Snow is falling here in Cottonwood. Earlier I had made up my mind to drive to the Village of Oak Creek to retrieve a CD a friend had burned for me, which I’d foolishly left in my drawer at work and forgotten to take home. (In my defense, I’d had an unexpected 12-hour shift…) But the falling snow convinces me, with little experience driving on snowy roads, to stay in the warm and cozy. I’ll get the CD tomorrow, and put it in the truck before my shift begins.
The moral of this non-story is that sometimes the best thing to do is no thing at all. Thus this page:
Now let us be quite candid
Uplift & have & hold
Then we’ll be even-handed
It does no good to scold
Nonaction is an unflipped coin
Gong yet unbashed an unboinged boing
Incongruous scale has been used by artists from time immemorial to a few hours ago, when a place mat was enlarged beyond easy belief and put inside the orbit of the moon of a gas giant. The intention in this case is transportation away from Earthly, and human, concerns.
Surface and its tension are at times strange bedfellows
Placematting of orbital proportions and sensoria
Engendered for oblique kinaesthesia foster alien nation
Crucial to a viewpoint less anthropocentric
Tension and its surfaces disconnect intellect
Rationed rashness rekindles much adieu
ALtogetherness will bring us optimal pessimisms
One of the proofs of the Pythagorean Theorem in our high school geometry book was the single word BEHOLD! and three checkerboard-patterned rectangles forming a right triangle in the negative space they created. One checkerboard was a 3×3, one a 4×4, and one a 5×5; and, indeed, 9 plus 16 equals 25.
To prove the non-existence of Doodle Logic is impossible. No matter how random the doodle is, the doodler brings SOMETHING to the table, if the doodler is a human being. Any computer program will necessarily have code that imposes rules.
Perhaps our local Universe is the ultimate doodle.
C: configures space&time: speed of light is C
Oscillations play the temp–atoms dance allegro
Silver’s born in nova’s cosh…pressured, stars go Boom
Matters dark & otherwise; Womb to Zoom to Tomb
Off on hyperbolic jaunts! Conic secs by Lego™
Seen through a galactic lens, we are but debris
Denise’s family is visiting. Her granddaughter was drawing, and I offered her $2 to draw Dixon, the family dog. She accepted the challenge but declined payment. “How about this?” I counteroffered. “You draw Dixon, and I’ll draw whatever you want, and we’ll trade.” She asked for a cute pig. I asked for the pig’s name and she said Phillip. I drew this:
She drew this, and I’d say I got the better end of the bargain:
Exchanging kid stuff proves to me that you’re NOT only a kid once. You can be a kid any time you draw pictures with another kid.
Merry Christmas and Peace and Love to all who read these words, be you Christian or otherwise (I’m an Otherwise myself). May we all see a better year ahead.
Vexacious times wear Trouble like a beard
Vicissitudes cause wars, most undeclared
Enchantments give a wish a wheel to steer
Events make crosses children borne must bear
Lieutenancies emerge in Fate’s fell spate
Love’s touch lends voice to scent we taste & see
Legalities help predators predate
Voracious carnivores still spare the pea
Victorious survivors sport the stoma
Ventricular caprice makes tragic trauma
Entranced botanicals enjoy the loam
Enhanced mechanicks find a shop & glom
The SATINED VISIONS steer us through the isthmus
Then make(s) The Presence present(s) here/now/Christmas
Note: “vexacious” and “mechanicks” are deliberate misspellings. They would drive my younger self crazy. I refer him, and you, to the “extended play” version of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s famous quotation about foolish consistency:
“A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines. With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do. He may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall. Speak what you think now in hard words, and to-morrow speak what to-morrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict every thing you said to-day. — ‘Ah, so you shall be sure to be misunderstood.’ — Is it so bad, then, to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood.”
This post is inspired by Stephen Bishop’s song “On and On,” taking its title from one of its lyrics. Two other lyrical sections of the song are also quoted.
The song has stuck in my head for nearly forty years; I like it but it haunts me. I like the rarity of a man singing about a man crying who is not the man himself. I also like its singer/songwriter, Stephen Bishop, who was billed “Cool Guy With Guitar” in the landmark comedy ANIMAL HOUSE. He was the one whose guitar was smashed to pieces by John Belushi’s Bluto, who handed the severed neck back to him with a sincere but I-had-to “Sorry.”
Toss Up My Heart words:
Though they’ll have Tito Puente there’ll be an empty seat at Hialeah
Of the 600 outmunitioned almost all died in Crimea
Such odd haphazard history may have you ask What For
Seek ye serendipity becomes my soul’s retort
See Where It Lands words:
Swollen willows weep–it’s offal
Section Eights have FILLED Golgotha
Every time stuff hits the fan
Each soul tries to understand
I’m finally free of that albatross of a Manuscrypt [sic] for a while–sent it off just before noon. That also means I’m free of the blog-posting restriction I imposed on myself. So this is a celebration. POS can stand for any number of things–Point of Sale, for instance. Sybil has come to mean “crazy multiple-personality person” in recent years. It? IT is what IT is. Ease is what we all non-strivingly strive for some time or the other, and this is the time for this guy. More later. Over & out for now!
Here is the consummate environmentalist. She fearlessly spoke out against the profligate use of pesticides, which she wisely renamed “biocides,” and her successful battle against the propaganda and dirty-dealing of such as DuPont was the single most important factor in the creation of the Environmental Protection Agency. Thanks to Wikipedia, YouTube, and any number of environmental websites on the Internet, her passionate voice may be heard instantly by anyone with computer access. Her message is just as timely as it was in 1962, the year of publication of her Silent Spring, whose title refers both to the loss of birdsong due to pesticide collateral damage and the potential Earthwide silence should the rapists of Mother Earth continue their fell practices.
I am working on a double-acrostic poem and page on her which will be the final needed ingredient for my manuscript of Natural Distractions, the poetry/image collection that I’ve been working on every day. Here is the work in progress:
ETA on the completed manuscript, and with it the completed Rachel Carson page, is tomorrow morning. Upon its completion I’ll convey it to David Chorlton, a fine environmental defender in his own right, for editorial assistance. Stay tuned! [determined smile]