Edgewise

All Points Bulletin!

2010-04-11T17:03:00.005+02:00

It was a poem, and it went something like:

The years were climbing over him like wee, red ants.

WHO WROTE THIS? HOW DID IT GO?

Google is worthless sometimes.

Yes, it's my birthday.

Don't worry.

I swear I can only see one ant from here, and it looks quite friendly.

Opting Out

2010-03-25T18:40:00.002+01:00

It was sad, but I took it as laid back as I could. I didn't have much choice if I wanted to leave there with my sanity. They asked me, and I had to admit, it wasn't like I didn't see it coming. It was what I'd call a drawn out demise. Loss of a partner more than a year ago, no "action", no real contact at all. No sense of purpose. In the end, the pain was just too overpowering.

But what a day. Over an hour in that unpleasant office, trying to block out the sounds of people "getting to the root" of it. All I really felt at the end was numb. And to top it off, when I got home and wanted comfort, what did I get instead?

"I don't want to hear about it. "

Was that helpful? He may be squeamish, and there WAS a lot of blood, and I admit I've got thicker skin having been there before, but come on. He can carry a bit of the load. After all, I was the one with the tooth.

The Slugs are Marching One by One

2008-07-17T14:41:00.003+02:00

Every evening 'round about dusk we spend a delightful half an hour collecting "Killer" slugs from on and about the potato plants. Unwilling to sink to their level, we carry them down the hill and release them to rejoin the multitudes slithering upwards, wave upon slimy wave, to feast on the forbidden fruit of our labours.

Why, why, why?

2008-04-14T10:25:00.004+02:00

Looking within for the initial motivational desire behind any given action leads inevitably to an expression of infinity.

Scribbler's Block

2008-02-12T00:35:00.000+01:00

There are millions of things I've never written anything about. Why not just pick one of them? Shrimp, for instance. Or band-aids.

Sam shrimp hurried along, trying to recall which of the Urchin twins was colour blind. Was it Urma, or Ulma? Left or right? Silly creatures, both of them, but this was beyond silliness. Insisting he'd been boiled! He was as green as the rest of the school, he was sure of it, even if he only could see the end of his tail. He pinched two of his legs harder against the band-aid he'd found and swished through the waves towards Cooper's Wharf. He'd show her pink!

There. Both.

Hail to the New Year, cough, cough.

2008-01-02T12:50:00.000+01:00

Nimble fingers flee.
The plague's last, rasping shadow
settles on my voice.

I. B. Alive

2007-11-30T12:25:00.000+01:00

Oversized bites of life in an (in some respects) undersized mouth.

Easy Does It

2007-09-30T13:21:00.000+02:00

I don't want to rush into anything here.

Anybody watching? No? Okay then.

One,

Two,

Two and a half. . . . . .

Fercrissake. I'm such a wuss.

Dislocation

2007-07-07T00:25:00.000+02:00

If I'd known what a lousy driver my inner self was, I would never have handed over the steering wheel. Of course it was interesting seeing where I really wanted to go, but that was before the accidents, and the parking tickets. The going got so rough there a while that I closed my eyes, and now I can't even find my way home. Do you recognize me? Know my address, perhaps? Oh well. Nice meeting you, then, and don't take offense at my godawful honesty. I didn't used to be like this. Really.

No Longer a Gonout Backson

2007-06-21T19:38:00.000+02:00

Returned from Baltic Island, relaxed and redder. Almost all the vegetables have behaved themselves in my absence.

Right. Write.

What?

Don't blame me.

2007-05-31T17:05:00.000+02:00

It's Toast's fault. I wasn't going to say anything at all.

Good Morning.

2007-04-27T11:12:00.000+02:00

"There is no such thing as Friday."
Who said that? She opened her eyes.
Lying beside her on the bed was a bureau with one long row of small, flat drawers. It looked familiar, though she couldn't remeber where she'd seen it before. She squinted to read the labels, punched out in plastic label-tape and placed perfectly symmetrically below each handle. Sunday. Saturday. Friday. Thursday. The other three were too far down the bed to make out.
"There is no such thing as Friday."
The voice came from beyond the bureau. She couldn't see anyone, but the air looked less dense there than usual. It was sparkling. Small specks of dust, or whetever they were, danced outwards towards the open window in an appealing, beckoning way. She smiled. Why not? It was Spring! She began to untangle herself from the bedclothes, feeling light as air herself. Suddenly, a harsh sound sliced through the room. The dust specks froze. The bureau expanded before her eyes. She felt the weight rush back into her arms and legs, and her head was pressed down against her pillow. She grabbed the bedclothes as the bed slowly tipped, and the huge drawer labeled Friday slid open and swallowed her. Inside was the alarm clock.

Here You Go, Ma'am.

2007-04-20T20:02:00.000+02:00

A rare Liberty Steak and a small portion of Freedom Fries.

Salutations!

2007-04-14T09:56:00.000+02:00

The first fly of spring rounded the house, turned left at the open window. and dove into my sleeping ear.

Further fly tales to follow. Among others.

Yum. Smoked Porridge.

2007-03-23T09:43:00.000+01:00

I am writing a story. Hours flow like minutes, and minutes like seconds. Thus my shortage of posts. Thus my sporadic visits. Thus my burnt breakfasts.

You can run, but you can't hide.......

