And all our prayers, on paper written
Nothing to say that we were any one
For people to remember. Just the dust
On our graves says we were there.
When the towers fell and children cried,
We died. You saw nothing on T,V,
You should feel ashamed, Robbed.
Your Grief stolen. Blood
Of the innocents to crown
A new king. But what rough beast
To steal a better poet's phrase.
Let's take on knowledge with that power,
And let the power fall
Wednesday, December 31, 2003
Tuesday, December 30, 2003
Update: The spies who came in from the art sale
Creative Loafing has obtained a report detailing alleged Israeli spy activity in the United States.
This is lenghty and A little hypoethetical. but... Let us not sleep among tigers.
Creative Loafing has obtained a report detailing alleged Israeli spy activity in the United States.
This is lenghty and A little hypoethetical. but... Let us not sleep among tigers.
"Your enemy is not surrounding your country. Your enemy is ruling your country."--George W. Bush
"The more we learn about Howard Dean's record as governor, the more difficult position he'll be in to criticize the Bush administration," Connecticut Sen. Joe Lieberman and they're on the same side!
Sunday, December 28, 2003
The closer to the end I get the less i have to say.
Too bad we all die.
.
Happy new year
avoid the earthquakes
the mud slides
and the poorly trained cops who hate you.
I'm not liberal anymore.
I'm just not a fascist.
no state religion.
nor worship state.
the dead are just dead.
we don't know where life goes.
in the end I cant even see you.
The tubes pulled out ...
the black sheets empty.
no where i can call.
Do you hear me?
I put no decorations up.
I will go upstairs.
to the cold Attic.
Too bad we all die.
.
Happy new year
avoid the earthquakes
the mud slides
and the poorly trained cops who hate you.
I'm not liberal anymore.
I'm just not a fascist.
no state religion.
nor worship state.
the dead are just dead.
we don't know where life goes.
in the end I cant even see you.
The tubes pulled out ...
the black sheets empty.
no where i can call.
Do you hear me?
I put no decorations up.
I will go upstairs.
to the cold Attic.
A useful and tasteful site about Anime, offering reviews and definitions of different terms. Definately not a page of twisted porno.
The Afghan crisis that you cannot see /28.09.01
Starvation continues
This site offers a lot of access {Afgan web}
Afgan daily is useful too
I 'd tend to think he hoodwinked us into thinking that he was buying the stuff and then spent the money on Boris Valejo paintings.
Starvation continues
This site offers a lot of access {Afgan web}
Afgan daily is useful too
US, UK hoodwinked Saddam over WMDs
By Richard Norton-Taylor & Julian Borger
LONDON/WASHINGTON: British officials are circulating a story that Saddam Hussein may have been hoodwinked into believing that Iraq really did possess weapons of mass destruction.
I 'd tend to think he hoodwinked us into thinking that he was buying the stuff and then spent the money on Boris Valejo paintings.
Saturday, December 27, 2003
Holoday
The holidays represent every thing to every one. No limits. Kids expect Santa Claus. Jesus. Infinite presents. A friend of mine said let’s nor spend more than ten bucks on each other this year. I cheated and found a twenty dollar book for one friend at five bucks and then i spent five bucks of soap for my mom... plus an amazing ting carving of a mouse. Step dad peter gave every one a blank book. My uncle gave me a ruby. A fat ruby. Not as bloody red as i would have hoped... tinge of violet...but theres nothing wrong with rubies.
I read some other blogs over the season.
I’m stricken with my own self involvment.
My uncle is here for the holidays. He and my mom are working on his diaries from his imprisonment in afghanistan.. Makes for some interesting after dinner conversation.
he is a musician too. So we can talk that way. Basically i like him.. One year he gave me “claves made from the broken legs of a bar stool. And this year he gives a ruby.......times changfe and people change. But why do i feel so stuck?
Monday, December 22, 2003
Dark Pines Under Water
By Gwendolyn MacEwen
This land like a mirror turns you inward
And you become a forest in a furtive lake;
The dark pines of your mind reach downward,
You dream in the green of your time,
Your memory is a row of sinking pines.
Explorer, you tell yourself this is not what you came for
Although it is good here, and green;
You had meant to move with a kind of largeness,
You had planned a heavy grace, an anguished dream.
But the dark pines of your mind dip deeper
And you are sinking, sinking, sleeper
In an elementary world;
There is something down there and you want it told.
From Magic Animals: Selected Poetry of Gwendolyn MacEwen, Toronto: Stoddart, 1984
From ::Wood s lot::
By Gwendolyn MacEwen
This land like a mirror turns you inward
And you become a forest in a furtive lake;
The dark pines of your mind reach downward,
You dream in the green of your time,
Your memory is a row of sinking pines.
Explorer, you tell yourself this is not what you came for
Although it is good here, and green;
You had meant to move with a kind of largeness,
You had planned a heavy grace, an anguished dream.
But the dark pines of your mind dip deeper
And you are sinking, sinking, sleeper
In an elementary world;
There is something down there and you want it told.
