, I rigged the game...

Power Words

Loss.
Intent.
Magic.
Expectation.
Understanding.
Present Moment.
Suffering.
Truth.
Consequences.
Pain.
Memory.
Lust.
Love.
Let Go.

These are just mine. Please add more of your own in the comments section.

The concern to fix a moment in time undermines the moment. A moment of process is that process. When fixed, the process ends. We move "downwards" through the worlds. This means the possibilities open to us close. We are left with a photograph, or a recording, but not the event. For some people, the representation has a greater reality than reality.

Robert Fripp – June 10, 2000

This is one of the reasons why I rarely consent to video-taping or photographing certain events where I would rather be a full participant. Most of my relatives are angry because I wouldn't take pictures during their wedding ceremonies, this even though they had a professional photographer and many other family members were also taking pictures or videos.

Corporate Droning Tentacles

I have a really difficult time reconciling what seems to be two seemingly opposing experiences in one body : listening to Ozric Tentacles in the car, blasting it really loudly, and being a good corporate working drone.

One seems to be a letting go of ego and the other seems to be of keeping ego in check, which is simply another way of not letting ego go.

Who's Side Are You On?

I don't think the U.S. is really on anyone's side except its own anymore (if they ever did at all).

Bash! Bam! Kapow! Splurt!

You'll never look at comics the same way again.

Dream 7

Fear of a black planet.

Then I wake.

The Ultimate Police State

"In a sense, we’re policing ourselves and that’s the ultimate police state, where people are terrified of challenge."

J.G. Ballard from an interview in the summer of 1997.

Communication Breakdown

Although I love Led Zepelin, at one time the soundtrack to lust, actually finding out about this stuff kind of puts a little damper on things. Not much really, but enough. Ah, I'm just naive.

A list of some of the songs Zep stole from other artists:

"Babe I'm Gonna Leave You" - A folk song by Anne Bredon, this was originally credited as "traditional, arranged by Jimmy Page," then "words and music by Jimmy Page," and then, following legal action, "Bredon/Page/Plant."

"Black Mountain Side" - uncredited version of a traditional folk tune previously recorded by Bert Jansch.

"Bring It On Home" - the first section is an uncredited cover of the Willie Dixon
tune (as performed by the imposter Sonny Boy Williamson).

"Communication Breakdown" - apparently derived from Eddie Cochran's "Nervous
Breakdown."

"Custard Pie" - uncredited cover of Bukka White's "Shake 'Em On Down," with lyrics
from Sleepy John Estes's "Drop Down Daddy."

"Dazed And Confused" - uncredited cover of the Jake Holmes song (see The Above
Ground Sound Of Jake Holmes).

"Hats Off To (Roy) Harper" - uncredited version of Bukka White's "Shake 'Em On
Down."

"How Many More Times" - Part one is an uncredited cover of the Howlin' Wolf song available on numerous compilations). Part two is an uncredited cover of Albert King's "The Hunter."

"In My Time Of Dying" - uncredited cover of the traditional song (as heard on Bob Dylan's debut).

"The Lemon Song" - uncredited cover of Howlin' Wolf's "Killing Floor" - Wolf's publisher sued Zeppelin in the early 70s and settled out of court.

"Moby Dick" - written and first recorded by Sleepy John Estes under the title "The Girl I Love," and later covered by Bobby Parker.

"Nobody's Fault But Mine" - uncredited cover of the Blind Willie Johnson blues.

"Since I've Been Lovin' You" - lyrics are the same as Moby Grape's "Never," though the music isn't similar.

"Stairway To Heaven" - the main guitar line is apparently from "Taurus" by Spirit.

"White Summer" - uncredited cover of Davey Graham's "She Moved Through The Fair."

"Whole Lotta Love" - lyrics are from the Willie Dixon blues "You Need Love."

I'm not listing covers that the band credited to the actual authors ("You Shook Me") or the less blatant ripoffs (the "Superstition" riff in "Trampled Underfoot").