2007-02-28T20:02:00.000+01:00

Bloody blogger caught up with me at last, and refused to let me post or edit without switching to a google account. So now I can't open comment windows, and posting a comment on my own blog (without windows) took an eternity, and I don't know who to yell at about it. That this should hapen on a day when I was all prepared to post about the approaching threat of mandatory tracking devices in cars adds a certain poignancy to my irritation. It's a good thing our children are quite old now, because when this country gets rid of currency in the favor of credit cards and all purchases can be traced we will not be able to travel at all without comprimising our integrity and will be forced to bicycle wherever we want to go. In wide-brimmed hats, to avoid satelite detection. After having dug out our micro-chip implants.

Positive Thinking

2007-02-11T12:00:00.000+01:00

I am grateful for each one of those eleven degrees centigrade we had in our house this morning.

Hoj hoj!

2007-01-31T17:19:00.000+01:00

Back from the hospital with the hole in my belly all sewed up. I resemble a 135 degree angle while walking, and once I sit down I'm not likely to get up for a while, so perhaps I will make this blog worth visiting again. After all, I've got a three-week imposed vacation.

Fluff or nuffin'

2006-12-14T21:31:00.000+01:00

We bought a cider press. WE BOUGHT A CIDER PRESS! I've always wanted one.

Work Load

2006-11-17T16:06:00.000+01:00

In the early hours of this morning, unable to sleep under the pressure of all my tasks and obligations, I had a lightening and enlightening thought. Rather than seeing everything as mine, my job, my housework, my duties, I let the weight slide off me and onto the things that need doing. The work belongs to them, not to me, and when I am not actively doing any of it I don't have to be burdened. Phew.

Silences

2006-10-21T21:39:00.000+02:00

This one is of the darker sort. Someone died quite suddenly about two weeks ago. While the air is lightening, I'm still not my chipper self. Priorities rearrange themselves. I have a revelational post pending as a result of all this, however, so don't give up yet.

I'm It!

2006-09-15T18:14:00.000+02:00

I've been mystically tagged. Feel free to consider yourselves tagged or untagged, oh ye who read.

I was an insatiable reader until my mid twenties. I haven't read much since then, since other things became more compelling.

Disclaimer: This list is limited and by no means fully encompasses the tagee's interest or exposure. It's a clue, though.

1) A book that changed my life: Crime and Punishment. I couldn't read further than a bit after the murder. It was far too convincing. I still suffer from occasional dreams of having murdered someone and knowing that I will innevitably be found out.
2) A book that I've read more than once: Practically every book I've liked. Most often would be a tie between "The Last Unicorn" (though I haven't read it for about twenty years now) and Ursula LeGuin's "The Left Hand of Darkness".
3) A book I'd take to a deserted island: Like Sidhe, a blank book. And a hell of a lot of scrap paper and yes, a hundred fine point pens with specifically black ink. And a dictionary, if the blank book didn't use up my one wish.
4) A book that made me laugh: Any and all Wodehouse. The first book that made me laugh out loud was "The Once and Future King" by T.H. White.
5) A book that made me cry: I can't think of one. Funny, considering I cry embarassingly easily during films.
6) A book I wish had been written: The one I probably should have written by now.
7) A book that should never have been written: Easy. The bible. It was never intended to be a book. What Jesus conveyed was living truth (as is all truth) and should have spread by way of contact, not by paper.
8) A book I'm currently reading: None, but I sure wish I was rereading Neil Gaiman's "American Gods", absolutely the best book I've read for years and one of my favorites period.
9) A book I'm planning to read: "High Fidelity", because I like the film and because my son just borrowed it from the school library where they don't have late fees.
10) (my addition) A book I recommend that people probably haven't heard of but should absolutely read: "When I was Five I Killed Myself" by Howard Buten. http://www.amazon.com/When-Was-Five-Killed-Myself/dp/0743423003

There. That was fun.

Direction?

2006-09-11T10:13:00.000+02:00

We flounder,
hoping our eyes will be open
the moment
our present tidepool
connects to the sea.

Oh No!

2006-09-08T10:04:00.000+02:00

You must be starving! It's been over a month since I dished up anything juicy here. I'm admittedly running around like a decapitated fowl, picking and pickling, freezing and jamming, saucing and storing, but THAT IS NO EXCUSE!

I will improve. I promise. I have a post or two simmering on a back burner. If I don't forget to stir them they should be ready to serve soon. Bring a bib.

I did this:

2006-08-06T18:30:00.000+02:00

to these:

without warning. They were a bowl of cucumbers, now they're pickles. I am very happy.

They did this:

2006-07-06T16:29:00.000+02:00

to these:

without warning. They were cherry and plum trees, now they are an acre of stumps.

I am not happy.

The Rain Got Held Up In Customs

2006-06-12T20:26:00.000+02:00

It's beastly hot and dry,
I'm thirsty,
And I've got no time.
Thus the silence.
Thus the distraction.
Thus the pathetic
Attempt at
Refreshing poetry.

Doesn't even rhyme.

Dirty Knees

2006-05-27T12:11:00.000+02:00

My neglecting this blog is no longer due to overly intense schoolwork, for which I am very pleased. Now I'm out planting and weeding. I'll post on the next rainy day.

Dichotomy

2006-05-09T22:43:00.000+02:00

Relief and exhileration come with the sudden awareness of my reduction to a small point on the planetary surface, surrounded by the universe.

Pictures

2006-04-18T23:55:00.000+02:00

On the other blog.

