Blue Blog

Pete Seeger and Bruce Springsteen at the inaugural concert at the Lincoln Memorial

2009-04-29T15:58:00.001-05:00

It's Barry

2009-01-20T06:51:00.001-06:00

And here it is folks! White House.gov is still on line! It looks like Barry has moved in!

To have a graveyard for a friend

2008-12-31T04:46:00.004-06:00

To have a graveyard for a friend,
Caesar's Garden for a lawn.

Is this the Wisdom of Evening,
or the vanity of dawn.

Oh Israel!
Oh Jacob...

The stones of Jerusalem.
So old, and yet so young...

The Dreaming Sea

2008-11-27T22:50:00.001-06:00

In a moment of serendipity, I found two artists converging on a singular thought. First I read this post at AlogMantra;

Last night I had a dream about the French composer Erik Satie.

Only now that I downloaded some of his music, and am listening to it entranced, that the words I needed to write this note are beginning to emerge from my fingers dancing to Gnossienne N3. The note would help clarify my thoughts about how data travels through nature, and re-emerges as forces and events of global scope, such as the financial crash that everyone is talking about.

Awake, we are struck by the magnifique spectacle of our own being, the Narcissus hypnotised by his own mirror-image, but it is only when we are asleep, that we enter the Reticulum, the memetic screaming chaos of every little stimuli that impinges on the subconscious, a churning howl of thoughts and echoes, we log into the dreaming sea, we dip a tentacle into the global mind.

Before the dawn of the internet, there were other entities (and still are) that had the capability to connect consciousness on a planetary scale, that were the internet of the pre-industrial, pre-telegraphic, pre-electric age. I speak of routers that stand before our very eyes, omnipresent and accessible yet remote, serving the same image to the wretched mass of humanity thrown across the globe like pollen in the wind. These astrosocial nodes - the Sun and the Moon, the ghostly constellations - provide the common ground that geographically separated populations use to accumulate their knowledge about the world, a layer of knowledge that is both timeless and urgent.

Of course, it is very wise to say that the financial crash was coming after it has already begun. Any rational idiot can do that. But for many of us, the financial crisis of 2008 was the culmination of a yet inarticulable (or not yet confessed) intuition, anticipation, premonition - the dream becoming manifest, the nightmare all too real.

For some of us, it is a release of blocked up streaming data that cannot be released from the dreamworld into the socium upon its arrival at the spout, because the socium has rules of conduct and discourse. In the dreamworld, on the other hand, memories, fears, prophecies and thoughts run amock with the nuclear force of imagination, like a million souls of the departed stuck in some black hole centrifuge. The cryptological protocol that protects the Reticulum is strangely distributed, such as a certain piece of music that can take you back, awake, back into the spaces where you heard it first, puncturing a worm-like hole into the heart of social protocol and time. Like a pin-hole camera takes you to a world beyond the aperture, inverted and fuzzy.

When awake, we are perhaps propelled by the unseen but active force of this memetic centrifuge, churning like a gyroscope within our being, leading us over the daily algorithms, and towards new things. It is the centrifugal force of this dreaming sea, that launches us into new spaces and dynamics, makes us interact with new physical agents, and causes new events in the world.

The rolling of every stone, the carrying of every Neanderthal manuport, and the crashing of every clock gone awry - is a direct result of these vectors that rise from the fuming, dreaming sea.

On a whim, I did a search on youtube and found this music video;

Some people say I'm a dreamer, they are correct...but I'm not the only one...

Ship of Fools, Robert Plant at youtube

2008-10-07T16:18:00.000-05:00

In Memory of Alan Jones

2008-09-20T11:51:00.001-05:00

by Vince

the things we do day to day are insignificant

but the people we meet will stay with us

forever

to the memories that we share

to the time we last meet

but truth be told we will always

remember

I, a verb

2008-09-08T03:06:00.001-05:00

I am a verb, not a noun. My former existence was a wave on the sea of time and space, till I broke on the sands of mass and matter. Soon I will return on the under-tow of the cosmic depths...I am surf....a verb...