Delta Of Venus

The other strange thing I've found in my travels through the blogosphere is the amount of sex blogs. You know the ones. Where bored housewives write about secret dirty encounters and bored husbands post nude photos of themselves. They're almost as scary as the hot christian chicks. But not quite.

Food Of The Gods

Just one word today: Chocolate. It's been that kind of day.

Dream 6

I'm in a Vietnamese restaurant. I'm the only non-Asian in there and I'm ordering food for take-out. Everyone is eyeing me threateningly, with avarice. The staff and patrons are looking at me with open hostility. I try to avoid eyes and concentrate on the artwork on the walls but look around very often. The food seems to be taking too long. I am feeling very paranoid and afraid. As I look around, one very beautiful girl seems to be less angry with me. But as I stare at her a little longer, I feel as if she is attempting to lull me and then put a spike through my heart. I wake.

Hot Chicks

Following up on an earlier blog, during my travels through the blogosphere I can't help but notice how many of these new-born/new-found Christian chicks are really hot...I mean, it is a far greater percentage than that of the goth chicks or sensitive poetry chicks or new soccer mom chicks. Anyway, I just found it curious is all.

Notice: If you found the above message offensive, please note that the message says more about it's utterer than it's subject. And it also says more about the offended person than the subject represented. In fact, it says almost nothing at all about it's subject. This is a reality that most of us are unable to comprehend. And if we could, there'd be lots less self-righteous anger and violence around.

Fault

Three ways to discover our faults: ask a friend; ask an enemy; recognise a fault in others.

Robert Fripp

Music Of The Spheres

Music, music, music. If only I had the talent I would be playing some weird combination of Crimson, GYBE, David Sylvian, Shakti, The Hip and Zeppelin with a hint of interstellar space or maybe early Tangerine Dream and a dash of Miles. I think I need to get me a keyboard and just start creating sounds.

An Uncommon Affliction

“…they were very cheerful and friendly and I avoided them strenuously.”

An Unexpected Light - Travels In Afghanistan by Jason Elliot, Picador, London, 1999 - page 394.

An uncommon affliction. I seem to do the same, preferring even more so to be by myself most of the time. Or at least to be in silence even while next to someone. “I’m not afraid of your silences,” she said to me and I fell in love and married her.

The Story So Far

“…a journey was a kind of story in itself, providing one had the will to read it, just as a story too could be a journey, providing one had the experience to bring to it, and both found their mark differently in different people.”

An Unexpected Light - Travels In Afghanistan by Jason Elliot, Picador, London, 1999 - page 290.

The Self Made Man

“He is not concerned with acquiring powers but of uncovering something already within.”

Jason Elliot on a Sufi. An Unexpected Light - Travels In Afghanistan by Jason Elliot, Picador, London, 1999 - page 270.

Guitarzan

Robert Fripp was born today (in 1946 I think).

I thank his parents (both natural and spiritual) for his music and his writings.

Happy Brithday!

Enriched

I had a conversation recently with a colleague on bringing value to our lives that doesn’t involve enriching our employer to our own psychic detriment.

Couldn't be done, we concluded.

And there, we just did it.

Just Let Go

“Always there is this kind of suspense on a journey where you are both isolated and robbed of your own language. Under such conditions the means by which you make sense of things begins to be transformed; you can no longer rely on familiar signals but a cryptic sequence of tiny events, the pattern of which you sense more keenly as your isolation grows. It leads to a kind of parting of the ways; you either let go of your worries and put your faith in the natural unfolding of events or are plagued with anxieties which multiply as darkness falls.”

An Unexpected Light - Travels In Afghanistan by Jason Elliot, Picador, London, 1999 - page 191.

Just let go.

Lose The Habit

"In ordinary life you know yourself from your surroundings, which become the measure and the mirror of your thoughts and actions. Remove the familiar and you are left with a stranger, the disembodied voice of one's own self which, robbed of its usual habits, seems barely recognizable."

An Unexpected Light - Travels In Afghanistan by Jason Elliot, Picador, London, 1999 - page 144.

We gain and gather these habits over a lifetime and from our ancestors, and do not even realize it. Lose the habits and find yourself.

...trust in the spirit of the journey...

