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In the early weeks of 2005 Philip Johnson died, at the age of ninety-eight, in the most elegant sickroom imaginable, the Glass House, the open-plan interior of which had been outfitted with a hospital bed that, along with around-the-clock nursing care, made it possible for its architect to spend his final days overlooking the site of some of his happiest moments as a cultural power broker. His rigorous aestheticism persisted to the very end. Lamster poetically reconstructs his exit scene: A gentle snow began to fall through the New Canaan woods. Johnson had always thought the Glass House was most magical that way; the falling snow created the illusion that you were rising on what he called a “celestial elevator.” The Godfather

A bad day at blue rock The Day the Dinosaurs Died The asteroid was vaporized on impact. Its substance, mingling with vaporized Earth rock, formed a fiery plume, which reached halfway to the moon before collapsing in a pillar of incandescent dust. Computer models suggest that the atmosphere within fifteen hundred miles of ground zero became red hot from the debris storm, triggering gigantic forest fires. As the Earth rotated, the airborne material converged at the opposite side of the planet, where it fell and set fire to the entire Indian subcontinent. Measurements of the layer of ash and soot that eventually coated the Earth indicate that fires consumed about seventy percent of the world’s forests. Meanwhile, giant tsunamis resulting from the impact churned across the Gulf of Mexico, tearing up coastlines, sometimes peeling up hundreds of feet of rock, pushing debris inland and then sucking it back out into deep water, leaving jumbled deposits that oilmen sometimes encounter in the course of deep-sea drilling.

Transgender woman Rachel McKinnon, center – as if I have to explain —  celebrates her first-place finish at UCI Masters Track Cycling World Championship in Los Angeles MOTUS A.D.: You’ve Come A Long Way Baby

Even New York’s millionaires are fleeing to less expensive cities With the alarming outflow of city residents — many of them wealthy bankers — New York state lost a staggering $8.4 billion to other states in 2016, the latest year data are available, one study shows. And that was up from $4.6 billion annually on average during the prior four years. [click to continue…]

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The Gun School: Now with the best comment thread.

What I said to my “concerned” friends that asked was, “I like to collect permissions to do things.” I lied. Being freaked out that anyone they knew would take gun training and get a concealed weapons permit, they tacitly agreed to believe that lie. It kept everything smooth and “non-political,” which I how a lot of my friends and I like it these days. All part of the little lies we tell because we cannot face reality in the world and in our relationships.

I took pistol training because one day it dawned on me that if I ever actually needed a gun it would be too late to shop. [click to continue…]

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Yes, it is an hour but it an hour well spent on how the Utopian compulsions of progressives to pose as “compassionate and caring” has transformed Seattle into its own 3rd-world “shithole country” of homeless drug addicts and criminals polluting what was once a fine city. Reason? This fine city keeps electing socialists and demented Democrats. Me? I’m out of there after ten years and I hope my friends there make their escape soon. After that the only thing that solves a descent this deep is fire.

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As long as we have Opening Day every Spring and the World Series every Autumn, I will continue to believe to the adamantine rock bottom of my soul that God blesses America and has an exceptional plan for this nation.

Look at the moment above captured in Game 1 of the 2009 World Series. It could be hung in the Norman Rockwell Museum and not be a tittle of a jot out of place. In every face (except Swisher’s) is an expression of pure joy as they all realize that on its way to them, at that very moment, is every baseball fan’s most cherished dream from childhood: The chance in the stands to catch a fly ball in a World Series game.

In another few instants only one fan will come up with it, but in this moment all have a chance at it and all are transported at the opportunity to transcend themselves and enter into something bigger, brighter, and finer than their lives would otherwise be. In this instant, preserved now forever, they are all in The Show.

And that’s the way it is in America. That’s why we see many footprints leading in and few coming out. For with all our quarrels, our disagreements, our struggles, and our incessant bickering, this remains a land where you can always get another turn at bat, where you can always, right up until six months after death, get another chance to swing for the bleachers. And where, even if you aren’t a player in “The Show,” you can buy a seat out on the right field line and wait there for the crack of the bat, the rise of the ball against the sky, and… it’s coming, it’s coming…. and whap, you got it. You’re in “The Show.”

