Monday, June 27, 2011
Pattern Makers
I am going to write something here and I'll add to it every couple days.
This action was spurred on by some random dreams I was having last night, which in turn were spurred on by a conversation with a friend earlier last evening.
What do you see in these pictures? These are shots taken of a certain section of Mars from space.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
A Words Worth of Thoreau
A friend of mine sent this Wordsworth poem (below) to me recently, and it reminds me of a few passages in Henry David Thoreau's "Walden". Thoreau talks about experiencing life as opposed to learning it in a book; of majoring in "Navigation" for four years of college when you would get more from merely sailing out the harbor.
Another way to put it would be that there are two kinds of boys: One who study the stars, and one would be an astronaut. BOTH are needed, but more importantly, we need to be BOTH.
So which one are you lately?
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Tables Turned:
Up! up! my friend, and quit your books,
Or surely you'll grow double.
Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks;
Why all this toil and trouble. . . .
Books! 'tis a dull and endless trifle:
Come, hear the woodland linnet,
How sweet his music! on my life,
There's more of wisdom in it. . . .
One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.
Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Misshapes the beauteous forms of things--
We murder to dissect.
Enough of Science and of Art,
Close up those barren leaves;
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.
--William Wordsworth
Ghost Bones Resurrected
the cerebral dog digs bones
gnawing on dry masticated
memories
wearily someday
he will backyard them
forgetting
synapse skeletons of the buried past
so they can rest in peace
erudite attic ghosts
still carry
the sizzle in the kiss
when the wetness dries
in window sill dust
then
it will be time
but today
I work on living
in the present
time to stop
splintering bones
kissing ghosts
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
I wrote this Yesterday
The post below is re-printed from my old blog. It feels like yesterday sometimes. More correctly, it was three years ago, Jan 25, 2008. Time flies. Its a little self-involved, but at the time, wow, was I self-involved. But in a way, its kinda poetic. Wow, who was that guy?
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Yesterday, My emotional pendulum finally stopped swinging.
Yesterday, my chest didn't hurt just from breathing.
Yesterday, for the first time in 44 days I didn't cry.
Yesterday, I didn't wake up thrashing at 4am.
Yesterday, for the first time in 44 nights the nightmares stopped eviscerating me.
Yesterday, I dreamt I turned a mountain of cold snow resentment into a warm water forgiveness. I turned perceived rejection into a hard push off shore toward home.
Yesterday, I dreamt the moving river of time flowed through a meadow to a sacred sea. Every ending has a beginning. In a quiet timeless meadow where sage and sweet grass grows, I stood tall and straight on my own two feet, reaching for an impossibly blue sky.
Yesterday, I dreamt the bandages came off.
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Yesterday, My emotional pendulum finally stopped swinging.
Yesterday, my chest didn't hurt just from breathing.
Yesterday, for the first time in 44 days I didn't cry.
Yesterday, I didn't wake up thrashing at 4am.
Yesterday, for the first time in 44 nights the nightmares stopped eviscerating me.
Yesterday, I dreamt I turned a mountain of cold snow resentment into a warm water forgiveness. I turned perceived rejection into a hard push off shore toward home.
Yesterday, I dreamt the moving river of time flowed through a meadow to a sacred sea. Every ending has a beginning. In a quiet timeless meadow where sage and sweet grass grows, I stood tall and straight on my own two feet, reaching for an impossibly blue sky.
Yesterday, I dreamt the bandages came off.
Monday, June 13, 2011
100 Things
If you had to pick 100 things to own, and you could have no more, what would they be? I will exclude the following: Anything consumable, like soap, food, or toiletries.
Here is my list. Note that I 'cheated' on some lines, where some things could be counted as two things. Example: Kayak/Paddle/PFD. This list is very random; I may get to a point where I categorize the items.
1) Kayak/Paddle/PFD
2) Bike/Helmet/Shoes/pump
3) Long sleeve tech shirts (2)
5) Short Sleeve Tech Shirts (2)
7) Running shoes (3)
10) Tech Socks (4)
14) Camel Back
15) Backpack
16) Tent
17) Car
18) Sofa
19) Chair
20) Lamps (2)
22) Bed/Mattress
23) Work shirts (5)
28) Work pants (5)
33) Every day shoes (2)
35) Work (dress) shoes (2)
37) Bike shorts
38) Underwear (5)
43) Fleece jacket (light)
44) Rain jacket
45) Plates (2)
47) Pots (3)
50) Kitchen knives (2)
52) Forks (2)
54) Spoons (2)
56) Coffee Press (I know)
57) Sunglasses
58) Outer jacket
59) Duffel Bags (2)
61) Water bottles (3)
64) End table
65) Towels (3)
68) Microwave
69) Misc Containers (5)
74) Hats (3)
77) Gloves (2)
79) Every day shoes (2)
81) Cups/Drinking glasses (3)
84) Misc Shirts (5)
90) Router/Modem (no, I don't own a computer its provided to me)
91) Meditation Bench
92) Pillows/cases (4)
96) Blankets (2)
98) Sheet sets (2)
100) Jeans (3)
104) Running shorts/tights (4)
109) CC Skis/poles/boots
I know I went over and I cheated a bit. But its hard to get it to 100. Some people that do this challenge 'allow' for multiples, up to a point (40 pairs of jeans? I don't think so.).
Check out this blog post for more info:
100 Things
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Bad Poetry
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation
and go to the grave with the song still in them."
- Henry David Thoreau
quiet man
desperately pull the weeds
fertilize your lawn until
it's a sea of aseptic greens
sterile grass without strife
but without interest
and without life
a quiet lawn
a quiet man
quiet man
you've made a blank canvas
yet have no paint
you've a lined sheet for music
yet have no notes to sing
I guess we will write
something profound on your
tombstone
the headpiece that may
be your life's only punctuation
mark set in the green pages of a
cemetery
Period.
and go to the grave with the song still in them."
- Henry David Thoreau
quiet man
desperately pull the weeds
fertilize your lawn until
it's a sea of aseptic greens
sterile grass without strife
but without interest
and without life
a quiet lawn
a quiet man
quiet man
you've made a blank canvas
yet have no paint
you've a lined sheet for music
yet have no notes to sing
I guess we will write
something profound on your
tombstone
the headpiece that may
be your life's only punctuation
mark set in the green pages of a
cemetery
Period.
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