"...trust in the spirit of the journey..."

An Unexpected Light - Travels In Afghanistan by Jason Elliot, Picador, London, 1999 - page 80.

Sometimes you just have to let go and start walking.

Won't You Help Me Sing

Bob Marley died this day in 1981.

The impressive influence of his music reached even my extremely northern and very cold high-school, about as far removed from the beaches of Jamaica (in a sense, as was Marley as well) as you could possibly get. That power, careening around and through the atmosphere or at least our hearts, must do something...

Limits

"Ah", he replied solemnly, as if I had hit on a notion of importance. Then he lit a cigarette, and a coil of smoke spiralled upwards before his face. "If a man does not reach his limit," he pronounced, a flicker of enquiry surfacing into his eyes as if released from a great depth, "how can he discover the way to go beyond it?"

An Unexpected Light - Travels In Afghanistan by Jason Elliot, Picador, London, 1999 - page 72.

Sometimes I read passages such as this and it makes me want to give up writing forever. Luckily I only stop for a short while.

Staring

"...the faint sense of trespass implicit in the act of staring..."

An Unexpected Light - Travels In Afghanistan by Jason Elliot, Picador, London, 1999 - page 4.

This was my own reaction to the veiled women of Syria and the strangers on the subway in Canada. No matter the goodwill intent behind the staring, it is still intentionally rude.

Journeys Part 2

" I had in mind a quietly epic sort of journey..."

An Unexpected Light - Travels In Afghanistan by Jason Elliot, Picador, London, 1999 - page 17.

Mine are all like that too. At least...in my mind...

Journeys

"...journeys are sparked from small and unlikely things rather than grand conviction."

An Unexpected Light - Travels In Afghanistan by Jason Elliot, Picador, London, 1999 - page 4.

Could be true. A tale of lost love, a story about a street or river, a wall or mountain. A brief passage in a book such as...'When James left Ulan Bator, the winds had turned the skies pink'. The reader then wonders, why is the sky pink in Ulan Bator? I'd like to see this for myself. And off they go...

Moving Day

I was thinking today that government policy has made it far easier to move capital and goods (including drugs and money from drugs) than to move people between countries. What does that tell us about what is important to governments.

I Feel Good

James Brown was born today May 3rd. Get the funk out!

Cheating

Thoughts on cheating:














Yeah, as if!!!

Time Dilation

It was 100 years ago this year that Einstein published his theory of special relativity. One of the consequences of this theory is that as you get closer to moving at the speed of light, time slows down. This is also known as time dilation.

I once had a conversation with my spouse about time seeming to be going much faster for us since the children were born. It really does seem to go faster because, ironically, we're not taking the time to enjoy the time.

I;ve said it before and I'll probably go on saying it. In fact many, many others far cleverer than I have said it as well and in far superior ways. Live in the present moment. Make each second pass as though it were your last second and I guarantee you that time will slow down until it seems like forever. No need for a special spaceship.

Mellotron

A mellotron, played by the right musician, sounds like the soundtrack to the end of the world when the demons run amok in the streets and children cry for their lost parents.

Some albums recorded with a mellotron (some evil sounding, some not so much) that I have listened to:
The Beatles - Revolver, Magical Mystery Tour & The White Album
Black Sabbath - Volume 4
David Bowie - Space Oddity, Hunky Dory & Diamond Dogs
Genesis - Nursery Cryme, Foxtrot & Selling England By The Pound
Joy Division - Closer
King Crimson - Just about every album but best sounding on the first album, In The Court Of The Crismon King and on Larks' Tounges In Aspic
Led Zeppelin - Houses Of The Holy & Physical Graffiti
The Mars Volta - De-Loused In The Comatorium & Frances The Mute
Monster Magnet - Dopes To Infinity
Moody Blues - Days Of Future Past
Oasis - "What's The Story" Morning Glory
Opeth - Damnation & Ghost Reveries
Pink Floyd - A Sucerful Of Secrets, Ummagumma and Atom Heart Mother
Porcupine Tree - In Absentia & Deadwing
Radiohead - OK Computer
Red Hot Chili Peppers - Californication & Blood Sugar Sex Magic
Rolling Stones - Beggar's Banquet
Roxy Music - For Your Pleasure & Stranded
Smashing Pumpkins - Most of their albums
Soundgarden - Superunknown
Strange Advance - World's Away
Talk Talk - The Colour Of Spring
Tangerine Dream - Most albums from the 70's but I especialy like Stratosfear
The Tea Party - All their albums
Traffic - Mr. Fantasy

Any parts of these albums that make you sad or fearful were most likely made by the mellotron.