From Magic Animals: Selected Poetry of Gwendolyn MacEwen, Toronto: Stoddart, 1984
From ::Wood s lot::
Arrest
Chinese arrest Kong Youping for writing articles about politics. and posting them on the internet. The Information Center for Human Rights and Democracy said his postings included an appeal for the communist government to reverse its position on the 1989 Pro democracy movement.
Chinese arrest Kong Youping for writing articles about politics. and posting them on the internet. The Information Center for Human Rights and Democracy said his postings included an appeal for the communist government to reverse its position on the 1989 Pro democracy movement.
face paint
A Qui?
I met a face pinter named Qui. I drove downtown to Baywalk, an illustrious plaza teeming with people dressed in dark colors and police to keep them from interacting.
Qui had the most colors on her face and hair. I think she just wore warmups. I hate it when poeple have just one color and spend a month of dinners on one piece of clothing. I don't really hate....I wear boring stuff all the time and i have a weird pride about my racial heritage. whatever that is. White Christmas? yeah right.
Well bay walk is a white sort of place. It wasn't. Black folks get profiled. but the use a lot of black cops now, to tone down the race thing.
So I talked to Qui.
There were folks comming out of the movies an milling around the shops. You couldn't throw a food wrap thout hitting an individual. hard to figure how i made it in without mashing into one of them. Lucky I guess.
Qui sat in a fold-up patio chair and had a wooden table beside her with face paint and brushes.
Remember those old movies where people danced?
The best things happen while you dance.
People get excited when the weather changes.
So Sat and talked with Qui.
She said her name was more of a handle. "You just pick some thing that expresses who you are."
I asked if it meant who? and she said yes but most people asked if her eyes were real. I found that odd, So she explained that she meant that they wondered if she wore contacts.
I laughed in disbelief. But then I couldnt tell you what color her eyes realy were. they seemed Brown with a shade of violet. A friend stoppoed by and showed her a watch bought as a present for a friend. There was a star on the face, but she was unsure about the band.
As we watched the crowd come out of the last movie Qui said she would pack up. Just a few faces a night was all she needed.
She gave me a hand shake as we parted. Sort of formal and polite. Just an old fasioned girl with multi colored hair.
I met a face pinter named Qui. I drove downtown to Baywalk, an illustrious plaza teeming with people dressed in dark colors and police to keep them from interacting.
Qui had the most colors on her face and hair. I think she just wore warmups. I hate it when poeple have just one color and spend a month of dinners on one piece of clothing. I don't really hate....I wear boring stuff all the time and i have a weird pride about my racial heritage. whatever that is. White Christmas? yeah right.
Well bay walk is a white sort of place. It wasn't. Black folks get profiled. but the use a lot of black cops now, to tone down the race thing.
So I talked to Qui.
There were folks comming out of the movies an milling around the shops. You couldn't throw a food wrap thout hitting an individual. hard to figure how i made it in without mashing into one of them. Lucky I guess.
Qui sat in a fold-up patio chair and had a wooden table beside her with face paint and brushes.
Remember those old movies where people danced?
The best things happen while you dance.
People get excited when the weather changes.
So Sat and talked with Qui.
She said her name was more of a handle. "You just pick some thing that expresses who you are."
I asked if it meant who? and she said yes but most people asked if her eyes were real. I found that odd, So she explained that she meant that they wondered if she wore contacts.
I laughed in disbelief. But then I couldnt tell you what color her eyes realy were. they seemed Brown with a shade of violet. A friend stoppoed by and showed her a watch bought as a present for a friend. There was a star on the face, but she was unsure about the band.
As we watched the crowd come out of the last movie Qui said she would pack up. Just a few faces a night was all she needed.
She gave me a hand shake as we parted. Sort of formal and polite. Just an old fasioned girl with multi colored hair.
Friday, December 19, 2003
Excuse the mess.
Please excuse the messy side bar. I recently added Blog rolling and I don't know how to use it. I think that i should reference people that i get ideas from, and try to enhance my visitors reading experience by providing them with a next page. I could put the 'roll' at the bottom below the major links i want to emphasize.
Then again few people really look here. I'd like it if they signed the guest book. that is the oldest feature in the blog. but only one spammer and one relative of mine ever signed the thing. .... oh and J.S of Allied said something nice.
Thursday, December 18, 2003
shudder to think
My sister sent me a Blasto from el Pasto
most of the grade school papers and highs cool reports.
also a copy of "The Hobbit" read by Nicol Williamson. virtually unplayed, but who uses vinyl?
weirdly she sent a Copy of "Dreams in the Mirror" my father gave me, autographed by Richard Kennedy and dedicated to george, A literate physicist. He gave the book to me, with his might come in handy someday comment. I guess he knew it meant something to me. Cummings was My favorite Poet. But then I do love sonnets. By AnyOne.
most of the grade school papers and highs cool reports.
also a copy of "The Hobbit" read by Nicol Williamson. virtually unplayed, but who uses vinyl?
weirdly she sent a Copy of "Dreams in the Mirror" my father gave me, autographed by Richard Kennedy and dedicated to george, A literate physicist. He gave the book to me, with his might come in handy someday comment. I guess he knew it meant something to me. Cummings was My favorite Poet. But then I do love sonnets. By AnyOne.