And in that moment life, the universe, and everything else comes down to one great roar of joy from yourself and the rest of the crowd.

Baseball, from a hot grounder on Opening Day to a high fly ball in an Autumn sky is the arc of the essential America. Nothing like us ever was.

“I got it!”

“No, I got it!”

“No, WE got it!”

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Man in a Tux Paddles Gracefully to ‘Lady In Red’ During the 2007 Midwest Freestyle Canoe Symposium American Freestyle canoeing is the art of paddling a canoe on flat water with perfect control of its movements. The canoe is usually leaned over to the side to help the boat turn sharply and efficiently and paddle strokes are taken on either side of the canoe depending on the individual move.


Only The Rich Are Poisoned:    Dinner consisted in a succession of complicated small things, with microscopic ingredients and contrasting tastes that forced you to concentrate as if you were taking some type of exam. You were not eating, rather visiting some type of museum with an affected English major lecturing you on some artistic dimension you would have never considered on your own. There was so little that was familiar and so little that fit my taste buds: once something on the occasion tasted like something real, there was no chance to have more as we moved on to the next dish. Trudging through the dishes and listening to some b***t by the sommelier about the paired wine, I was afraid of losing concentration. It costs a lot of energy to fake that I was not bored. In fact, I discovered an optimization in the wrong place: the only thing I cared about, bread, was not warm. It appears that this is not a Michelin requirement.

Why Eating Meat Was Banned in Japan for Centuries   In 675 A.D., Emperor Tenmu issued the first official decree banning the consumption of beef, horse, dog, chicken, and monkey during the height of farming season from April to September. As time went on, the practice would be solidified and expanded into a year-round taboo against all meat eating.

Dole Whip –    Dole produces six other flavors of the same product—orange, lime, mango, raspberry, strawberry, and lemon. The lattermost offering caused total pandemonium at Disney California Adventure in 2018, when its debut at Pixar Pier created immediate, massive lines outside the Monsters Inc.–themed “Adorable Snowman Frosted Treats” stand.

Rapa Nui (Easter Island) monument (ahu) locations explained by freshwater sources

Tormented And Alone: The Neurotic Dreams of the Romance Comics Women    It’s a toss-up between Popular Andy or Faithful Griff.   Whatever you do, don’t go with Skeeter –“ that way lies madness.

Memoirs of a Used Car Salesman’s Daughter  During the 1960s and ’70s, he sold used cars on a small half-acre lot in our hometown of Waukegan, Illinois –” just south of the Wisconsin border. I can picture him alone in the small shack at the back of the lot, his feet perched on an old aluminum desk. Cigarette hanging from his mouth, he was slow to get up but a fast-talker once he reached you. [click to continue…]

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https://www.vitaminwater.com/hit-refresh-for-exotic-mango-island-pic/and-20fl-oz-of-tropical-oasis/wow/wish-i-was-there/enhanced/e/the-hot-key-is-command-shift-r/electrolytes/be-sure-to-hit-refresh/but-not-too-much/you-have-to-give/the-page-a-chance-to-load/

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As Kundera said:

The first step in liquidating a people is to erase its memory. Destroy its books, its culture, its history. Then have somebody write new books, manufacture a new culture, invent a new history. Before long that nation will begin to forget what it is and what it was. The world around it will forget even faster.

…. For a brief period, the consensus was that the communist experiment had failed. Never again, said the postmodernists and historians. Never again, said the economists and political parties. Never again said the people of former communist countries. Never again.

In the 90s we believed we were living in a “post-mortem” era in which all the hidden graves of the 20th century would be exposed, the atrocities analyzed, the lessons learned. Lest we forget. We also thought we’d entered a time in which the Silicon Valley dream of digitizing all knowledge from the entire history of the printed and spoken word would lead us towards the infinite free library, the glass house of truth and the global village of free information flow. The future would be a time of endless remembrance and of great learning.

How wrong we were. The metaphor of the glass house has turned into that of the mirrored cube. The global village has collapsed into tribal info-warfare and the infinite library is now a war zone of battling conspiracy theories. The internet has become a tool of forgetting, not remembrance and the greatest area of amnesia is the subject that Milan Kundera spent his entire life trying to preserve, namely the horrors of communism.