Innuendo

2006-04-09T15:31:00.000+02:00

The Blog wasn't very old. She'd been born a bit over a year ago, in a flurry of labour pains and admiration. She'd found her legs almost immediately. She may not have been one of the most attractive blogs on the internet, but she was quite proud of her appearance. She'd never let herself go. Black suited her, and even though it wasn't exactly original she felt that she carried it off with an individual flair. And she had just the right number of visitors, without being crowded, and they were faithful, each adding his own dimension to her decoration. Her days were filled with excitement, and variation, and creation. She'd thought it would be like that forever. Of course there were periods of inactivity, but they just added to her atmosphere, gave her an artistic, moody nuance, provided that little something extra that allowed her to hold her font high even among the more prolific or popular blogs.

She'd been wrong. The golden age had gradually lost its glow, and the stream of visitors had dried to a mere trickle. Lately, the long hours in cyberspace were all alike. She'd taken to napping to make time go, and her moments of lucidity were fewer and further apart. When she did wake up, she did little more than leaf through her archives. Why check the post list? She hadn't been renewed for weeks. Once in a while she thought she felt someone click against her surface, but they never did more than scroll down to the comments counter before clicking away again. What was the point of it all? Awake, asleep, it hardly seemed to matter. In her darkest moments nothing seemed to be more than a collection of ones and zeros.

Today was different. She was asleep as usual, but this time she was dreaming. It felt good. It felt just like the old days, the gentle tickle of a new pattern spreading across her draft page, her eager, tentative preparation of a new date and time, the certainty of visits, and complements, and maybe, just maybe, that practically religious thrill of someone linking right through her. If only it could be true! If only the dream would last! She imagined that she stretched, and scrolled, and let her fresh white text shine. She was once again a part of that great body of thoughts and thinkers , an integral link in the chain of being and becoming, a vibrant longing towards a new and better tomorrow....this was life! She was loved! She was appreciated!

The Blog shivered. She rolled over, pulled her template tighter around her, and drifted off into a deeper and dreamless sleep.

Sim Reality

2006-03-11T11:16:00.000+01:00

Instead of pecking our way out of an egg, let's say we are all together in an expandable bubble of sorts. Each original (own) thought we have inevitably moves the thinker a step further out from the center of the bubble, stretching the membrane and causing it to become tighter in other areas to compensate OR causing it to create new "cells" to increase it's circumference and maintain equilibrium. After each stretch, all of mankind shifts about a bit, and applies equal pressure to the outside edge again. Because the bubble is situated on a surface, it moves slightly in the direction of the shift when weight is relocated in the bubble. Depending on the nature of the age, people are looking in different directions, and different numbers of them are at the outside edge. In some ages, most people are looking back at what's been done, that is towards the center of the bubble, and not a lot of expansion happens, and in fact the bubble can actually shrink. In some ages, people are looking at themselves, concentrating on their own standing room, and very little expansion takes place. In some ages, practically everyone is looking around for someone who's doing a lot of pushing, and crowds round to push in that direction too. The bubble rolls around a lot then, but not much else happens. There are lots of directions to roll in, but the surface is limited, and has an edge all around which we really don't want to roll off of.

If everyone were to awaken and push against the membrane in his or her own direction at once and continually (which is what one hopes for), the density of this bubble would decrease to the extent that we would lift from the surface and fly.

How strange am I?

2006-03-07T21:55:00.000+01:00

I like unsweetened peanut butter and dijon mustard sandwiches with lettuce.

Sprocket!

2006-03-05T12:36:00.000+01:00

I happened upon a cook book: 1,001 LOW-FAT VEGETARIAN RECIPES: 2nd Ed.By Sue Spitler.
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1572840323/002-9173490-6694466?v=glance&n=283155
It has nutritional information for each recipe.

I hope you turn up and see this.

Appreciate The Timeless Wonder

2006-02-27T23:21:00.000+01:00

We've just ordered seeds for this year's garden. Soon our best-lit windowsills, and the window-shelves crafted for this specific purpose, will be covered with newly sprouted plants. Tomatoes, squash, corn, and melons, getting a head start inside, will crowd out the potted house plants. I don't think I'll be truly satisfied until we grow or gather everything we eat.

I am a Wanderer

2006-02-21T19:14:00.000+01:00

I do my best thinking on other people's blogs. I guess I am more of a reaction than an action lately.

In which Jeanne opens an e-mail account and adds a new link at the right

2006-02-16T19:37:00.000+01:00

In case anyone wants to speak more privately.

I am Here.

2006-02-07T19:03:00.000+01:00

It seems I delude myself into believing I am straddling a multitude of alternative universes, each one the nexus of a choice or decision I couldn't fully make, but slid into. I ride along, believing I can rewind to that hazy, ambiguous point and start again from there. It's quite a handicap. Why do junctions come and go so quickly?

To (almost) Everyone's Immense Relief....

2006-01-30T20:55:00.000+01:00

I've started a Picture Blog. No one has to go to it, no one has to comment on it. You may, but you don't have to. It's called Around and About, and I've got a link to it over there on the right. The only pictures that will appear on Edgewise will be illustrations. You can relax. Everything will be back to normal in no time.

Another One.

2006-01-29T19:34:00.000+01:00

It's the trees as much as the sky.

A bit blurry...

2006-01-26T16:52:00.000+01:00

But what the hell.

Where there's a Way, there's a Will, right?

2006-01-22T20:51:00.000+01:00

I'm supposed to be studying. I'm supposed to be getting up, seeing the children off to school, eating a healthy breakfast, and settling down to a full day of school work. Monday to Friday, week in and week out, for the next 5 1/2 months. The machinery of education is oiled and ready, and the necessary money is being supplied. The courses are even relatively interesting. But what am I doing?