Work In Progress 2

Work in progress: Poem from "A Quiet Weariness".

it's always quiet of course,
just the low sound of
classical music
playing in the background
and a muffled machine-like sound
coming from everywhere,
summer and winter,
morning and night,
forever,
apparatus that we need
to keep places like this
running
smoothly.

the names are always there,
Paul Eugene Lortie,
Georgette Gervais,
good old
Geraldine Di Tomma Stallato,
friendly, habitual denizens
of this quiet
place.

the new neighbours.

we can't always choose our neighbours,
even less in death
than in life.

it's quiet here,
the quiet of respect,
regret and tears,

death
of course,

but mostly
a quiet weariness.

hello Gino,
hi Alberto,
how's it going
Maria...

resting...
resting neighbours

old friends really,
in death only
of course

in death only.

Bethune: A Review

The Sword, The Scalpel – The Story of Dr. Norman Bethune by Ted Allan and Sydney Gordon. A review.

Norman Bethune is still a hero to many Canadians and non-Canadians, especially in China where he spent the last years of his life in Mao’s fight against the Japanese, Chinese imperialists and capitalists. Socialists, medical professionals and many Montréalers (where he spent a good part of his life as chief of thoracic surgery at Ste. Justine Hospital) revere Bethune as a noble doctor who helped the underprivileged. His many exploits of genius, from designing better surgical tools to inventing the modern mobile medical unit used in wars since 1939, have made him a Canadian to be proud of. His almost single-handed and constant fight against tuberculosis alone (which he himself suffered from), would make him a great humanitarian.

Which makes it all the more unfortunate that Ted Allan and Sydney Gordon’s biography has two things (among many) that hinder our understanding and appreciation of this man: The book is more propaganda than art which serves to make a truly great man somehow less and the information gathered and given to the reader is subsumed by the authors’ agenda in pushing a particular point of view, that of the glorious communist future awaiting us. The book is more hagiography than biography.

Now, I don’t have an issue with a socialist or communist ideologist attempting to convince us of the greatness of that way of life, but the effect of items such as getting to age 34 of his life by page 20 of a 319 page book, but writing with great heavy-handed detail on his death, to the extent that we know the exact time of his passing and the exact words spoken by those around him full of camaraderie and brotherhood, is to feel like we are being beaten over the head. Yes, we know that all the communists fighting in Mao’s army were really, really hard-working and never complained about their lot because they believed in the brotherhood of man. Enough already.

Those looking for an in depth analyses of Bethune’s early childhood and formative experiences should look elsewhere. For example, where did Bethune get such a single-minded ability to focus and his zeal for causes? We are given scant information on his parents; his father was a minister and his mother a missionary is basically all we’re told. A proper biography would have explored his upbringing and relationship to his parents to bring into focus his later stubbornness and attachment to causes. The authors write of Bethune’s “idealism of adolescence” but try as I might, I can not find any reference to his adolescence as Bethune’s teen-age years don’t even rate a sentence.

Bethune joined the Canadian armed forces the day World War 1 begun. He spent time at the front and was wounded at Ypres where many Canadian historians note that Canada was truly born as a nation. Surely such a horrendous experience would make some sort of impression and help us to understand his later hatred of unworthy causes. After all, many post-war writers, the Lost Generation as Gertrude Stein called them, felt such deep scars that they wrote and drank and talked in some fashion about their experiences for the rest of their lives. These authors see fit to give us exactly one page on Bethune and the First World War.