Fast forward 20 years and never again has been forgotten. The Wall Street Journal in 2016 asked: “Is Communism Cool? Ask a Millennial.” Last year MIT Press published Communism for Kids and Teen Vogue ran an excited apologia for Communism. Tablet announced, with some concern, a “Cool Kid Communist Comeback.” On Twitter, there is new trend of people giving themselves communist-themed names: “Gothicommunist,” “Trans-Communist,” “Commie-Bitch,” “Eco-Communist.” The hammer and sickle flag has been re-appearing on campuses, at protests and on social media.

How could we have forgotten?….

Only one memorial to the Great Chinese Famine (UNDER MAO 30 TO 70 MILLION CHINESE WERE KILLED) is one made by hand out of bricks and tiles, located in the middle of a Chinese farmer’s privately-owned field.

RTWT: Milan Kundera Warned Us About Historical Amnesia. Now It’s Happening Again – Quillette

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[Sigh: It’s that time again. The global dementia continues. The good news is that most of the Earth missed it this time around as the boredom increases.]

The Eiffel Tower before and during Earth Hour in Paris, France on March 28, 2009.

It looked as if a night of dark intent
Was coming, and not only a night, an age.
Someone had better be prepared for rage.
There would be more than ocean-water broken
Before God’s last Put out the Light was spoken.

Robert Frost, “Once By The Pacific”

In 1914 Sir Edward Grey said to a friend one evening just before the outbreak of the First World War, as he watched the lights being lit on the street below his office: “The lamps are going out all over Europe; we shall not see them lit again in our lifetime.”

In that instance, it was the Great War that loomed. Now the Great Forgetting looms and, from time to time, it washes across the world. “Earth Hour” is such a dark moment as millions either choose to — or thanks to their compliant or complacent local governments — suffer through an hour in the dark.

Once upon a time, we knew enough to curse the darkness. In the eons-long climb from the muck, we have only had the ability to hold back the dark for a bit over a century. Now millions yearn to embrace it and, should they yearn long enough and hard enough, the darkness will embrace them and hold them for much longer than a brief hour of preening and self-regard.

The Big Picture at the Boston Globe site routinely publishes stunning photographs of what is taking place in the world. But at editor Alan Taylor’s whim after last year’s “Earth Hour”, it went a step further in “celebrating” the rise of mass insanity in our age. “Earth Hour 2009” presents a round-the-world tour of cities with each picture designed to fade from light into darkness at the click of a mouse. Proud of his clever variation on a theme, the editor’s instructions were — without a hint of irony:

“[click image to see it fade]”
Of course with a second mouse click the lights came back on.

It never seems to occur to the people with the Green Disease, that is perfectly possible to

[click civilization to see it fade]
and get no second click.

“Pater dimitte illis non enim sciunt quid faciunt.” (“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”) — Luke 23:34 [click to continue…]

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The morning of Super Bowl XLI, Don Mischer asked Prince if he would be OK to perform in the rain. Prince responded simply, “Can you make it rain harder”?

Prince: “When there’s blood in the sky – red and blue = purple.. purple rain pertains to the end of the world and being with the one you love and letting your faith/god guide you through the purple rain.

I never meant to cause you any sorrow
I never meant to cause you any pain
I only wanted to one time to see you laughing
I only wanted to see you
Laughing in the purple rain

Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
I only wanted to see you
Bathing in the purple rain

For Reference: The Original Video [click to continue…]

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Light is projected on invisible water particles to form shapes and intangible structures in the air. It’s an abstract journey through geometric structures formed by the universe. The project will tour in light festivals and public spaces around the world.

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True but Forbidden 15:

Putting Glitter on Your Dog’s Testicles is a Trend Now, Apparently We, as a species, need a new predator. We’ve been at the top of the food chain for too long. Somebody hurry up and invent, then piss off, artificial intelligence. Humans have become the animal kingdom equivalent of a foppish, ridiculously bewigged French noble whose diet is mostly foie gras and whose hobbies include pretending to be poor and… decorating his poodle’s balls. There’s actually absolutely nothing more foppish and French than glittering a poodle’s balls.