A seagull saw me, way out a sea and flattered me with every curve and curl of his wing...Jonathan, yea, that was his name..

Alarm Clock

2008-05-25T12:25:00.000-05:00

I set the clock, and advance to the rear of mind.

Retrograde walking, and then recline, to where I live part time.

Waking to my alter, my other if you will, I'm home.

Alarm bells draw me rudely, back to face my front.

I wash my face, and mask the look of discontent.

I was not sleeping, I was living, and I did not sleep alone.

- Wallace

' Let's Write About It ': Sarah McLachlan - Adia#links

2008-05-06T12:08:00.000-05:00

' Let's Write About It ': Sarah McLachlan - Adia#links

The Emperor's Bird's-Nest, Longfellow

2008-05-06T04:23:00.000-05:00

Once the Emperor Charles of Spain,
With his swarthy, grave commanders,
I forget in what campaign,
Long besieged, in mud and rain,
Some old frontier town of Flanders.

Up and down the dreary camp,
In great boots of Spanish leather,
Striding with a measured tramp,
These Hidalgos, dull and damp,
Cursed the Frenchmen, cursed the weather.

Thus as to and fro they went,
Over upland and through hollow,
Giving their impatience vent,
Perched upon the Emperor's tent,
In her nest, they spied a swallow.

Yes, it was a swallow's nest,
Built of clay and hair of horses,
Mane, or tail, or dragoon's crest,
Found on hedge-rows east and west,
After skirmish of the forces.

Then an old Hidalgo said,
As he twirled his gray mustachio,
"Sure this swallow overhead
Thinks the Emperor's tent a shed,
And the Emperor but a Macho!"

Hearing his imperial name
Coupled with those words of malice,
Half in anger, half in shame,
Forth the great campaigner came
Slowly from his canvas palace.

"Let no hand the bird molest,"
Said he solemnly, "nor hurt her!"
Adding then, by way of jest,
"Golondrina is my guest,
'T is the wife of some deserter!"

Swift as bowstring speeds a shaft,
Through the camp was spread the rumor,
And the soldiers, as they quaffed
Flemish beer at dinner, laughed
At the Emperor's pleasant humor.

So unharmed and unafraid
Sat the swallow still and brooded,
Till the constant cannonade
Through the walls a breach had made,
And the siege was thus concluded.

Then the army, elsewhere bent,
Struck its tents as if disbanding,
Only not the Emperor's tent,
For he ordered, ere he went,
Very curtly, "Leave it standing!"

So it stood there all alone,
Loosely flapping, torn and tattered,
Till the brood was fledged and flown,
Singing o'er those walls of stone
Which the cannon-shot had shattered.

Photo; Showa Kinen Koen

2008-04-05T07:42:00.005-05:00

Perhaps the best of Thors photos, posted today on his Multiply page. Thor is a prolific shutter-bug, with a passion for nature, and natural beauty.

For a larger view of this photo, click here

Stone Path

2008-03-24T01:39:00.002-05:00

A stone path on a hillside, with trees and rocks as borders. This photo was published by Thor Hestnes, who currently lives in Japan. Thor loves to share his photos, and travels the world with his camera. Last year, he sent me several disks with thousands of photos taken on his journeys through Asia, Europe and the Mediterranean.

Ice Storm in March

2008-03-07T17:58:00.002-06:00

Ice clings to the hedge, green leaves captive to a crystal coat left by a the frigid fog of Early Spring. Beneath this mantle cold and clean, the hedge waits to dawn it's coat of green.
Tender twigs with unborn buds stand shocked, in their brittle blanket of ice. Their rigid posture reveals life's unwavering mission; endure, and bloom in good time! Ironicly, the crystal coat may actually protect the hedge from the even harsher weather predicted.