I've started playing a TV game for the first time in years. I'm trying to finish up a poem. I'm reading the seed catalogue and planning this year's garden. I'm experimenting with our new camera. I'm doing a good deal of nothing.

One week has already slithered down the drain, and I heard the satisfied clunking sound the sink made as it went. God help me, I hope it's not hungry for more.

A True and Amazing Story

2006-01-13T16:02:00.000+01:00

It was the middle of winter, in the days just past Christmas, about 23 years ago, and my boyfriend Steve and I had hitchhiked from Massachusetts up to his family's house in the country near Burlington, Vermont. We were staying in the attic, where all of his belongings were. One day, when we were alone at home, sitting at the kitchen table for a late breakfast, we noticed smoke. The attic above us was on fire. We tried to call the fire department, but the phone line ran through the attic and was burned off already. Steve found a ladder outside and leaned it up under the attic window, and turned on the garden hose. He told me to run down the road to a neighbor's house and call the fire department. I took off and ran the half kilometer to the nearest neighbor and rang the door bell. There was no one home. I tried the door, and it worked to open, so I went in and called. I went out again and ran back up the road to Steve. He was up on the ladder spraying water in through the window he'd broken. A few minutes later the fire engines came, and Steve climbed down to me, a bit burnt, very black and sooty, and coughing. We couldn't do anything more, and were not allowed near the house by the firemen, so we hurried back down the road to the neighbors house to call Steve's dad at work and to wash up. When we got to the house, we tried the door. It was locked. We couldn't get in. We walked the quarter kilometer further to the next house, but no one was home there either. There were no more houses for four or five kilometers after that. We turned back towards home, but were picked up by Steve's dad who'd heard about the fire on the radio and understood that it was his house. When we got back to the house the fire was under control. The firemen said that if they'd gotten there a few minutes later the entire house would have burned down. The only reason it hadn't, it turned out, was that by PURE LUCK the neighbors hadn't pulled the door shut well enough that morning so that the automatic lock snapped into place. I had pulled it shut as I left.

Everything Steve owned was destroyed in that fire, and all that I had with me except for my swiss army knife, which was a present from Steve. It had lain on the floor, and the red plastic on the top had melted a bit and become charred, but had retained its shape. I have it on the desk in front of me right now. Anyone who visits me may see it.

A Closer Look

2006-01-10T20:02:00.000+01:00

Sweden Through Our Front Window

2006-01-10T17:22:00.000+01:00

I didn't take this one, but 'tis good enough, 'twill do.

Guess what we got for Christmas...

2006-01-02T19:30:00.000+01:00

Click! A family portrait. We were visiting. I am at the far left.

I am an Instrument of Fate

2005-12-14T16:21:00.000+01:00

I had an appointment with someone today in her office, a place I've been several times before. I crossed the street and started up the block her entrance is on, and passed a doorway with a sign for something else. I walked on, but saw no other doorway until I reached the end of the block where another wrong doorway was. What? Could it be in the next block? I looked ahead, but there were no doors in the next building, and then the street ended. Was I on the right street? Confusion reigned. I went into the music shop I was in front of and bought something. I considered asking for a phone book to check the address, but it was too crowded, so I went back out and walked BACK down the block, past the last wrong door, and all of a sudden, right there in the middle of the block was the door I was looking for. A big door, with a big, white sign. IMPOSSIBLE to miss. I went up, bemused and disgruntled. We talked, and as I prepared to leave she looked down at the bag I was carrying from the shop I'd gone in to. Oh! She'd forgotten to buy tickets at that store for a concert later this month! How lucky that I had reminded her! I told her about the door, of course. She had a right to know.

They keep shooting in the dust behind my heels.

2005-12-09T11:53:00.000+01:00

My theory is, the more crap you have to deal with, and the more individualized it is, the less time, energy, and inclination you have to raise it to a general, philosophical level and share it with your fellow bloggers. Rather than performing alchemy, I'm stuck dodging lead.

Nope.

2005-12-07T23:20:00.000+01:00

It didn't work to write anything today either.

Oh well.

Archeologists. Humph.

2005-11-21T08:57:00.000+01:00

I have a hard time believing that today's archeologists can manage to dig up informative items from the past when they can't even manage to dig into a comment section.

Holy Matrix, Batman!

2005-11-10T18:11:00.000+01:00

I was given an article from Science, a review of a book called "Microbial Inhabitants of Humans" by Michael Wilson. Did you know that there are ten times more bacteria colonizing a human than the number of human cells in the body? It knocked my socks off, anyway.

The Return of the Thinker

2005-11-04T17:37:00.000+01:00

We have to become aware of a role to realize that we are conforming to it. We fall into a lot of roles without even realizing we're doing it. We aren't responsible for this, because there is only choice when there is realization. I've known two people in my whole life who seemed immune to roles, and equally unable to recognize them in others. EVERYONE else has had to struggle with them. Many roles seem innocuous, because they are default patterns in a family, or a larger group, or a whole society, but they carry the implications of a lot of attitudes with them. Unlike the followers of social psychology, which I think is a bunch of rubbish, I don't think it's just a question of using one of the multitude of available roles. I think it is possible to live as a creative being, true to oneself (that real self that is the essence of our beings, not the conglomerate self we've built up over the years). But unless we have the peace of mind to each find the voice that IS speaking in us, we won't have anything to hold up as a contrast to all the patterns we've been trained to follow, and we won't be able to see them. Some societies (no names mentioned) have a lot more background noise than others, making it harder to hear that voice.