Breast ironing awareness ‘needed in school’ The practice involves ironing a girl’s chest with hot objects to delay breasts from growing, so she does not attract male attention. Conservative MP Nicky Morgan said teachers must also be educated, as they have a “very important role to play”.

Julia Alice Chappell – whimsical sculptures made from tech waste | The Red Ferret Journal

 The cosmic duh : Essays in Idleness   We were made to resemble Christ: the perfect self-giving of this self-revealing, Triune God, prior to all being. The embodiment of Christ is beyond thinking. But so are we. For even to begin thinking of ourselves as being, we must consider ourselves from a standpoint of not-being, which is unthinkable. The situation resembles what they call a “singularity” in physics, but is more fundamental. An “is” requires an is-maker.

Observe, now by Revelation, that God is Love, not being; and that on Love, all being depends. That in persona Christi, walking as He did, when and where, we see Love, embodied. God, beyond all being, brought Himself even into being, for Love.

House of Eratosthenes: Speech has never been more dangerous nor points of view more opposed. When the demand isn’t “why didn’t you denounce this” or “why didn’t you apologize for that” it is may be “why did you misgender me?” You can go to jail for saying “he” instead of “she”.

During my career as police officer I met a great many needle-using drug addicts. Some worked in the sex industry to maintain their habit. Some had taken to street robbery or shoplifting. Many were homeless or chaotic sleepers. A few had fallen from a great height, having lost well-paid jobs and their families. One or two were literally born with the craving as their mothers had been addicts during pregnancy. I never once met a happy user. [click to continue…]

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It’s a very substantial piece of work being done by a real reporter. It’s 78 Media Mistakes in the Trump Era: The Definitive List by Sharyl Attkisson. Atkinson leads with ye olde “So since nobody else has compiled an updated, extensive list of this kind, here are:”

78 Notable Mistakes and Missteps in Major Media Reporting on Donald Trump

1. Aug. 2016-Nov. 2016:
The New York Post published modeling photos of Trump’s wife Melania and reported they were taken in 1995. Various news outlets relied on that date to imply that Melania—an immigrant—had violated her visa status. But the media got the date wrong. Politico was among the news agencies that later issued a photo date correction.

2. Oct. 1, 2016:
The New York Times and other media widely suggested or implied that Trump had not paid income taxes for 18 years. Later, tax return pages leaked to MSNBC ultimately showed that Trump actually paid a higher rate than Democrats Bernie Sanders and President Obama.

3. Oct. 18, 2016:
In a Washington Post piece not labelled opinion or analysis, Stuart Rothenberg reported that Trump’s path to an electoral college victory was “nonexistent.”

4. Nov. 4, 2016:
USA Today misstated Melania Trump’s “arrival date from Slovenia” amid a flurry of reporting that questioned her immigration status from the mid-1990s.

5. Nov. 9, 2016:
Early on election night, the Detroit Free Press called the state of Michigan for Hillary Clinton. Trump actually won Michigan.

6. Jan. 20, 2017:
CNN claimed Nancy Sinatra was “not happy” at her father’s song being used at Trump’s inauguration. Sinatra responded, “That’s not true. I never said that. Why do you lie, CNN?…Actually I’m wishing him the best.” [click to continue…]

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Victory! Trump Dances To Ranveer Singh’s Malhari

This small flame has erupted into a huge fireball
The safe of my heart has become filled (with happiness) today
This black night has become rainbow colored
Look how badly we have defeated the enemy

or as we like to say in the West, “Let the good times roll!”

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Boomer Anthems: Proud Mary


1969 aka 50 years ago.

Left a good job in the city
Workin’ for the man ev’ry night and day
And I never lost one minute of sleepin’
Worryin’ ’bout the way things might have been….