Saturday, December 13, 2003
Never before has the House of Representatives operated in such secrecy:
At 2:54 a.m. on a Friday in March, the House cut veterans benefits by three votes.
At 2:39 a.m. on a Friday in April, the House slashed education and health care by five votes.
At 1:56 a.m. on a Friday in May, the House passed the Leave No Millionaire Behind tax-cut bill by a handful of votes.
At 2:33 a.m. on a Friday in June, the House passed the Medicare privatization and prescription drug bill by one vote.
At 12:57 a.m. on a Friday in July, the House eviscerated Head Start by one vote.
And then, after returning from summer recess, at 12:12 a.m. on a Friday in October, the House voted $87 billion for Iraq.
Always in the middle of the night. Always after the press had passed their deadlines. Always after the American people had turned off the news and gone to bed.
From tompaine.com
At 2:54 a.m. on a Friday in March, the House cut veterans benefits by three votes.
At 2:39 a.m. on a Friday in April, the House slashed education and health care by five votes.
At 1:56 a.m. on a Friday in May, the House passed the Leave No Millionaire Behind tax-cut bill by a handful of votes.
At 2:33 a.m. on a Friday in June, the House passed the Medicare privatization and prescription drug bill by one vote.
At 12:57 a.m. on a Friday in July, the House eviscerated Head Start by one vote.
And then, after returning from summer recess, at 12:12 a.m. on a Friday in October, the House voted $87 billion for Iraq.
Always in the middle of the night. Always after the press had passed their deadlines. Always after the American people had turned off the news and gone to bed.
From tompaine.com
Friday, December 12, 2003
The sheer speed of technological change and the daily flood of data make it virtually impossible to keep track of all this material
And I thought it was just me.
And I thought it was just me.
Thursday, December 11, 2003
Wednesday, December 10, 2003
is this better than the one below?
All the words that I have ever spoken
Add up to nothing when I think of you.
Not that words should have sums or anything.
But if we would have our prayers come true
We might look further than the simple frame
Of verses and prose with which we make do.
Nothing says it like a poem, false or true.
We all lie. But who cares how the crime
Was committed. We're older than we know.
We all come from somewhere, or say we don't.
There's not much help that words can give us.
And we should not expect them to do more.
It's only an illusion that we talk at all.
And write it down as a defense against doom.
All the words that I have ever spoken
Add up to nothing when I think of you.
Not that words should have sums or anything.
But if we would have our prayers come true
We might look further than the simple frame
Of verses and prose with which we make do.
Nothing says it like a poem, false or true.
We all lie. But who cares how the crime
Was committed. We're older than we know.
We all come from somewhere, or say we don't.
There's not much help that words can give us.
And we should not expect them to do more.
It's only an illusion that we talk at all.
And write it down as a defense against doom.
Audience
All the words that I have ever spoken
add up to nothing when I think of you.
Not that words should have sums or anything.
But if we should have our prayers come true
we might look further than the simple frame
of verses and prose with which we make do.
Nothing says it like a poem, false or true.
We all lie. But who cares about how the crime
was committed. We're older than we know.
We all come from somewhere, or say we don't.
There's not much help that words can give us.
And we should not expect them to.
It's only an illusion that we talk at all.
And we write it down as a defense against death.
All the words that I have ever spoken
add up to nothing when I think of you.
Not that words should have sums or anything.
But if we should have our prayers come true
we might look further than the simple frame
of verses and prose with which we make do.
Nothing says it like a poem, false or true.
We all lie. But who cares about how the crime
was committed. We're older than we know.
We all come from somewhere, or say we don't.
There's not much help that words can give us.
And we should not expect them to.
It's only an illusion that we talk at all.
And we write it down as a defense against death.
The most difficult thing about going to the farm was that I had no idea what to expect. I never had any plans to join any intentional community in a rural setting. I did spend a lot of time thinking about meditation and yoga. My sister was the one who listened to the Grateful Dead and trucked around on a school bus. Diedre spent a lot of time in California and she liked the idea of being vegetarian, macrobiotic or vegan. The whole trip was her idea really. Unfortunately I may have inspired it. When she became pregnant, Diedre quit her job as a baker and moved in with me. We had been separated for about three months. I tried to think of what to do and in order to be helpful I purchased a copy of spiritual mid-wifery, the famous book by Ina May Gaskin. We signed up at Elizabeth Blackwell Center which practiced progressive methods of childbirth. Diedre decided that the city was the worst place to have a baby. And she wanted out. I became unemployed and went out looking for people who do something about the farm. Mostly these were folks selling tie dyed T-shirts at Grateful Dead concerts. After interviewing quite a few of them the possibility of going there looked pretty dismal. The farm had officially closed its gates. They were no longer accepting new members. That however did not dissuade us. We made a few phone calls to the farm and found out that their mid-wife program was still operating. We would be able to have the baby there.