This Blog has been Hijacked

2005-10-28T10:07:00.000+02:00

The "situation" down in the last comments section has been rectified. We paid those bone-diggers to do a better job than that. Don't bother looking for the pants, they're history. To hell with culture. That rabble-rouser can google us in Las Vegas, if she can stop shivering long enough to get those chopsticks out of her nose.

Pinch Me, Someone

2005-10-17T10:17:00.000+02:00

1.) The local archeologists (bless their trousers) have placed a constraint on the development of the field in front of us. Anyone wanting to build there will have to foot the bill for a major excavation first. Of course, there were rules against developing there already, because we live in a cultural-historically protected area, but the local officials, misguided in their greed, were trying to weasle their way past them. No offence meant, any weasles who might be reading this.

2.) We have lots of apples to store over the winter, but we lacked good racks to put them in. We could have nicked some bread racks from outside of any food store, but honest as we are, we've refrained. On our way in to our favorite second-hand store, I hoped to find some bread racks there. There have never been bread racks there, but I hoped anyway. Lo and behold, upon the shelf were no less than 7 bread racks, calling out my name in sweet harmony.

3.) Our dog insists on sleeping under the stairs in the "closet". Each time I sort through the cast-off clothes and the mending, and sort it into paper bags, he eagerly digs around and builds a new bed there, destroying any semblance of order. "Wretched, shedding cur!" I howl (though in Swedish), and sort through it again, too kind hearted to deny him his creature comforts. This time I decided I could take it no more. Cost what it may, I was going to procure those clever plastic boxes with the snap on lids, 31 liter size, and deter his nesting instincts. He can sleep on a blanket like all the other dogs in the neighborhood. I seized the add page from the department store in town, and what to my wondering eyes should appear but the very boxes I coveted, at half price!

4.) I said we had apples, and we do, but we almost didn't. We pick fruit in a 14 acre abandonded apple orchard, but this year it was defoliated and defruited by some nasty insect as far as the eye could see. On a whim, I wandered into a distant, inaccessable corner, and it was Christmas in October. Way up at the top of a steep hill were apples enough for our own needs and all those I usually pick for. Joy abounded.

Added to all this is the fact that the cucumbers have succumbed to frost and finally stopped growing, along with the tomatoes and beans and plums. Phew. I was getting a bit worried there. But I cannot help but wonder how so many things can go right at once. Am I dreaming?

Serenity

2005-09-17T20:31:00.000+02:00

It might be the cucumbers that are continuing to grow despite the chilly nights. It might be the stirrings of autumn, or the fact that I'm finally feeling well again after two weeks of coughing my lungs ragged. It might be our general luck in finding what we need. Who knows. I, for one, am hoping it's a widespread shift in the weight of the world, or a door opening somewhere. Any one else feeling it?

Confucious Says

2005-09-14T20:27:00.000+02:00

Beware of engaging in long discussion with people living inside of imaginary houses. After carving away at answers to fit them through imaginary doors, meaning is unidentifiable, and does no one any good.

Oops.

2005-09-06T11:41:00.000+02:00

Aunt Nettie pointed out that I am a grump. I told her that I'd been sick. I told her I've had two other sick family members to look after. I told her my peas have a virus, and the kitchen's a mess, and my nose is stuffed up. She merely tightened her lips and looked at me. A breach of etiquette, it was clear, was a breach of etiquette. There could be no mitigating circumstances. Amends were called for, and promptly.

She's a tough cookie, Aunt Nettie, even if her gentle tongue gives no hint of it.

What Did She Mean?

2005-09-04T00:13:00.000+02:00

Don't read this unless you've already read the previous post and are scratching your head and worrying that maybe, besides being one of those pushy, politically correct anti-racsist pests, Jeanne is also a presumptuous, judgemental and conventional religious soapboxer.

Well, she isn't. At least, if she is she's got me fooled. She was describing global warming. She was drawing a clever parallel between the state of our ruined earth in the oh-so-near future and the description of biblical hell. She may not be able to handle the constraints of 55 words, but apart from that, she's the same old Jeanne she always was. Really.

Superflash (55 word short story)

2005-09-02T16:03:00.000+02:00

There are flames. Oh Lord, why didn't I believe? Heat, and mist, and people burning, and regret, from now on! Why didn't I repent? Stubborn fool! I chose my most immediate needs, the easy road, threw caution to the wind! One choice to make, and I chose wrong. Why didn't I sign the Kyoto treaty?

Aunt Nettie's Guide to Internet Etiquette

2005-08-25T20:27:00.000+02:00

When in doubt, emote! A little smile or wink can save a sticky situation.
Be positive! Remember, nobody likes a grump.
Answer your commenters. Let them know they matter!
Write regularly! Nobody will keep checking forever.
If you're irregular, pay a visit when you've found your tongue, and let them know you're back!
Welcome new visitors, and new ideas!

We're all friends on the internet!

All the News that's Fit to Buy

2005-08-23T16:47:00.000+02:00

In order to keep abreast of what's "happening" out there, I have to pay money for information. (That, on its own, is completely ridiculous.) I assume that the central news services charge in turn for their information supplies, having paid their reporters to gather it. Even apart from the more nebulous and nefarious forces that be and control the flow of tidings, the only information that reaches us is the information someone was willing to pay someone else to research and write down. Still, I carry a picture with me that is whole, if blurry, because it is far too exhausting to carry around a bunch of loose puzzle pieces that may or may not have proven to reflect some actual aspect of reality. I am a fool, but hopefully not a particularly dangerous one, because I'm aware of my foolishness.

Right. Back to business.