Fogerty wrote the lyrics based on three song title ideas: “Proud Mary,” “Riverboat,” and “Rolling On A River.” He carried around a notebook with titles that he thought would make good songs, and “Proud Mary” was at the top of the list. The song came together on the day that John Fogerty got his discharge papers from the US Army. Fogerty had been drafted in 1966 and was part of a Reserve unit, serving at Fort Bragg, Fort Knox, and Fort Lee. His discharge papers came in 1967. Fogerty recalls in Bad Moon Rising: The Unofficial History of Creedence Clearwater Revival by Hank Bordowitz: [click to continue…]

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True But Forbidden 14: Ad Astra Per Aspera

Astronomers Have Detected a Star Careening Through The Milky Way at 2.5 Million Mph   To be precise, it’s travelling at 1,130 kilometres per second (700 miles per second). That could take it from Earth to the Moon in 6 minutes. It’s one of the fastest stars we’ve ever seen. And boy, is it spectacular – zooming away from the expanding cloud of a recent supernova explosion, leaving a trail behind after it punched through the explosion’s outer shell of debris.

Woodpile Report    Something to ponder, a poem by Erasmus Darwin, 1731–1802. I know, when it comes to poetry you’d rather listen to a drunk read the safety stickers on a stepladder. Me too. But this one’s got a surprise in it.

To the Stars

Roll on, ye stars! exult in youthful prime,
Mark with bright curves the printless steps of time;
Near and more near your beamy cars approach,
And lessening orbs on lessening orbs encroach;
Flowers of the sky! ye, too, to age must yield.
Frail as your silken sisters of the field!
Star after star from heaven’s high arch shall rush,
Suns sink on suns, and systems systems crush,
Headlong, extinct, to one dark centre fall,
And death, and night, and chaos mingle all!
Till o’er the wreck, emerging from the storm,
Immortal nature lifts her changeful form,
Mounts from her funeral pyre on wings of flame,
And soars and shines, another and the same!

Never give in, never give in, never, never, never, never-in nothing, great or small, large or petty – never give in except to convictions of honor and good sense. Never yield to force; never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy. To many countries it seemed that our account was closed, we were finished. All this tradition of ours, our songs, our School history, this part of the history of this country, were gone and finished and liquidated. Do not let us speak of darker days: let us speak rather of sterner days. These are not dark days; these are great days – the greatest days we have ever lived; and we must all thank God that we have been allowed, each of us according to our stations, to play a part in making them.  –– Churchill

MOTUS A.D.: The Mueller Report, What Does It Mean Anyone?:   In 2016, the Deep State controlled Department of Justice, in an effort to undermine the administration of — Anyone? Anyone? — Donald Trump, launched the — Anyone? Anyone? — The Russian collusion investigation, which, anyone? Indicted or cleared?  Cleared the President. Did it work? — Anyone?  — Anyone know the effect? It did not work, and the Deep State sank deeper into their corruption and judicial overreach. Today we have a similar debate over this. Anyone know what this is? Class? Anyone? Anyone? Anyone seen this before? Fake News. Anyone know what this is? It’s when news is presented in a way that slants facts or makes them up out of whole cloth. This is very controversial. Does anyone know what  President Trump called this in 2017? — Anyone? Something-h-u-n-t.  œWitch Hunt? [click to continue…]

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Never an “If,” always a “when.” The great 2010 internet tradition of Hitler in the Bunker continues…

TRUMP’S BEST DAY…
SHAME OF THE NATION: 533,074 articles have been published about Russia probe…
Networks Gave Whopping 2,284 Minutes…
50 Hollywood Stars Who Accused Trump of Treason, Collusion…
LIST: FALSE BOMBSHELLS…
Most embarrassing predictions…
Greenwald Rails Against Misinformation and Fear…
TAIBBI: Russiagate is this generation’s WMD…
GOOGLE obscures news…
Former Spy Chiefs Exposed…
DEMS: PLAN B…
New Day For White House…
Re-election weapon…
GOODWIN: HILLARY’S BIG LIE…
PAPER: Apologies to President Trump…
FLASHBACK: Lindsey Graham urged McCain to pass dossier to FBI…
[click to continue…]

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Something Wonderful: New York City in 1911

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Meanwhile, back at the Swamp

[The demands and immediate concerns of my life continue today with no let-up in sight. In the meantime the vile world dimensional on the Potomac continues with the release of the long-dreaded/welcomed clown show known as “The Mueller Report.” It’s early innings yet but so far the best long article on the Democrats Coprophagic Feeding Festival is by Matt Tabbi at  It’s official: Russiagate is this generation’s WMD. Here are some excerpts but I commend the whole to you.]