We decided to travel to the Farm to check out first. Of course that meant abandoning our apartment and moving our belongings to my parents home. So we rented a truck and filled with stuff, drove from Philly to my parents new home in Tennessee, borrowed their car, and visited the farm. The people there were nice except for a few teenagers who told us the farm was not a hippie commune anymore. We bought food at the store, talked with Pamela Hunt, who was the head nurse in the mid-wife program. They seemed pretty confident that everything would be all right but they did not know that we intended to stay there and become members of the community. Before the farm closed its gates people had lived there for free. Coming from the city, we were completely prepared to pay for our lodging's and utilities. The only problem was finding work. I guess I have the feeling that everyone there was in denial about the demise of many of the Farm's institutions. The bakery was closed. The publishing house was closed. Lots of buildings were empty. Multi-family homes were gutted and vandalized by visitors and frustrated teenagers. But we didn't notice all of that first.
Once we settled in I found work with the Farms construction Co. Michael Gavin was the contractor who managed the company. There were a few issues that had to be worked out before I could work on the crew. First of all no one received a paycheck. All of the carpenters were shareholders in the company and they received dividends. Because I was not a member of the community I could not become a shareholder. So I became an independent contractor. Not that I knew anything about carpentry. I had to learn at a laborers wage. Not much more than I made folding burritos at Cantina del Dios in Philly. D. threw a fit when she found out that Michael couldn't hire me out right. She expected me to support her throughout this. Somehow she believed that she could bully me into making more money. She and I had the idea that she could start up the old bakery. I was eager to help since I had a background in restaurant work. Most of the facility was intact although it would never need to health codes standards the equipment was there. After some weeks she got together with a woman named Rita and another named Ramona. They had done some large-scale baking before. Little by little, they started baking again. I don't think they use the original bakery, but they moved some of the equipment. They started with tofu Danish, pizza rolls and cookies. Later D. tried to duplicate her former boss' secret formula for bagels. With some success. They were Chewy. The farm store offered some of their products and they started showing up where the construction crew met in the morning to discuss the different jobs we were working on. The Danish were pretty good. Plus they were low-calorie and protein filled because of the tofu. They also started making tofu cheesecake which is really a lot better than it sounds. Nothing like cheesecake though. Meanwhile banged a lot of nails and hauled a lot of boards around. D. got bigger in bigger as she came to term.
In the midst of this Alice wrote to say the she was pregnant too. She told us the father was some 40 year old acid dealer who lived in San Francisco. Alice was 19 or 20 at the time. She went through a few boyfriend's that summer but I'm pretty sure that he was not someone I met. I don't remember if she was still seeing Raven at the time. Bought she did move out of the city and settled in Oregon. She spent sometime in Santa Cruz, some in Haight-Ashbery and some in Oakland. Or so I recall. She asked us not to tell Mom and Dad about the pregnancy. We're too busy anyway.
The day that Owen was born was right after Thanksgiving. I went out to work on a home that morning. I was reluctant to go because D. was sick and very close to giving birth. Right after lunch our gray Honda showed up at the job site driven by a man whose name I can't remember. He said "your old lady is having baby" he was pretty shocked to find out that I couldn't drive. The labor lasted seven hours. D. had a small epistiotomy. All the midwives left except for Deborah and somebody left us a huge pot of spaghetti. D. was trying to nurse the infant and I was trying to eat the spaghetti when Deborah asked a shaky voice, " Can I hold your baby?" Her arms trembled as she took the child. But I could see he was already blue. " Call Pamela," she said.
We decided to travel to the Farm to check out first. Of course that meant abandoning our apartment and moving our belongings to my parents home. So we rented a truck and filled with stuff, drove from Philly to my parents new home in Tennessee, borrowed their car, and visited the farm. The people there were nice except for a few teenagers who told us the farm was not a hippie commune anymore. We bought food at the store, talked with Pamela Hunt, who was the head nurse in the mid-wife program. They seemed pretty confident that everything would be all right but they did not know that we intended to stay there and become members of the community. Before the farm closed its gates people had lived there for free. Coming from the city, we were completely prepared to pay for our lodging's and utilities. The only problem was finding work. I guess I have the feeling that everyone there was in denial about the demise of many of the Farm's institutions. The bakery was closed. The publishing house was closed. Lots of buildings were empty. Multi-family homes were gutted and vandalized by visitors and frustrated teenagers. But we didn't notice all of that first.
Once we settled in I found work with the Farms construction Co. Michael Gavin was the contractor who managed the company. There were a few issues that had to be worked out before I could work on the crew. First of all no one received a paycheck. All of the carpenters were shareholders in the company and they received dividends. Because I was not a member of the community I could not become a shareholder. So I became an independent contractor. Not that I knew anything about carpentry. I had to learn at a laborers wage. Not much more than I made folding burritos at Cantina del Dios in Philly. D. threw a fit when she found out that Michael couldn't hire me out right. She expected me to support her throughout this. Somehow she believed that she could bully me into making more money. She and I had the idea that she could start up the old bakery. I was eager to help since I had a background in restaurant work. Most of the facility was intact although it would never need to health codes standards the equipment was there. After some weeks she got together with a woman named Rita and another named Ramona. They had done some large-scale baking before. Little by little, they started baking again. I don't think they use the original bakery, but they moved some of the equipment. They started with tofu Danish, pizza rolls and cookies. Later D. tried to duplicate her former boss' secret formula for bagels. With some success. They were Chewy. The farm store offered some of their products and they started showing up where the construction crew met in the morning to discuss the different jobs we were working on. The Danish were pretty good. Plus they were low-calorie and protein filled because of the tofu. They also started making tofu cheesecake which is really a lot better than it sounds. Nothing like cheesecake though. Meanwhile banged a lot of nails and hauled a lot of boards around. D. got bigger in bigger as she came to term.
