Wednesday, November 30, 2011
If you didn't need a reason to dump Perry, you're welcome: Sheriff Joe Arpaio backs Perry http://ping.fm/mMAly
Fall of Rome averted: NBA teams to open facilities to players Thursday - CNN.com http://ping.fm/Lffnk
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Monday, November 28, 2011
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Saturday, November 26, 2011
At some points in the the great dance, stories matter: Man Uses His Schizophrenia to Gather Clues for Daily Living - NYTimes.com http://ping.fm/v3oxm
Oh thank God. Now I can hit the sack: Tentative NBA deal reached; season expected to start on Christmas - CNN.com http://ping.fm/725gU
Friday, November 25, 2011
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Hanging monitor windows error. Irresistable urge to kill process. Jump shot? Magic wifi app?
Monday, November 21, 2011
I work on the 24th floor. This sign,without explanation, has been on the window for 3 years.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
The Key to Graduation is, Apparently, Giving Up
Growing up, I was internal
Hoping, dreaming for the day that others would see me as special
Pain constricted the exterior
But strengthened the interior
The Muse introduced herself early
I wrote and sung and played and imagined
And hoped
And imagined hope
Reaching for The One who would
Accept the exterior
But See the interior
Believe the interior
Share lives in the interior
This many years on
Pattern recognition has improved
I'm still There
Reaching with imagined hope towards
Blinking lights
Which sate and bate in figure eights
I have the toughest teacher in the world
Giving me daily lesson plans
The challenge - can I live from Here without going There.
I'll keep trying
Or simply give up trying
And probably, if the intention in surrender is pure
Be graced by release
And Graduate.
Hoping, dreaming for the day that others would see me as special
Pain constricted the exterior
But strengthened the interior
The Muse introduced herself early
I wrote and sung and played and imagined
And hoped
And imagined hope
Reaching for The One who would
Accept the exterior
But See the interior
Believe the interior
Share lives in the interior
This many years on
Pattern recognition has improved
I'm still There
Reaching with imagined hope towards
Blinking lights
Which sate and bate in figure eights
I have the toughest teacher in the world
Giving me daily lesson plans
The challenge - can I live from Here without going There.
I'll keep trying
Or simply give up trying
And probably, if the intention in surrender is pure
Be graced by release
And Graduate.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Friday, November 18, 2011
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Alphabet Soup
Upward drizzle from the train to the platform to the escalator to the causeway.
The Muse or one of her cellmates has obviously set up shop here: a causal bunker, well protected. She's torching passer-bys with creative fire.
Most of the commuters' suits are unreasonably fire-proof, but not mine. I'm burned to ashes and am rising again before I even know what's hit me. Under my left arm, The Book. In my right hand, a set of golden tongs. Over my eyes: nothing. Everything is shining and new and waiting to be discovered. Undulating fields of love as I see what everybody else has become, and what I can do about it.
They're all letters:
Commuters come personalities come images come words come letters.
There's a pattern here, but it's in the fact that there IS no pattern
The lawyers, accountants, programmers, construction workers, Baristas, hangers-on, applicants, daycare drop-outs, businesswomen, bankers, analysts and traders...
...all reduced to a single letter each. Nothing to do with their profession; many aren't even english: Hebrew, Sanskrit, Greek, Aramaic, French, Spanish, Slang, Graffiti...
my personal Tower of Babel Buffet.
There are no seconds here, however - all firsts; even the same letters shine differently as I pluck them with my trusted tongs and put them into the book.
It's mechanical at first, I pick and choose who should go in, then relax into an almost random sweep, then a fully fluid pick and grab.
The book flips pages as it fills, and even seems to be indexing itself.
The Muse is waiting at the exit, cigarette in hand and absurd pocket watch dangling from her waist jacket pocket.
"You like?" she seems to ask as she takes the book opens it *exactly* in the middle, and watches as a visual cacophony unfolds itself - up into thunderheads, then splitting and folding and splitting and folding in on itself, then spraying everyone in sight with chains of God, anchored in the The Book.
With that, she says a word, the crowd moves as one, and she skis through the lobby, out the door, and through the downtown streets:
Creativity, pulled by God, through the noosphere and further.
God bless the Muse, and her Alphabet Soup.
Namaste.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
How to Build a Computer Model of God | Bootstrapping Independence
Yes, there's a lot more to be said, but he does tackle at least one ontological issue nicely.
From: http://ping.fm/aED8B
From: http://ping.fm/aED8B
Monday, November 14, 2011
Terrible Beauty and Meat Paper Chains
If you were able to step down the crumbling steps
You would see the field
MY field
Tilled
Not a healing, regenerative process
But the attempt to integrate:
the countless shredded hearts
that follow me day after day like a meat paper chain
:into ME
As always, the question in the metaphors
Hold the answer
There IS no ME or MY
Just This, in all its terrible beauty.
Still, understanding does not mean
Blind capitulation to the hurt.
It means accepting your words that I should be more of an asshole
Without becoming one.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Friday, November 11, 2011
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Monday, November 7, 2011
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Metta meta Metta
Metta meta Metta.
I stopped at my Muse's tree yesterday, and spent a considerable amount of time walking in and around the root system. I'm quite certain it was never intended to be used as a labyrinth, or even labelled Her tree - but the nexus of realities I've been threading myself through have their own set of rules, and top of list is that they don't give a tinker's damn about how thing's should be.
If they did, would there be shining galaxies waiting to be plucked as ripe fruit from the branches? Or light shining from the soil? Or a candied wind that wraps itself around me like a shawl and dances me to new absurdities I missed the first time round?
The last find, as always, was the Most interesting: A living parchment between the second and third branches; aspen papyrus with three words: Metta meta Metta.
It was invasive to peel the parchment from the tree, and somehow, it was redundant to take it anyways.
Sometimes the Muse's embrace is full and sensual; sometimes a gift basket dropped off in a somnolescent moment during a commute home. And then other times like today, it's simply a pointer to something that's already been branded in my heart or mind, needing some attention.
Such was this, a reminder of my narrative, for today anyways: Metta meta Metta.
In spite of my brokenness and rusted parts -memory of a goldfish, self confidence up and down like a toilet seat - purpose continually re-imagined, scrubbed, re-imagined again - maybe because of them - I am compelled to glory in the grand design, the One-in-All, the Theory of Everything. And today that is summed up in those three words.
Metta - loving kindness; compassion, the sire of grace and intenion:
sandwhiching:
Meta - the story of stories, the Platonic forms felt if not understood - the arch that connects it all.
The place where details are abstracted to a place where memory is not a problem - they *are* the very nature of remembering.
sandwhiched by
Metta - loving kindness; compassion, the sire of grace and intention
When my endless curiosity is lit up by Knowledge then dulled by my limitations, it's important to know what it is to Know:
And for me, tonite anyways, it's Metta meta Metta.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Bach is easy. If she brings him up, you just smile and you say: “Ahh, Bach.” | MetaFilter http://ping.fm/QgmWz
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
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