Nobody wants to hear this, but news that Special Prosecutor Robert Mueller is headed home without issuing new charges is a death-blow for the reputation of the American news media.

As has long been rumored, the former FBI chief’s independent probe will result in multiple indictments and convictions, but no “presidency-wrecking” conspiracy charges, or anything that would meet the layman’s definition of “collusion” with Russia.

With the caveat that even this news might somehow turn out to be botched, the key detail in the many stories about the end of the Mueller investigation was best expressed by the New York Times:

A senior Justice Department official said that Mr. Mueller would not recommend new indictments.

The Times tried to soften the emotional blow for the millions of Americans trained in these years to place hopes for the overturn of the Trump presidency in Mueller. Nobody even pretended it was supposed to be a fact-finding mission, instead of an act of faith.

The Special Prosecutor literally became a religious figure during the last few years, with votive candles sold in his image and Saturday Night Live cast members singing “All I Want for Christmas is You” to him featuring the rhymey line: “Mueller please come through, because the only option is a coup.”

The Times story today tried to preserve Santa Mueller’s reputation, noting Trump’s Attorney General William Barr’s reaction was an “endorsement” of the fineness of Mueller’s work:

In an apparent endorsement of an investigation that Mr. Trump has relentlessly attacked as a “witch hunt,” Mr. Barr said Justice Department officials never had to intervene to keep Mr. Mueller from taking an inappropriate or unwarranted step.

Mueller, in other words, never stepped out of the bounds of his job description. But could the same be said for the news media?

For those anxious to keep the dream alive, the Times published its usual graphic of Trump-Russia “contacts,” inviting readers to keep making connections. But in a separate piece by Peter Baker, the paper noted the Mueller news had dire consequences for the press:

It will be a reckoning for President Trump, to be sure, but also for Robert S. Mueller III, the special counsel, for Congress, for Democrats, for Republicans, for the news media and, yes, for the system as a whole…

This is a damning page one admission by the Times. Despite the connect-the-dots graphic in its other story, and despite the astonishing, emotion-laden editorial the paper also ran suggesting “We don’t need to read the Mueller report” because we know Trump is guilty, Baker at least began the work of preparing Times readers for a hard question: “Have journalists connected too many dots that do not really add up?” [click to continue…]

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Some Say That Snow

Some say that snow is sleep. I say
That snow is but the rest
Of clouds upon earth’s surface laid
To soothe the forest’s breast,
To calm the souls that linger there
Beneath an age of leaf
That hides within its brindle flesh
Whole galaxies of seed.

Some say that snow is chill. I say
That snow is but a shawl
Draped over stones of silence,
That such silence shelter all,
And in their silence hear within
The brook beneath the glass,
That when the sun shall set it free
All dreams to sea shall pass.

Some say that snow is death. I say
That snow is but a prayer
Said when the soul in winter’s glade
Calls the body from its lair,
To stand within the test of light,
Becoming less than air,
And leave behind what came before
In the shadows dawn prepares.

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The Snow Tree

After the fires that burned everything and the rains that never seemed to end there was, at last, a day when the sun shone and the air was warm and scented not with ash but with the promise of Spring. He pointed to the sunshine falling through her front window onto the worn rug in a wind-shimmered pool of light. “Do you want to take a ride out into the Spring?”

“Oh, of course, let’s see what’s going on around here. I’d love to get outside for a bit.”

So he brought out the wheelchair and, after some maneuvering, got her seated and wrapped up with scarves and blankets so that not a wisp of cold could find its way to her. Then he opened the door and out they rolled for the first time in weeks.

Outside it was a fine afternoon; a spring afternoon even though most of the trees sported bare branches just beginning to bud. The bright red camellias were everywhere though and he plucked a few of these and set them on the blanket covering her lap. Outside it was pretty much all blacktopped parking lot but she’d never had been one to look down. She looked up instead at the clouds she always liked to track in the skies vaulting Chico from the Ridge above to the farmountains of the coast range. There were enough there for her to see and identify as they rolled along.

