Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Friday, November 5, 2010

What's Next.. .

Haiti 10 months after the quakes.
image from

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Lost Generation

I am part of a lost generation
and I refuse to believe that
I can change the world
I realize this may be a shock but
“Happiness comes from within.”
is a lie, and
“Money will make me happy.”
So in 30 years I will tell my children
they are not the most important thing in my life
My employer will know that
I have my priorities straight because
is more important than
I tell you this
Once upon a time
Families stayed together
but this will not be true in my era
This is a quick fix society
Experts tell me
30 years from now, I will be celebrating the 10th anniversary of my divorce
I do not concede that
I will live in a country of my own making
In the future
Environmental destruction will be the norm
No longer can it be said that
My peers and I care about this earth
It will be evident that
My generation is apathetic and lethargic
It is foolish to presume that
There is hope.
And all of this will come true unless we choose to reverse it.

*read from bottom up

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Liminal Kansas...

The seasons, bloody hands, dirt roads
runaway cattle, cheating wife
runaway daughter, constant breeze
95 degree heat, no shade
windmill pumping, extracting, pulling
the order, the sequence, the monotany
the chaos, good sex!
terribly boring sex, god and death
pray for rain, get an abortion
live free, another tractor loan
live off the land, die by the land
what does night hold
what are the dreams, haunting realities
hidden desires, fantasy orgies with blind whores
the next harvest, train lines to no where
or every where, train never comes
neither does life, or poetry, or passionate
sexual encounters with a stranger
that taste of love, the death of innocence
abandonment of what learned for whats known
lightning storms and small children, the fields
the horizon and limitless imagination
she does me and i do her, or vice versa
time is running out, but relax and take your time
yet hurry up, but be thoughtful
push the limits and ride this till the very end

a poe for poe

to my dear sir, Poe

empires have fallen
some reclaimed their land
your thoughts they are still rolling
my lines fall into your oceans sand

let your evil boulders roll
the Great wall
let your sepulchre unfold
the gay science will fall

i wish great Mary would sing her song
wish for Estella to love the boy
no song was sung
the christian lord cut his tongue


Mon Oncle - Jacques Tati

Ryszard Kapuscinski

"Be careful: they have arms, and no alternatives."

Ryszard Kapuscinski

Friday, October 22, 2010

Monday, October 18, 2010

The Beautiful People

Their eyes were none but interesting, as they saw their hero, only to find out it was some American or at least pretending to be. My heart started racing, because I saw myself sitting right near them and feeling comfortable. I have experienced what they are experiencing in small doses.

They all waved goodbye and did not stop until I disappeared into the hills. I felt as though I have left my best friends behind never to see them again.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Rivers and Tides

Dostoevsky on Capital Punishment from "The Idiot"

“Yes. I saw it [an execution] in France, at Lyons. Dr. Schneider took me with him.”
“Do they hang them?”
“No, in France they always cut off their heads.”
“Do they scream?”
“How could they? It’s done in an instant. They make the man lie down and then a great knife is brought down by a heavy, powerful machine, called the guillotine. . . . The head falls off before one has time to wink. The preparations are horrible. When they read the sentence, get the man ready, bind him, lead him to the scaffold – that’s what’s awful! Crowds assemble, even women, though they don’t like women to look on. . . .”
“It’s not a thing for them!”
“Of course not, of course not! Such a horrible thing! . . . The criminal was an intelligent, middle-aged man, strong and courageous, called Legros. But I assure you, though you may not believe me, when he mounted the scaffold he was weeping and was as white as paper. Isn’t it incredible? Isn’t it awful? Who cries for fear? I’d no idea that a grown man, not a child, a man who never cried, a man of forty-five, could cry for fear! What must be passing in the soul at such a moment; to what anguish it must be brought! It’s an outrage on the soul, that’s what it is! It is written ‘Thou shalt not kill,’ so because he has killed, are we to kill him? No, that’s impossible. It’s a month since I saw that, but I seem to see it before my eyes still. I’ve dreamt of it half a dozen times.”
Myshkin was quite moved as he spoke, a faint color came into his pale face, though his voice was still gentle. The footman followed him with sympathetic interest, so that he seemed sorry for him to stop. He, too, was perhaps a man of imagination and strainings after thought.
“It’s a good thing at least that there is not much pain,” he observed, “when the head falls off.”
“Do you know,” Myshkin answered warmly, “you’ve just made that observation and every one says the same, and the guillotine was invented with that object. But the idea occured to me at the time that perhaps it made it worse. That will seem to you an absurd and wild idea, but if one has some imagination, one may suppose even that. Think! if there were torture, for instance, there would be suffering and wounds, bodily agony, and so all that would distract the mind from spiritual suffering, so that one would only be tortured by wounds till one died. But the chief and worst pain may not be in the bodily suffering but in one’s knowing for certain that in an hour, and then in ten minutes, and then in half a minute, and then now, at the very moment, the soul will leave the body and that one will cease to be a man and that that’s bound to happen; the worst part of it is that it’s CERTAIN. When you lay your head down under the knife and hear the knife slide over your head, that quarter of a second is the most terrible of all. You know this is not only my fancy, many people have said the same. I believe that so thoroughly that I’ll tell you what I think. To kill for murder is a punishment incomparably worse than the crime itself. Murder by legal sentence is immeasurably more terrible than murder by brigands. Anyone murdered by brigands, whose throat is cut at night in a wood, or something of that sort, must surely hope to escape till the very last minute. There have been instances when a man has still hoped for escape, running or begging for mercy after his throat was cut. But in the other case all that last hope, which makes dying ten times as easy, is taken away FOR CERTAIN. There is the sentence, and the whole awful torture lies in the fact that there is certainly no escape, and there is no torture in the world more terrible. You may lead a soldier out and set him facing the cannon in battle and fire at him and he’ll still hope; but read a sentence of certain death over the same soldier, and he will go out of his mind or burst into tears. Who can tell whether human nature is able to bear this without madness? Why this hideous, useless, unnecessary outrage? Perhaps there is some man who has been sentenced to death, been exposed to this torture and has been told ‘you can go, you are pardoned.’ Perhaps such a man could tell us. It was of this torture and of this agony that Christ spoke, too. No, you can’t treat a man like that!”

AK 47

Saturday, October 16, 2010

model building

I have spent the past 2 days building this model for a project at work. i had forgotten how great it is to build a model and see a space come to life. i spend most of me time a work these days building computer models. this is much better.