Looking up past the hedge, the fog shrouds the trees. The misty gray background forshadows the impending snow sure to follow the ice. It's March in Southern Illinois, and no predictions are reliable. Only the underlying feeling of a continuing winter, and the hope for the eventual explosion of green are for sure.

Do you feel the force of life within you, perhaps it too is shrouded by this artictic adversity of life? Let the chilly blanket wrap you, stand tall, be patient. The frigid fog of desolate feelings will lift, and you, like the hedge will meet the warm Sun of New Life, when the time is right. It is the seasons, it is the times.

Your are the life.

Writing With Scissors

2008-02-21T08:51:00.003-06:00

Friday, December 7, 2007

WRITING WITH SCISSORS
( published with permission of author )

while he refuses to distinguish between
what is inside of him
and what is outside,
he will tell you that poetry comes from within
while fiction,
when he writes some,
seems to come to him from the outside

thus as a man or as a writer he stands between
the voice of his soul and
that of a fictitious account of reality

“I am a thin membrane, a filter, a self-conscious filter,”
he explains

“and when it rains outside of me,
it also rains inside of me. And when it
rains inside of me, it also
rains outside of me. So if you need some rain,
you can just tell me,
because I know the secret of making it rain inside of me,
which mean I can make it rain outside of me.”

interesting fabrications he can think of.
The other day he told me that when Matisse (at 72) could no
longer hold a brush for painting
he used scissors to
create the shapes he needed for his works

“that’s what I am doing,” he says,
“writing with scissors.”

yet he’s not even forty years old

::: ::: :::

[Picture: Memories of... by reading_is_dangerous]

SEVEN HENRI MATISSE QUOTES I LIKE VERY MUCH:

It has bothered me all my life that I do not paint like everybody else.
I don't paint things. I only paint the difference between things.
There is nothing more difficult for a truly creative painter than to paint a rose, because before he can do so he has first to forget all the roses that were ever painted.
An artist must never be a prisoner. Prisoner? An artist should never be a prisoner of himself, prisoner of style, prisoner of reputation, prisoner of success, etc.
I have always tried to hide my efforts and wished my works to have the light joyousness of springtime which never lets anyone suspect the labors it has cost me.
I don't know whether I believe in God or not. I think, really, I'm some sort of Buddhist. But the essential thing is to put oneself in a frame of mind which is close to that of prayer.
Exactitude is not truth.

" SMILE EVERYBODY "

2008-02-11T20:40:00.001-06:00

Everywhere Eyes could see today
Souls were heavy laden.
Heads hung in despair
Lost in rapid changes of life
Unknown and unexpected events...
Seem to be Everywhere...

Began searching for a single smile,
Hours glancing over here and
Over there...
Not a face revealed a sparkle
contentment or dreaming freely...

In fact, everyone seemed singled out
From the rest of the world around them.
Lost in nowhere...

Suddenly a star in the midst of it all !
Teeth shining with sparkle and happiness.
Smiling until the end of time,
Finally, somebody was content Today'.

Smile Everybody, it will make you feel;

As if the world were lighter...
for a moment,

" FOCUS "

2008-02-10T21:48:00.000-06:00

" FOCUS "
Feb 10, '08 8:29 PMfor everyone

" FOCUS "
Ears keen
Thought clear
Focus.

ldbg*
Featuring a New Artist above*
Perceptions are greatly appreciated.
MARISSA N. CHRISTMAN, 31 Jaunuary 2008
Charcoal Pencil Sketch
Tags: "focus", new artist featured, marissa christman

" What You Don't Know Will Hurt You "

2008-02-10T12:10:00.000-06:00

As a Child we are innocent...
Sponges gathering information rapidly
From environment born into.

One learns from experience,
Knowledge intellectually gives one the
Ability to recognize innocence from deception,
Most of the time...

Caught in a web...
All have been there, at least once.
Manner inwhich one releases the liability
Breaks the web and escapes,
Or remains entangled in the illusion...
Are the foot prints left behind in memory.