In the midst of this Alice wrote to say the she was pregnant too. She told us the father was some 40 year old acid dealer who lived in San Francisco. Alice was 19 or 20 at the time. She went through a few boyfriend's that summer but I'm pretty sure that he was not someone I met. I don't remember if she was still seeing Raven at the time. Bought she did move out of the city and settled in Oregon. She spent sometime in Santa Cruz, some in Haight-Ashbery and some in Oakland. Or so I recall. She asked us not to tell Mom and Dad about the pregnancy. We're too busy anyway.
The day that Owen was born was right after Thanksgiving. I went out to work on a home that morning. I was reluctant to go because D. was sick and very close to giving birth. Right after lunch our gray Honda showed up at the job site driven by a man whose name I can't remember. He said "your old lady is having baby" he was pretty shocked to find out that I couldn't drive. The labor lasted seven hours. D. had a small epistiotomy. All the midwives left except for Deborah and somebody left us a huge pot of spaghetti. D. was trying to nurse the infant and I was trying to eat the spaghetti when Deborah asked a shaky voice, " Can I hold your baby?" Her arms trembled as she took the child. But I could see he was already blue. " Call Pamela," she said.
The Farm Midwives A good social history of The Farm. I had no Idea that it was so rare for them to let people in after the 'gate closed' in '82.
Robert Anton Wilson, put out a trillogy in the late sixties or early seventies Called Illuminatus, this egaging sci-fi commedy runs through most of these conspiracy theories and mixes them with a healthy dose of sex, drugs and R+R.
In their version Adam Weishaupt Impersonated George Washington, the templars had a secret plot to resurect Hitler, and the protagonist, A captain Nemo like figure, operated from a stolen nuclear subwhich he had gold plated with stolen gold. (yellow submarine) there is also a lot of HPLovecraft-like monstrous alien manipulation. also the books gave me a healthy innocullation against conspiracy thinking.
While I do subscribe to the Elitist theory of democracy, (rich powerful people really run things,) most of the secret society stuff that ive encountered is a sham of one sort or another. the real secrets are out in the open. offshore banking accounts, hereditary land owners. agit-prop used to incite mobs, and the simmple method of putting bad apples in a peaceful demonstration (Miami, Seatle,) Drug use seriously demonized the peace movement in the late sixties and seventies.
Umberto Ecco (Name of the Rose) wrote novel called Foucalts Pendulum in which a couple of publishing hacks jokingly program a computer to crossrefference all the occult conspiracy stuff they can find. This 'connection engine' becomes a sort of holygrail for cranks and moonbats and the joke begins to take on ominous overtones.
Since we are all pretty good with mythology we should be able to seed the public dialog with "Myths" that run counter to the new world order stuff. Of course we have about a zillion low powered christian TV stations telling folks that the UN is a diabolical agency of the antichrist, aiming at bringing us all under the one religion of Diversity. On the other hand Islm and Xtian extremists want their religion to dominate the world, looking more and more like the thing they preach against. No One Looks in the Mirror Anymore!
The eldars of zion stuff comes from places like this:
http://www.endtimeprophecy.net/
http://www.endtimeprophecy.net/~tttbbs/EPN-1/Articles/Articles-Cnsp/prot-001.html#anchor1234567
Templars:
http://www.knightstemplar.org/
http://www.templarhistory.com/baphomet.html
Occult
http://www.templarhistory.com/baphomet.html
secret establishment
http://www.christianity-books.com/Americas_Secret_Establishment_0937765023.html
Alien mind control:
http://www.comicsinfinity.com/toys/plush/TPCTHUH.jpg
In their version Adam Weishaupt Impersonated George Washington, the templars had a secret plot to resurect Hitler, and the protagonist, A captain Nemo like figure, operated from a stolen nuclear subwhich he had gold plated with stolen gold. (yellow submarine) there is also a lot of HPLovecraft-like monstrous alien manipulation. also the books gave me a healthy innocullation against conspiracy thinking.
While I do subscribe to the Elitist theory of democracy, (rich powerful people really run things,) most of the secret society stuff that ive encountered is a sham of one sort or another. the real secrets are out in the open. offshore banking accounts, hereditary land owners. agit-prop used to incite mobs, and the simmple method of putting bad apples in a peaceful demonstration (Miami, Seatle,) Drug use seriously demonized the peace movement in the late sixties and seventies.