2005-08-11T20:07:00.000+02:00

Things seem a bit sticky these days. Doubt and distrust are worming their way into many lives. No one sounds particularly happy, except perhaps Steve, who is wise enough to avoid contamination.

I should be studying my book on healthcare and basic anatomy, but I'm not. I should be cleaning up. I'm not. I am going to perform the magic of baking a cheesecake, and letting it set and ripen overnight. We will see if that improves things any.

My dear, your tentacles are showing.

2005-08-11T19:59:00.000+02:00

Calling all martians!

2005-08-07T00:31:00.000+02:00

Gar hasn't said a word for months, and now brendar's blog has fallen off the face of the internet. I am worried. This world needs all the interplanetary interaction it can get.

And now for something completely indifferent....

2005-07-27T12:07:00.000+02:00

Grey, middle-weight skies
promise naught; no rain, no sun.
I tend the garden.

Truth despite Consequences

2005-07-25T21:53:00.000+02:00

I do happen to believe there is only one path. But that's irrelevant, because it presents itself to people itself, so there's no reason to harp on anything other than honesty. And the outward appearances of the path, or points of departure, aren't any issue either. We are all going in the same direction, or willfully in the opposite direction (though I've only personally met a few of those), or most commonly in no direction at all.

"That's what I think," said Pooh. "But I don't suppose I'm right," he said.
"Of course you are," said Christopher Robin.

An eye for an eye for an eye....

2005-07-24T22:23:00.000+02:00

If y'all wanna know what I think about crime and punishment, c'mon over to
http://hiddenblog1.blogspot.com/2005/07/hodge-podge-of-thoughts.html#comments .
I've been quite prolific, and I can't stand repeating myself.

It's BAD out there.

2005-07-19T21:57:00.000+02:00

I just perused the net, blog to blog, link to link. There are a lot of sick people writing anti-terrorist drivel and propaganda these days, apparently oblivious to the fact that they are being manipulated into a desirable frame of mind by the WORLDSTATE, with its headquarters in the US. Well, if any of you should happen to stumble across this, take warning. It's quite simple, actually. Each person is like you, and like your brother or sister, and like your child. You wouldn't do those things to anyone you'd ever loved, would you? Wake up.

People aren't who they think they are

2005-07-16T23:22:00.000+02:00

Some days I am overwhelmed by the actual nature of everything. This is a good thing. Very poignant. I don't know if I am different on those days, or if everything is more in harmony with itself and I (among others, I'm sure) happen to notice it. People's actions are straining in the direction of goodness, or truthfullness, or whatever that feeling is that appeals to me. Places are exactly what they are, and unique, and I want to see them all. Today was like that, at least in the middle. Very nice. I guess my batteries are charged now.

Internet Verité

2005-07-07T12:23:00.000+02:00

Does one, by one's mere presence as an observer on a blog, invariably change the nature of that blog?

Red Alert!

2005-06-28T18:41:00.000+02:00

We are entering a new dark age. Any and all published material of cultural or intellectual value will soon become unavailable. Libraries will be popularized. Museums will be without funds, and forced to close. Schools will be reduced to training areas for minimum survival. Intellectuals will be ostracized, apart from the few gathered in political monastaries and educated for specialized tasks.

Find a safe retreat, ensconce yourself with whatever remnants of human enlightenment you posess or can still scavange. Buy a hooded cloak, for they will know us by our eyes. Design symbols by which to recognize one another.

Time is short.

Negation

2005-06-27T15:45:00.000+02:00

May the bad intentions of others evaporate into the fresh air of a pure morning, and may all that loves them protect them from their own idiocy.

Now you see it, now you don't.

2005-06-26T23:07:00.000+02:00

I'm very indecisive lately.

Happy Birthday, Heidi Holzer, if by some random twist of fate you should stumble upon this page. Any one else have a birthday today?

Today, I cried in public.

2005-06-09T21:39:00.000+02:00

That's not something I usually do. I was pushed beyond a certain limit, viciously and maliciously, by the "coach" of our class. Yesterday, we were to have a review of the entire course in preperation for today's test. This is a course, remember, on ethics and morals. Coach started off by saying that the test would consist of a number of questions, and to pass with the lowest of three possible grades one would have to get 50% of all the possible points. The highest grade would be based on the memorization of dates and other trivia. Needless to say, I got angry, because this was one day before the test and there hadn't been a single mention of dates, etc. But I sat there anyway for a bit, trying to calm down. When I really couldn't concentrate because of the rising sense of total frustration and impotense, I left the room and called home. On the way out of the building I realized we'd gotten a grade criteria for the course on the first day. I checked, and there wasn't a word about anything above or beyond mastering ethical problem solving, being familiar with terms, and being able to elaborate on the theory of ethics. Piece of cake. (This is a long story, but the background is necessary.) Well, hot tempered and self-righteous as I am, I burst back into the room and slammed my notebook with the criteria down in front of coach, interupting his coaching. I said that they couldn't change the criteria, and that since our entire grade is based on one test, that they had no right to demand irrelevant facts in order to get the highest grade, without having prepared us for it. He said to talk to the teacher. I said we didn't have the same teacher for the test as for the course, and that I didn't even know who it would be. He said that I was wasting his and everybody's time. I said I was really angry, although not at him. He said something vaguely considerate, and I left.