Then they turned the corner towards the apartment’s swimming pool and picnic spot. There they stopped. In front of them was a large tree looming over all the other trees except the dawn redwoods. It was covered all across its crown in massive clumps of white, white blossoms; blossoms so white they could have been a pure snowcap on a tallmountain in January. Even though her eyes were failing her she turned her face up to those suspended drifts of a white and clear spring and said, “Oh my, oh my, isn’t that the most beautiful thing we’ve seen yet?”

They rolled on and got to the swimming pool and the small lawns and tables around it. She had him take her and place her in a way that she could feel the sun on her face and hands but so that it did not dazzle her.

They sat there for a bit. Not talking very much at all, just enjoying the warmth of the spring sun together. Then for a bit, he read her from How Green Was My Valley, the book she had been trying to read on the tablet he’d taught her to use; the tablet that made the print large enough for her eyes to follow. Then they talked a bit more as the sun fell lower in the sky. It became colder so they started to make their way back to her small apartment where she’d lived for over 40 years.

They came back to the tree of the white blossoms. A wind was coming up and the blossoms were being blown from the branches.

She had him stop under the tree for a time and she let the white blossoms from the tree drift down and rest on the ground, and on her lap, and in her hair, all twirling and glimmering in the sunlight like some gentle scented snowflakes.

“So pretty,” she said. “See how white they are.”

“We can come back tomorrow,” he said. “We could have a picnic in the sun by the pool.”

“So pretty,” she said again looking at a few blossoms that had fallen into her hands. “Okay, I’m ready to go home now.”

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If It Be Your Will

If it be your will
That I speak no more
And my voice be still
As it was before
I will speak no more
I shall abide until
I am spoken for
If it be your will

If it be your will
That a voice be true
From this broken hill
I will sing to you
From this broken hill
All your praises they shall ring
If it be your will
To let me sing
From this broken hill
All your praises they shall ring
If it be your will
To let me sing

If it be your will
If there is a choice
Let the rivers fill
Let the hills rejoice
Let your mercy spill
On all these burning hearts in hell
If it be your will
To make us well

And draw us near
And bind us tight
All your children here
In their rags of light
In our rags of light
All dressed to kill
And end this night
If it be your will

If it be your will

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Site Notes: Intermittency Happens

Due to family issues, writing and new items on this page may become intermittent for a time. But thank you all for your comments and your reading of what little I have to say… and especially your overwhelming generosity.**

(**For those who may wonder, I am currently working my way through more than 700 thank yous and that will take a while.)

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True But Forbidden 13

From the Z Man’s Weekley Podcast. If you’re not listening, maybe you should: Maybe it is me, but our side of the great divide seems a bit down the last few weeks, with all the bad news coming from various quarters. President Fink backtracking on his promises, the rising brown tide pouring over the border, the book banning and so forth is taking a toll on morale. This is just part of the game probably. In the midst of all great societal upheavals, the participants have had their dark moments. I find myself watching videos of otters on YouTube more often than normal, just to keep the spirits up. Underdogs | The Z Blog

A Different Kind of Theory of Everything |  

In 1964, during a lecture at Cornell University, the physicist Richard Feynman articulated a profound mystery about the physical world. He told his listeners to imagine two objects, each gravitationally attracted to the other. How, he asked, should we predict their movements? Feynman identified three approaches, each invoking a different belief about the world. The first approach used Newton’s law of gravity, according to which the objects exert a pull on each other. The second imagined a gravitational field extending through space, which the objects distort. The third applied the principle of least action, which holds that each object moves by following the path that takes the least energy in the least time. All three approaches produced the same, correct prediction. They were three equally useful descriptions of how gravity works.

“One of the amazing characteristics of nature is this variety of interpretational schemes,” Feynman said. What’s more, this multifariousness applies only to the true laws of nature—it doesn’t work if the laws are misstated. “If you modify the laws much, you find you can only write them in fewer ways,” Feynman said. “I always found that mysterious, and I do not know the reason why it is that the correct laws of physics are expressible in such a tremendous variety of ways. They seem to be able to get through several wickets at the same time.”