Umberto Ecco (Name of the Rose) wrote novel called Foucalts Pendulum in which a couple of publishing hacks jokingly program a computer to crossrefference all the occult conspiracy stuff they can find. This 'connection engine' becomes a sort of holygrail for cranks and moonbats and the joke begins to take on ominous overtones.
Since we are all pretty good with mythology we should be able to seed the public dialog with "Myths" that run counter to the new world order stuff. Of course we have about a zillion low powered christian TV stations telling folks that the UN is a diabolical agency of the antichrist, aiming at bringing us all under the one religion of Diversity. On the other hand Islm and Xtian extremists want their religion to dominate the world, looking more and more like the thing they preach against. No One Looks in the Mirror Anymore!
The eldars of zion stuff comes from places like this:
http://www.endtimeprophecy.net/
http://www.endtimeprophecy.net/~tttbbs/EPN-1/Articles/Articles-Cnsp/prot-001.html#anchor1234567
Templars:
http://www.knightstemplar.org/
http://www.templarhistory.com/baphomet.html
Occult
http://www.templarhistory.com/baphomet.html
secret establishment
http://www.christianity-books.com/Americas_Secret_Establishment_0937765023.html
Alien mind control:
http://www.comicsinfinity.com/toys/plush/TPCTHUH.jpg
From Virginia Postrel
Gingrich argues that the administration has been putting far too much emphasis on a military solution and slighting the political element. ?The real key here is not how many enemy do I kill. The real key is how many allies do I grow,? he says. ?And that is a very important metric that they just don?t get.?<Newt from newswek
Gingrich argues that the administration has been putting far too much emphasis on a military solution and slighting the political element. ?The real key here is not how many enemy do I kill. The real key is how many allies do I grow,? he says. ?And that is a very important metric that they just don?t get.?<Newt from newswek
Tuesday, December 09, 2003
W.B.YEATS had a visionary system which "explained" the Aesthetics of his poety and offered a method for studying character types. I'm sure that Yeats was familiar with the Tarot and the I Ching. as well as the more common astrological system. WHat interests me is the way that "gyres" seem to also encompass event horizons in later Physics.
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
The Coming of Wisdom with Time
Though leaves are many, the root is one;
Through all the lying days of my youth
I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun;
Now I may wither into the truth.
[(from The Green Helmet and Other Poems, 1910)
W. B. Yeats: The Poems rev. ed. Finneran]
Copyright (c) Anne Yeats
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
The Coming of Wisdom with Time
Though leaves are many, the root is one;
Through all the lying days of my youth
I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun;
Now I may wither into the truth.
[(from The Green Helmet and Other Poems, 1910)
W. B. Yeats: The Poems rev. ed. Finneran]
Copyright (c) Anne Yeats
I ching
A link to a venerable old Book
k'an
A link to a more complicated presentation
Chris Lofting's Quick I Ching Plus
A link to a venerable old Book
k'anA link to a more complicated presentation
Chris Lofting's Quick I Ching Plus
one blog Seems like a good Idea. I wish that i had read this when I started blogging. in defense of Poly-blogging, i will say that fictitious bloggs and forums with multiple authors would be better as side projects.
I started three blogs as Workspaces for shortstories. This blog is the main diary event, and the other bloggs are satellites. Sunlight contains poetry that i like and House call contains health issues post card is less defined. I'd like to put lots of links in one and have "pure" writing in another. sometimes i just post stuff because i feel that I've been remiss and fallen behind.
I started three blogs as Workspaces for shortstories. This blog is the main diary event, and the other bloggs are satellites. Sunlight contains poetry that i like and House call contains health issues post card is less defined. I'd like to put lots of links in one and have "pure" writing in another. sometimes i just post stuff because i feel that I've been remiss and fallen behind.
Saturday, December 06, 2003
Thursday, December 04, 2003
I'm not sure that I wanted to move to the Farm. I did have a sense that the world was full of mistakes and that we needed a new approach to living or else very bad things would happen. but I felt very alone in the world. my parents had moved away. and my Girlfriend broke up with me two or three times a year. for a relationship that only lasted three years, that's a pretty bad record. I remember getting very exited at a Greatful Dead concert where i found a crowd of people dancing. there was a tangible web between them as if they were all connected by the same set of strings and they each had their own personal bubble. there was no real pattern to the dance but the motions looked the same every one had there own variation. that night i danced and felt like i belonged there. Peter Gabriel had a song out about wanting to join the rhythm of life.
My experience in art school was a disappointment for me and my friends and family. my friends pointed out that i could reapply to Tyler after two semesters and use the credits that i had already earned. my friends thought i was talented and that it was tragic that I was so bitter and depressed that i could barely bring my self to go to class. I had a happy side too. but most of my old friends didn't see it. They had withdrawn to a safe distance to avoid the overflow from my misery. In the spring of '82 I met Connie. she just sort of walked up to me at an art opening, I had noticed her around but she wasn't in any of my classes. nor did she live in the dormitory. she had strawberry blond hair and always wore a flight suit which looked actually battle scared. I never got to know her well enough to ask about the suit. but she did adjust my attitude considerably. It wasnt just the sex. Really, the sex was a big disappointment; the attraction was the main course. one of the things that Connie taught me was not to meditate in front of other people. She said, "It cuts you off from them, and it looks like you're trying to be superior." Another thing I learned from her was that you have to trust yourself to be able to do a cartwheel.