Today, after hours of underlining and innane memorization, I went to take the test. I was sitting, giving the book a final perusal, when coach towered over me in a menacing manner, and said that I had better not act like that today during the test. I have no intention of doing so, says I. You had no right to act like that with me, says he, with a glare and great gnashing of teeth. I didn't do anything wrong, says I, and the others have a right to know when they're being screwed over. Nobody does that to me, says he. You better not do anything like that today. I repeat myself, and tell him that I would never ruin the test for the others. Yesterday, I didn't ruin anything. He says how awful I am. I say how awful he is, actually, since he should have seen the disparity himself and pointed it out to the teacher(s). I say that it is unfair to base a grade on something that was not emphasized in a course. He says that that is my OPINION. I say, it's not an opinion, it's a fact. I say, that I've been nice to him the entire course, and not pointed out in front of the others when he has been stupid and wrong. I say, that he compromised a person's reputation (which is ethically dispicable and possibly illegal) in front of the class, but that I didn't point it out although the person he talked about is someone I work for (which he didn't know when he started to tell his antecdote)and I could easily have held him responsible for his slander. He says, of course, that he didn't do anything wrong, but he is obviously shaken. He attacks me once more for what I did yesterday, to which I reply that I won't do anything today, and that I'm not going to let his shit ruin the test for me. I walk away, happy to have kept my temper since I need to concentrate. He follows, and, in front of a good number of classmates, says that the whole class is worried that I will ruin the test for them, and that they all talked about it after I left yesterday. Purely vicious, since I'd already said three or four times that I had no intention, etc.,etc. I tried to combat his viciousness, and he twisted the situation around so that he could say I was already ruining things for all the people listening to me. I said that he had forced me to be upset, which I hadn't been until he'd said that about the others talking about me. He made scornful, pitying faces at me as if I were a psychological wreck. Others in the group started to defend him, not realizing that I'd already said I was a disarmed missile for the duration of the test. That's when I started to cry. Not freely, but obviously. I said to hell with the test, and the course, and turned to leave, but a co-worker followed me and listened to what had happened, and said that actually, they'd mainly felt sorry for me yesterday, and had been more concerned than angry. I managed to swallow my tears, and save them up to be able to write this. I took the test, which is another story. And now I want sympathy, in barrels.

Up in Smoke

2005-05-31T23:13:00.000+02:00

Dreams
markers
signs and divinations
fall,
combusting in a hidden furnace.
Remnants lose contour,
drift,
escape,
diffusing
into the atmosphere.

Matrix Inside Out

2005-05-25T12:13:00.000+02:00

Perhaps our bodies are all walking around down here, and our minds are sitting together somewhere else entirely. If I am a great physical distance away from someone here, on this rocky earth, perhaps I am right "next" to them there, and can thus communicate or be influenced/influence more directly. That would explain a lot of things.

Prediction

2005-05-19T23:07:00.000+02:00

One of these days, when all the various bloggers are done ruminating, we're going to simultaneously hoist ourselves up to another plateau ripe for exploration.

Then we can compare notes.

Paradoxically Enough

2005-05-12T21:25:00.000+02:00

Some days everything is hovering and hasn't decided where to land. Thoughts become fluid and formless, and run into each other and mate or metamorphisize before there is time to identify or harness them. There is nothing small enough to communicate.

Tales of the Unexpected

2005-04-28T23:07:00.000+02:00

I've had a bird shit on me three times in my adult life. The first two times were in the U.S.A., two different (possibly adjacent) years, in the same geographical location, exactly on my birthday. On my head.

The third time was in Sweden, another (possibly immediately subsequent) year, on my head, on the day AFTER my birthday.

The way I figure it, that bird went looking for me, couldn't find me, boarded a plane, travelled the eight hours it takes to get to Stockholm, flew the remaining distance, and delivered my blessing a day late.

It makes you wonder.

Bets, anyone?

2005-04-21T21:57:00.000+02:00

How long is Jeanne going to last in a mandatory class on morals and ethics, where the premise is that both of the above are relative to the environment of the individual?

Jeanne: I don't think it's right to say that certain brain-damaged people don't understand anything.

Teacher: I meant the really severely damaged ones.

Jeanne: You can say that they can't process input, or communicate, but you have no idea what they understand or don't understand.

Teacher: Well, of course, you treat them as if they were normal people. That's where the ethics part comes in.

Varsågoda

2005-04-11T18:57:00.000+02:00

In Sweden, it is traditional to bake a cake oneself on one's birthday, and to treat all of one's friends and relations who drop by, announced or not, during the day. It's my birthday today. Varsågoda, which means be my guests, and have a bit of cake. You'll have to bake it yourselves, but I assure you it's worth it.

Crystal's Carrot Cake 150¤ C, 300¤ F

4 eggs
1 3/4 (american) cups/3,5 dl. sugar (the plain white kind)
1 cup/2 dl oil, preferably sunflower or canola
2 cups/4 dl. flour (the plain white kind)
2 teaspoons baking soda
2 teaspoons cinamon
1/2 cup/1 dl. crushed pineapple, drained but not pressed
1/2 cup/1 dl. shredded (flaked?) coconut
3 cups/6 dl. grated carrot (well packed)
1 cup/2 dl. chopped walnuts (good, but not necessary)
(Sometimes I put in about 1/4 teaspoon of salt, too.)

Mix the eggs and sugar, add the oil, then the flour and other powders, and finally the rest. Pour into 2 greased and floured round cake pans, and bake in the bottom of the oven for 1 hour. Let it cool before you take it out of the pans, or you'll end up with carrot pudding, as Johan did on his last birthday. I was the one responsible for that mess, but I don't want to think about it until my cake's safely out of the pans.

