pseudodementia in absentia

Oh, what the fuck? All Isreal promised was a 48-hour suspension of air strikes. Nothing about artillary, groud ops, and everything else. They couldn't even make it to 24. But in response to attacks by Hezbollah the Isrealis bomb bits of southern Lebanon. Were you expecting Hezbollah to stop attacking because you promised to stop bombing?! C'mon, already.

The stars:
their beauty and brightness dazzle from afar!
Alone at night I watch them.

We wink at 4+ lightyears;
39 trillion kilometers-
40 quadrillion simple steps
is nothing for us,
for one who burns as brightly as they.

We dance the dance of glance
and twinkle, twinkle and glance.
Dance the dance from dusk til dawn,
til we battle against our intense intents,
til we battle with our daily lives.
With sol's fury afire so close,
the more distant we grow.

The distance is blatent; our insignificance acute.

Yet no matter how far we get,
each evening we win some small reprieve.
From one twinkle, sometimes with the aid of Mars,
the tides turn!
Every night I rejoice to talk with the stars once more;
how I love them so!

Mad times on the internet, indeed! Two folk whom I thought would never have blogs now do. In effort to get the word out I present Geoff Chaucer and Scopi, aka Scoot Oo [sic]. They both have fine livery.

*a new game from the people that brought us that smash-hit game show, "Haiku for Jews."

Lecherous linguist--
he lays low and is laid low
after laying Lo.

And then there is that day when all around, all around you hear the rain beating the petals, one by one, from the dogwoods. At first it is one here and one there, and then it is two and then it is five and then eight and thirty, until all the petals blow fiercely in the wind, plummet with the rain, fall like down feathers to the soft surface of the moon, and you are the last petal on the tree; and you wait for the next stiff shake to knock you swiftly free from your hold upon the sky, and drift you up and around as the rain weighs you down, and drops you down and down. Long before you hit the grass you will have forgotten there ever was a tree, or other petals, or a spring, or greening grass below. You will fall in darkness...

One year ago, to the day, I attended a spring celebration in Charlotte. There we played croquet. I even took a few photos. One of them follows.



I've had it posted on flickr for nearly the whole year it's been since I snapped it. On Wednesday, shortly after returning home from my new job at Panera, I took it upon myself to start browsing the internet for real jobs. As usual I got quickly side-tracked at CERN's site. Following the old link trail, and being perpetually curious about croquet being played at real events, I clicked to this little tidbit. Follow that link and look at the photo next to the article. I thought it was awesome that they even followed the rules and gave me credit!

The Third Man is about the best movie I've ever seen or heard. Zither music: who knew? Christopher Walken, please--I mean really, please--do this*. You'd have my vote.

ears: weapon of choice - fatboy slim
eyes: something wicked this way comes - ray bradbury
feet: new vintage adidas
mind: the world is flat - thomas l. friedman

*rumor is that it's a hoax site :(