Connie and I talked about love and romance and about trying to be a better person. we talked about art and school and about our goals. She worked in ceramics and she had a pretty realistic perspective about art. We both admired the work of an Asian American woman who was in Connie's dance class. This girl had perfect poise, although her build was somewhat healthier than dancers usually come. Most of her Junior year, she had been throwing gigantic Raku fired vessels that were shaped like a wasp nest: wide at the top with a very narrow base. Connie explained that she kept pushing herself to build the taller an thinner, testing the limits of her skill and the strength of the materiel. At some point one of her constructions collapsed while it was still on the wheel and the moist clay folded in on itself like a gently twisted table cloth. Afterwards, she began to make this happen deliberately, extending her craft into the realm of chance.
In contrast, Connie's final project that year was a set of thick tiles, which, arranged together, formed a childlike scene of daisies. They were for the kitchen of the woman that she rented a room from: a thank-you, for her hospitality. I only saw that kichen once and never met the owner. It was only in later years that I came to understand what the gesture meant, that the tiles filled a place in someone's life and and her world a little nicer and that art could help people to do that. I was more interested in spinning off the edge of the wheel than putting four squares on the counter, but I politely kept quiet and absorbed my brief glimpse into another persons world. Connie often said that School was a great big soap opera love story, and I would counter that School was about growth and learning to take responsibilities and improving ourselves. She didn't see the difference. The one thing that she said that she could not stand was playing games. I'd ask her what she meant by that, but she couldn't explain. I promised myself that I would try not to play games with her but first i had to learn what it meant. Iassumed that "playing games," happened when people lied about relationships and cheated on their friends. but my education was far from complete. I never told her about Diedre. Which was fair enough. from my point of view Dee wanted nothing to do with me. She had nothing to say on the phone but Long silences and she seemed to hate being seen in public with me. We had made love intensely, I would like to say passionately, but aggressive would better suit the occasion. She didn't like to make eye contact during sex. I know that I am being indiscrete. But there wasn't much else to our relationship. My guess is that I was not a very satisfying lover: just a convenience. Later we did fall in love or so it seemed. but that spring, we were over it.
One of the first things that connie asked me was if I played music and would I like to play for her Opening that week. She seemed unconcerned by the fact that I couldn't really play and didn't even have an instrument. As it turned out She had invited one of my best friends Rebecca Olmstead to play flute and another fellow who had started learning tabla. I borrowed a guitar from a guy in the dorm and we all sat down and had one "rehearsal," where we agreed that Becky I would just pluck a few open strings like a tambura. The opening itself was nice. informal, Connie's friends and relatives came. I might have met her parents. The whole thing was over in an hour or so. I was the only freshman in the room. In fact there were very few students.
I was an insomniac and I used that to my advantage by staying up all night to finish my sculpture projects. Connie would come over to the studio to visit me. while i was scribbling away on big sheets of card board and stitching them together with baling wire. I had no idea what the thing was supposed to be. The assignment was to create an environment. We ended up sleeping inside the thing the night before the project was due. It looked like some kind of fire place, or a cave. but that night it was the simplest kind of shelter. We just slept both of us were exhausted from class projects and I had an unpredictable roomate named Jimmy who had removed the lock on our dorm room because locks were confining to him. (he lost the key.)
When Connie and I did finally start kissing it was intense and sweet. I wanted to be alive and to be with her. We wandered around Tyler for a whole night, crashing little parties and making out next to the old brick kilns outside the glass and ceramics building. We spent the night together at the house where she stayed. Had breakfast in the kitchen and walked back to campus where we both had stuff to do in the studio.Iwas in love.
Monday morning, I woke up like a new person and headed over to a morning drawing class that i usually missed because I over-slept. There parked on the lawn was Diedre she had fresh baked muffins and a thermos of coffee. She coyly asked if I would like some. I set down and started to talk with her. She poured me coffee, then I saw Connie. i had never seen her dressed formally only in her scruffy aviator suit. This time she was dressed for the real world, a business suit with a skirt and shoulder pads like they wore in the eighties she had huge tinted glasses and her hair done up in back. An entirely different person. She looked at me for one moment and I knew evey thing was wrong. I could not speak or move. I never saw her again but every part of me wanted to get up and run after her, to explain what I could not explain: that I was set up, that this was some trick, or a mistake, that I cared about her and that she looked great in a suit. But i just sat there in my ragged blue jeans. Dee offered me a muffin.