Be truthful to ones self
Truth is easy to express if true with ones self.
Justice within is the perception of one.
Justice from many perspectives
Can be merely constructive criticism.

Perception from one about the one
Perception from many about the one...
Healing and Balance is found within the
Heart of the middle ...

Do not be so hard on yourselves,
We are together,
Same emotions, scars, feelings...
Experiences in life are the difference.
All have been on the roads, if living.
Webs of illusion have captured far too many.

Live, Laugh and Love
Time is short and there is so much
Beauty to enjoy...
Natural serenity to comfort.
For All of us.

Step outside your door...look in amazement
Up ... Down...focus on something familiar
that is close to your heart...priceless.

'Tis true, what you don't know will hurt you...
this is why you don't know. All of us must realize
some things fog a mind, create confusion, pain unecessary,
associated with what you don't know. Wasted time searching
for the answer...move on my friends, the second hand is passing.

If you search and find the edge of it, is obvious why you did not
know. This can Challenge ones Mind to look further, courage
and direction this soul seeks if strong within. Dealing with
everything as it comes, determined to understand things not
known. Unique and Challenged Minds, can handle the Truth.
Is what they do with it that makes a difference.

Other flip of the coin in metaphor is,
Kind of like getting drunk on Friday night to wash all
the troubles away. Saturday morning you have added to your
troubles simply by doing the same thing, and then some. Now
what are we dealing with? More of what one does not know,
and is painful. Give this Friend a hand, lead him from the
watering hole for clearer perspective in hopes they will
be able to deal with what Is...preparing them for what is
Yet to come...the absolute unknown.

Waste not time, for if it is squandered the loss will never be
known. Could be moments from reaching a goal, hang on
for survival...the young need truthful teachers.

Luucy Stone* 10 February 2008
Fort Morgan Alabama
cwellc tcg ldbg

After The Goldrush

2008-02-08T04:38:00.002-06:00

I'd like to submit a song of both despair and of hope for
mankind. The words and lyrics were written by Neil Young, and now
performed by three of the greatest voices alive.
Linda Rhondstat, Emmy Lou Harris, and Dolly Parton.
Each voice precious, and in union angelic.

AFTER THE GOLDRUSH by NEIL YOUNG

Well, I dreamed I saw the knights in armor coming
Sayin' something about a queen
There were peasants singin' and drummers drumming
And the archer split the tree
There was a fanfare blowin' to the sun
That floated on the breeze
Look at mother nature on the run in the nineteen seventies
Look at mother nature on the run in the nineteen seventies

I was lyin' in a burned out basement
With a full moon in my eyes
I was hopin' for a replacement
When the sun burst through the skies
There was a band playin' in my head
And I felt like getting high
Thinkin' about what a friend had said,
I was hopin' it was a lie
Thinkin' about what a friend had said,
I was hopin' it was a lie

Well, I dreamed I saw the silver spaceships flying
In the yellow haze of the sun
There were children crying and colors flying
All around the chosen ones
All in a dream, all in a dream
The loading had begun
Flyin' mother nature's silver seed
To a new home in the sun
Flyin' mother nature's silver seed
To a new home in the sun

Blue Blog

Pete Seeger and Bruce Springsteen at the inaugural concert at the Lincoln Memorial

It's Barry

To have a graveyard for a friend

The Dreaming Sea

Ship of Fools, Robert Plant at youtube

In Memory of Alan Jones

I, a verb

Alarm Clock

' Let's Write About It ': Sarah McLachlan - Adia#links

The Emperor's Bird's-Nest, Longfellow

Photo; Showa Kinen Koen

Stone Path

Ice Storm in March

Writing With Scissors

Friday, December 7, 2007

WRITING WITH SCISSORS( published with permission of author )

" SMILE EVERYBODY "

" FOCUS "

" What You Don't Know Will Hurt You "

After The Goldrush

WRITING WITH SCISSORS
( published with permission of author )