Carne Felize Redux

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Miraculous?

President Grover Cleveland Crepe

Hobbying in the Age of Ironic Exploration, our intrepid crippled bumbler rambles through the shiny detritus of season's future

Happy Meat is a Stumbler

Election Resolutely

"To believe in democracy is to be a prisoner of hope."
--- Cornel West

We Tell Stories

Halloween Treat

Producing on Saturday Night

Home-carni(val) is a place

Distracted by the overwhelming Here
and Now,
My place is easily dreamed,
forged from meat moods:
to tower and wavering;
or, too tired is soo trite for excusing;
able is relative.

This, evidenced at least for disrupting
Absence, and void avoidance.

Political Agency is to Tea Party as Art is to ...

A Doctor's Office Is Waiting

Hegemony In Action: Income Inequality Makes The Poor More Conservative

 

		Income Inequality Makes The Poor More Conservative
	Income inequality makes the poor more conservative -- more likely to support smaller government and actually to perpetuate income inequality, two academics argue in a...

 

(grafted from The Huffington Post, 10/07/10)

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Spiritual Politics

HVAC Air Filters:
     20 x 24 x 1
     18 x 24 x 1
     12 x 12 x 1

Dishwasher detergent (green bottle)

Scented dryer sheets

Bulk toilet paper

Compassion and/or empathy

Light bulbs (swirly Xpensive kind)

Gratitude n' willingness

Scrub sponges (non-scratch)

Gravy mix (3 pks)

Mellon balls

Perspectival about Cloudlessness (an "Of&From")

Drafting Floral (addendum to "Synthetic")

Cartography for Moseying Cowboys

Some things about my awareness of time never change. It takes longer to get someplace than it does to get back. Waiting slows a clock down. Time flies when you're having fun. A watched pot never boils. Friends
always wait to arrive until after you've started looking for them out the window.

This chair is so comfortable. It seems the Platonic ideal of chairness. Everything about my body is consumed by it's conturs, it's leathery texture a second skin, it's seat cushions my worry. The chair devours time and place completely.

It is not a difficult decision, but rather, a choice to decide or not to. Sit or get up. Stay or go. Be or become. These are all actions, all arguments for motion in one direction or another. In the interm, deferment becomes a viable option.

Clouds thump wind visible

Parked cars boulder wait

Adjectival conversation elucidates

That fog is mysterious should come as no surprise

An alligator becomes tangled in a cotton patch

A brainstorm thunders, distantly authentic

Thanks to words
I can assert and salve
My fears (ours are real --
       consequential frequently).

A dandelion's blast
Makes all directions
Possible.





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They remind me of what I've learned to forget [text follows pics]

Mumblings on the first day of school, sun-cooking, and about how my
intolerance is mine, all mine!

My kids started back to elementary school today. But it doesn’t feel like summer is over. The thermostat outside a storage facility read 104 degrees on the way to pick them up. Gaseous evaporation waves wafgled (wiggled & wafted) across the median and asphalt on South Lamar in mid-day. You could take a half-billion recalled salmonella laden eggs and make a giant inedible omelet on the streets of Austin on a day like this.


I have no tolerance for heat. My body doesn’t self-regulate temperature real well, and between that and my limbs that move like lumber, I struggle not to make everyone else as miserable about the heat as I am. Like most things that grind me down, I operate under the delusion that I can gift the folks around me with unrepercussive silence by refusing to share my suffering. This delusion is replete with crown and medals for stoic bravery and unbridled kindness.

I sat listening to an update on the “ground zero mosque” on NPR while waiting at a series of lights on my way to the school. It reminded me that, in addition to my intolerance of all meteorological phenomena that I disagree with, I also have no tolerance for other people’s failures to be tolerant. I’m a real Gandhi about accepting religious difference, a regular Albert Schweitzer about my fellow humans’ rights and liberty, a veritable Rich Little for echoing the multi-perspectival acceptance of relativism. However, I have no patience at all for other folks who flat out refuse an invitation to others for the same social privileges that they demand for themselves.

Rather than wait in the car, which quickly began to mimic a convection oven once the engine and AC was turned off, I entered my daughter’s second grade class. As if in some post-modern Deweyian mélange’ , I observed a quietly collaborative effort at clean-up being practiced by my daughter and her classmates, quickly followed by a few moments of Yoga to wind down from the day. The kids were awesome, unskeptical, eager and open to the newness of it all. My interpretive frame of intolerance seemed impossible to grok at that moment.

My son came bounding across the school’s lawn with the enthusiasm and swagger that only a fifth grader can evidence in a school that only goes through the fifth grade. The spastic sway of loopy arms cutting the atmospheric cauldron, the jangly shock of bounding wavy hair, and the broad smile on his face all worked to assure me that the day had gone well – that not only had he survived, but he had thrived and felt encouraged about his role in the universe. The car ride home involved a rushed verbal battle between the kids to please me with recounts of their many uniquely fascinating experiences at school, and specifically, examples of being in league with others learning.

While they both plugged into homework and snack, I returned to my earlier musings on intolerance. I’ve learned how to hate certain things. Stuff like heat and stoplights. Circumstances like waiting without a chair and standing in a check-out line. People who deny the science of climate change, stem-cell research and evolution. Groups who espouse cultural segregation and are satisfied with inequity in basic human and legislated civil rights. I’ve been a damn good student, given myself ribbons and trophies for “doing the right thing,” and gathering facts to avoid hypocrisy. Now, I really need to learn how to make sure my kids end up just like me, only way better.

(re)Imaging Family Folk to Memoir Mundane Moments

Museum Vs. Kids: an endeavor towards making Summer (more Visual/visible)

We bleat and clambour
Over all our eyes devour

Louder than they'd like us
From corner to corner

Our trust in color is industrious

This viewing is naked
Wide-open for seeing new

Headcold + iphone =