The propensity to propaganda comes early in the book. We are told that Bethune’s decision to start his first medical practice in Detroit is partly because “America was rich, and a great torrent of its riches washed through Detroit…There, he told himself, he would have to kiss no one’s hand, bend the knee to no British upper-class dowager…” There is nothing inherently wrong with this statement except that we haven’t been given a proper explanation or set-up before hand to tell us why he felt he had to “bend his knee”. In the paragraphs preceding this statement we are told he is living the good life and quite enjoying it. We are told of his jaunts in London, Paris and Italy, carousing and carrying-on like any young man at the time. He seems to be happy. Where did he get the feeling he was “bending the knee” while drinking in London pubs or picking up girls in Parisian cafes? Approximately 2 pages later we are told that money no longer satisfies him, he needs to be able to be the “old” Bethune, healing the poor with no thought to monetary reward. Unfortunately the authors have already made him out to be a bit of a spoiled rich kid…how many of us get to go to medical school in England and Italy and squander the money sent by his parents on drinks and food. At least make the propaganda a little more subtle guys!

Now I know this book was written in 1952 during a time of Communist witch-hunts and paranoia so maybe the message had to be heavy-handed but it doesn’t excuse sloppy writing. The move from self-serving to self-sacrificing young doctor is unclear and one of the problems I think is that both authors knew Bethune and the only detailed biographical information we get comes in the years that Allan and Gordon had dealings with their subject.

I had seen the Donald Sutherland movie (Bethune – The Making of a Hero) many years ago and the only part that made an impression on me was when Sutherland, playing Bethune, collapses his own lung in order to stave off or cure the effects of tuberculosis. My thoughts at the time were, my god, what absolute balls does it take to be able to operate on yourself and is this what Bethune really did or did the film makers take the hero title a little too seriously.

I bought Bethune’s biography soon after to confirm for myself. Although Bethune never actually collapsed his own lung, this biography would have us believe that this medical genius, inventor and communist was the greatest thing since sliced bread.

The sainthood attributed to Bethune sometimes so far outweighs the often truly astonishing things he has done, that this biography makes the man Bethune much less real and the story of his life, ironically, much less interesting.

Consequences

Life gets musch easier when you make a decision, then simply accept the consequences which follow from it. Robert Fripp.

Someone threw a cookie at me today. While walking along a downtown street, a cookie hit me on the left shoulder. I brushed it off, looked around but decided to forget it and just kept walking. My day was instantly changed. A somewhat depressive weight lifted off my mind. I couldn't get angry at something as stupid as a cookie hitting me in the shoulder and I realized that most of my issues were exactly the same; as inconsequential as that cookie. Perhaps more importantly, a young lady looked at me right as the cookie hit me, saw that I did not react in a vile manner and I swear I saw a shadow or something more weighty rise from her shoulders into thin the air.

Playing In Time

Posted elsewhere but I have wanted to write about this for awhile so I've put it here as well. Why? Because I can.

For years I have read Robert Fripp's writings on music. Often his descriptions of what happens during group improvisations and specific gigs (Central Park 1974, Marquee 1969, recording Moonchild) often seem quite other-worldly to me. Especially during the group improvisations, he seems (to me anyway) to describe the experience as almost a form of communal and telepathic thinking where something else takes over.

Although I have felt a power in the music or experience as a member of the audience and it was exhilarating, I hadn't felt anything special as a musician playing in a group context. And I frankly doubted what he was saying. Until one evening...

I was playing in a studio, just jamming with some players. Nothing much was happening, just noodling around. At one point I started playing a simple progression on the bass and the drummer followed, then the 2 guitarists and finally the vocalist gave us some stream of consciousness lyrics. While playing this tune, I had the experience of being "locked-in" with the other players. It seemed to me that whatever we did, whether changing chords or tempos, we did it together, instantly and with no audible errors. It also seemed to me that there was no "leader" for that tune, if the drummer suddenly shifted into a different groove we followed, if the vocalist suddenly got quieter we followed. There seemed to be a group-mind in play that dare I say it - directed us. I was playing bass but had no conscious feeling about playing bass. It just melded with the other instruments and players to form something new. If I was a Crafty I might say I was playing bass and not playing bass at the same time. We seemed to be in sync for exactly 6 minutes and 32 seconds at least. The experience was so powerful that I still get goose-bumps thinking about it and yet have a difficult time describing it.