My experience in art school was a disappointment for me and my friends and family. my friends pointed out that i could reapply to Tyler after two semesters and use the credits that i had already earned. my friends thought i was talented and that it was tragic that I was so bitter and depressed that i could barely bring my self to go to class. I had a happy side too. but most of my old friends didn't see it. They had withdrawn to a safe distance to avoid the overflow from my misery. In the spring of '82 I met Connie. she just sort of walked up to me at an art opening, I had noticed her around but she wasn't in any of my classes. nor did she live in the dormitory. she had strawberry blond hair and always wore a flight suit which looked actually battle scared. I never got to know her well enough to ask about the suit. but she did adjust my attitude considerably. It wasnt just the sex. Really, the sex was a big disappointment; the attraction was the main course. one of the things that Connie taught me was not to meditate in front of other people. She said, "It cuts you off from them, and it looks like you're trying to be superior." Another thing I learned from her was that you have to trust yourself to be able to do a cartwheel.
Connie and I talked about love and romance and about trying to be a better person. we talked about art and school and about our goals. She worked in ceramics and she had a pretty realistic perspective about art. We both admired the work of an Asian American woman who was in Connie's dance class. This girl had perfect poise, although her build was somewhat healthier than dancers usually come. Most of her Junior year, she had been throwing gigantic Raku fired vessels that were shaped like a wasp nest: wide at the top with a very narrow base. Connie explained that she kept pushing herself to build the taller an thinner, testing the limits of her skill and the strength of the materiel. At some point one of her constructions collapsed while it was still on the wheel and the moist clay folded in on itself like a gently twisted table cloth. Afterwards, she began to make this happen deliberately, extending her craft into the realm of chance.
In contrast, Connie's final project that year was a set of thick tiles, which, arranged together, formed a childlike scene of daisies. They were for the kitchen of the woman that she rented a room from: a thank-you, for her hospitality. I only saw that kichen once and never met the owner. It was only in later years that I came to understand what the gesture meant, that the tiles filled a place in someone's life and and her world a little nicer and that art could help people to do that. I was more interested in spinning off the edge of the wheel than putting four squares on the counter, but I politely kept quiet and absorbed my brief glimpse into another persons world. Connie often said that School was a great big soap opera love story, and I would counter that School was about growth and learning to take responsibilities and improving ourselves. She didn't see the difference. The one thing that she said that she could not stand was playing games. I'd ask her what she meant by that, but she couldn't explain. I promised myself that I would try not to play games with her but first i had to learn what it meant. Iassumed that "playing games," happened when people lied about relationships and cheated on their friends. but my education was far from complete. I never told her about Diedre. Which was fair enough. from my point of view Dee wanted nothing to do with me. She had nothing to say on the phone but Long silences and she seemed to hate being seen in public with me. We had made love intensely, I would like to say passionately, but aggressive would better suit the occasion. She didn't like to make eye contact during sex. I know that I am being indiscrete. But there wasn't much else to our relationship. My guess is that I was not a very satisfying lover: just a convenience. Later we did fall in love or so it seemed. but that spring, we were over it.
One of the first things that connie asked me was if I played music and would I like to play for her Opening that week. She seemed unconcerned by the fact that I couldn't really play and didn't even have an instrument. As it turned out She had invited one of my best friends Rebecca Olmstead to play flute and another fellow who had started learning tabla. I borrowed a guitar from a guy in the dorm and we all sat down and had one "rehearsal," where we agreed that Becky I would just pluck a few open strings like a tambura. The opening itself was nice. informal, Connie's friends and relatives came. I might have met her parents. The whole thing was over in an hour or so. I was the only freshman in the room. In fact there were very few students.
I was an insomniac and I used that to my advantage by staying up all night to finish my sculpture projects. Connie would come over to the studio to visit me. while i was scribbling away on big sheets of card board and stitching them together with baling wire. I had no idea what the thing was supposed to be. The assignment was to create an environment. We ended up sleeping inside the thing the night before the project was due. It looked like some kind of fire place, or a cave. but that night it was the simplest kind of shelter. We just slept both of us were exhausted from class projects and I had an unpredictable roomate named Jimmy who had removed the lock on our dorm room because locks were confining to him. (he lost the key.)
When Connie and I did finally start kissing it was intense and sweet. I wanted to be alive and to be with her. We wandered around Tyler for a whole night, crashing little parties and making out next to the old brick kilns outside the glass and ceramics building. We spent the night together at the house where she stayed. Had breakfast in the kitchen and walked back to campus where we both had stuff to do in the studio.Iwas in love.
Monday morning, I woke up like a new person and headed over to a morning drawing class that i usually missed because I over-slept. There parked on the lawn was Diedre she had fresh baked muffins and a thermos of coffee. She coyly asked if I would like some. I set down and started to talk with her. She poured me coffee, then I saw Connie. i had never seen her dressed formally only in her scruffy aviator suit. This time she was dressed for the real world, a business suit with a skirt and shoulder pads like they wore in the eighties she had huge tinted glasses and her hair done up in back. An entirely different person. She looked at me for one moment and I knew evey thing was wrong. I could not speak or move. I never saw her again but every part of me wanted to get up and run after her, to explain what I could not explain: that I was set up, that this was some trick, or a mistake, that I cared about her and that she looked great in a suit. But i just sat there in my ragged blue jeans. Dee offered me a muffin.
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