The hipster effect: Why anti-conformists always end up looking the same  

Making cheese from the black mold on your wall     I’d love to take the project further and travel with it to make further renditions that are area specific to where it’s exhibited, so that each place and the specificities to that local are examined. I’m also getting in touch with food labs to get an analysis of the cheese sample and its toxins.

Wat Phra Dhammakaya temple, near Bangkok. 

A new anti-Trump publication is the last thing conservative media needs

“Generic white #NeverTrump conservative” is already the most overrepresented type in American media. There are approximately 200 of these people in the United States, and every single one of them has a column in a major newspaper and a book about why Drumpf is the logical and polar opposite of certain ideals supposedly embodied in whatever Tocqueville quotes their research assistants have just pulled up for them. They are the same people who have spent the last two decades insisting that all the things that actually keep people voting for the GOP against their own economic interests — opposition to abortion and same-sex marriage — are yucky. They are often referred to as “neocons,” but this appellation is insulting to the legacy of Irving Kristol and Christopher Lasch. A better one is “metro-conservatives,” i.e., think-tank grifters.

The pestilence grows. Groomers now feel secure enough to expand into enforcement. This scarcely to be believed photo is workplace and living room safe, which is a sad comment in itself. The old joke was, “how long before they make it mandatory?” Methinks we’re getting close.  Woodpile Report

 The GOP’s Next Hill Not to Die On? : 

Senator Harris seems to be doing it for canny positioning reasons: She is one of the shrewder campaigners so far, but MSNBC ran a wacky segment a few weeks back in which various black activists pointed out that she is not “African-American”. Ms Harris is half-Indian, half-Jamaican – ie, like Barack Obama, she’s a child of British subjects. And one way to deflect from the fact that black Democrat presidential candidates seem to be disproportionately drawn from outside the African-American experience is to sign on to reparations big-time.

Isn’t this beginning to feel the way it usually goes? No doubt somewhere or other the Mitch McConnell/John Boehner types are assuring everyone: Not to worry, it’ll never happen… But that’s what they said about Obamacare and gay marriage and all the rest. Democrat presidential candidates, “moderate” conservatives… Sooner than you think, Republicans will be telling each other: Let it go, this isn’t the hill to die on…

It never is, is it?

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Take me back, take me way, way, way back
On Hyndford Street
Where you could feel the silence at half past eleven
On long summer nights
As the wireless played Radio Luxembourg
And the voices whispered across Beechie River
In the quietness as we sank into restful slumber in the silence
And carried on dreaming, in God

And walks up Cherry Valley from North Road Bridge, railway line
On sunny summer afternoons
Picking apples from the side of the tracks
That spilled over from the gardens of the houses on Cyprus Avenue
Watching the moth catcher working the floodlights in the evenings
And meeting down by the pylons

Playing round Mrs. Kelly’s lamp
Going out to Holywood on the bus
And walking from the end of the lines to the seaside
Stopping at Fusco’s for ice cream
In the days before rock ‘n’ roll

Hyndford Street, Abetta Parade
Orangefield, St. Donard’s Church
Sunday six-bells, and in between the silence there was conversation
And laughter, and music and singing, and shivers up the back of the neck

And tuning in to Luxembourg late at night
And jazz and blues records during the day
Also Debussy on the third program
Early mornings when contemplation was best

Going up the Castlereagh hills
And the cregagh glens in summer and coming back
To Hyndford Street, feeling wondrous and lit up inside
With a sense of everlasting life

And reading Mr. Jelly Roll and Big Bill Broonzy
And “Really The Blues” by “Mezz” Mezzrow
And “Dharma Bums” by Jack Kerouac
Over and over again

And voices echoing late at night over Beechie River
And it’s always being now, and it’s always being now
It’s always now

Can you feel the silence?
On Hyndford Street where you could feel the silence
At half past eleven on long summer nights
As the wireless played Radio Luxembourg
And the voices whispered across Beechie River
And in the quietness we sank into restful slumber in silence
And carried on dreaming in God.

Carried on dreaming in God up on Cypress Avenue:

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