This experience allowed to me to get a glimpse what Mr. Fripp might have been describing. I don't know if it was exactly the same but it was in my opinion just as powerful a feeling for me as it was for him and countless other musicians who have no doubt gone through a similar experience.

I have tried mightily to get that feeling back with other musicians and studios and gigs. Sadly it hasn't.

Whatever

The reconciliation of work and love. Another eternal question in an endless series of them.

For Absent Friends

Mother in law passed on 12 years ago today. I haven't made many toasts in my life, but when I do, I always toast to absent friends. It seems the smallest thing I can do but it is needed.

Wide Asleep

Twice now I've tried to read the passage in Jason Elliot's book An Unexpected Light on Sufism, a mystical branch of Islam, and both times my eyes tear up, or almost close involuntarily as I fall asleep, and prevents me from reading the whole passage or even remember the few words I have been able to read. I have noticed this happening when I read certain profound passages in other books as well. What is this phenomenon? It must have a name. Perhaps I am unready to be made aware of this knowledge. Most likely though I'm just tired. But it's interesting how the mind invents deep mysteries where there may be none.

Work In Progress 1

Work in progress: From Hotel Poems (plain tentative title).

you were framed
in the window,
crying,
and when i asked you why
you said
because,
and i said
i know,
but pulled you back to bed
anyway

anyway,
i can no longer sleep in hotel
rooms
and the night desk people
are annoyed at me
because i keep pressing
the wake-up call button
but it doesn't seem to work

Dead Stop

Still having a difficult time writing daily. The discipline required is tremendous for such a seemingly easy task. Just starting the first word is hard sometimes. The ideas are there it's just bloody difficult getting the engine going. The hardest thing to do is to start moving from a dead stop. I needn't worry about turning and inertia just yet.

Spent

Spent, or The Poem That Couldn't Last.

i'm spent,
leaving these traces
on a clean page
as i once left traces
on your glistening breasts,
profaning the sacred
for a second
time

Clean And Cheerful Friends

Had lunch at J.'s restaurant today. He looks tired. Opening and running a business is not easy but he does it with a kind of cheerful fatalism. Having such decent friends is a blessing. He's one of the good guys and I wish him well.

The Consensus

"If we know that someone is consumed with greed, avarice & venality (like myself) we feel safe with them: they can be bought. This person presents no challenges or threats to the consensus."

Robert Fripp, May 4, 2000

The question in my mind then is how does an individualist safely live in this world?

Happy

Anyone else tired of being unhappy because you're happy being unhappy?

The Damage Done

Lies can create both physical and psychic damage.

It's easy at first, then the worry and stress comes. Then the skipping heart appears. Then the nervous arm shaking. Then the restlessness. Then pacing. Then...

The Final Frontier

In the spirit of wonderful spring days and sticking to the easy-going and space related them from yesterday, do yourself a favour and check out the Astronomy Picture of the Day site. It is inspiring and awesome in the truest sense of the word (not the de-clawed way use it today).

OMG - I'm Deanna Troi !?*&$%!!!

Lighten up and enjoy the day.

This is a fun quiz.

Which Star Trek character are you?

Lies My Father Told Me

Maturity means:

Take it like a man.
Don't complain.
Don't cry.
Be a man.
Be tough.

That's All Right

Parts of me are well and parts are not well. Sometimes those parts that were well become not well and vice versa. If I could make all the parts be well at the same time you might find me under a plum tree. But generally, today, the majority of parts are well. Perhaps that's all right too.

Boxscore

It's official. I no longer care anything whatsoever about baseball. I found myself reading the morning paper and skipping all the baseball related stories. It's done. Move on. Nothing to see here folks.

Addicted To Blogger

These technical difficulties are driving me crazy.

Blog Life

Life is getting in the way of writing this blog so I'll be out for a bit...of the blog that is, not life.