Frosting:
1 1/2-2 200 gr./8 oz. packages of cream cheese, depending on how much you like, mixed with about 2-4 cups/4-8 dl. of powdered sugar (even less is good, too), and a bit of vanilla. Put this between the layers and over the entire cake. I do this frosting by taste, and sometimes I like it sweeter and sometimes less sweet. It's good whatever you do.

I should have posted the recipe last night, because this cake is even better the next day. But it's all right, because there's usually some left over.

I hope you enjoy it.

Dreams and Divinations

2005-04-06T09:42:00.000+02:00

"Happy is the man who cares not what he dreamed upon awakening"
-Jeanne

I had a disturbing dream last night. The strongest and most lasting image was of a shallow lake with clear water, which I walked along on a wooden path. The sandy lake bottom was covered with dead crows, the heads, wings and tails of which were intact but which had been plucked or eaten by fish in their middles.

I can't seem to let go of this image. I have the feeling I am walking through the day backwards, trying to interpret what's happened. I'm quite sure if I turned and faced forward, the dream would follow me if it was meant to, but my uncertainty bogs me down. I think I'll go outside and try to cast it to the winds. This doesn't feel good.

Rock Bottom

2005-03-22T22:01:00.000+01:00

The sanctioned murder of a brain-damaged woman.
More doors to hell
reopened.

Perhaps they're being examined by aliens

2005-03-17T22:35:00.000+01:00

As a young lass, nigh on forty years ago, I was occasionally tortured by a children's program called "Romper Room". I was a generous viewer in general, but "R.R." was way over my threshhold. The only thing I remember from the program, beyond the deathly boring general ambience, is how the adult female leader of the group of emotionally and intellectually mangled children would pick up a hand-mirror at the end. The mirror was, or became, hollow, and she would stare out through it into the tv camera, saying, "I see Johnny, I see Susie, and there's Jimmy, and Ruth, and Davy..."

Well.....

I don't see Greggy, I don't see Joey, and where's Amber, and Alison, and....

It's odd how these things come in rashes. Perhaps it is an alien invasion.

Deep and Dark

2005-03-08T16:19:00.000+01:00

Black holes aren't all they're cracked up to be.

If I am

2005-02-28T17:30:00.000+01:00

a nerve synapse in the brain of the unhatched chick that is humanity, perhaps it is today that my spark will launch the next peck at the shell that seperates us from the unknown.

Or maybe I'll just give the other synapses a good laugh.

High Cue

2005-02-25T00:05:00.000+01:00

Tonight, the kitchen looked
Half clean, and not half dirty.
Dare I check the hall?

Figments and alliterations

2005-02-20T23:37:00.000+01:00

are all you ever get from me.

Theme and Variations

2005-02-20T22:37:00.000+01:00

There are a few blogs I read regularly. They would be listed here as links if I could figure out how to do it. As it is, they aren't. I find it unlikely (and in one case impossible) that these bloggers have read each other's most recent work. And yet, almost all of them have something in common RIGHT NOW:

Children.

One blogger has realized she is at peace with the possibility of procreation, another mentions the perils of childbirth and its prolonged effect on a parent's life, another plans for his progeny's literary perusal, another posts an actual birth proclamation.

What mechanism of fate, or message of media, is to be held responsible for this?

Haiku I too

2005-02-20T21:21:00.000+01:00

Trudging my way home,
I make prints in more new snow;
My morning tracks, gone.

Mouse Tales

2005-02-13T22:27:00.000+01:00

I wrote a letter to someone this evening who is having troubles with mice and is using the WRONG KIND OF TRAP. It became a story, in Swedish, which I rather liked, so I translated it into (slightly stilted) English. I could do better if I spent more time on it, but here it is, in both languages. It is entirely true.

En Sann Berättelse om en Mus

När mina föräldrar bodde i Sverige, hyrde de ett äldre hus med många fina äppelträd på tomten. De njöt, och samlade äpplena i förråd i ett ouppvärmt rum i huset. Kunskapen om dessa äpplen spred sig som en löpeld bland områdets möss, och mina föräldrar fick ofta besök under småtimmarna. Mina föräldrar känner, som jag, en stor generositet och medlidande för alla naturens barn, och hade mössen valt ut ett eller några äpplen att förtära hade alla kunnat dela skörden utan oro eller avund. Men möss har en stor aptit på livet och dess variation, och de nöjde sig inte utan att de måste smaka lite på alla äpplen. De gnagde på frukten lite här och var, och dessutom uträttade de sina behov till synes var och varannan minut medan och där de åt. Situationen blev ohållbar. Mina föräldrar, blödiga som de och jag är, kunde inte avrätta några möss om inte de var tvungna. De letade rätt på en ofarlig fälla som liknade en bur, och en efter en fångade de besökarna, som nog var ganska så trötta på äpplen, med hjälp av jordnötsmör och solrosfrön. De körde iväg med mössen till ett närliggande stall, där en mus mer eller mindre inte skulle ställa till några problem, och där det fanns ett garanterat matförråd att samla från urspillt havre och dylik. Det var frid och fröjd bland möss och människor.

Något eller några år senare befann sig min mor på Hötorget i Stockholm. Det var mitt på dagen. Det var, som alltid, mycket folk och liv och rörelse. På ett ställe, nära tunnelbaneingången, stod en klunga människor och tittade på något på marken. Min mor blev nyfiken, och tryckte sig in i mot klungans center. Hon tittade ner och såg, mitt i det öppna området framför sig, en liten och tydligen skrämd mus. Den satt och stirrade runt sig på alla dessa människor som stod i ring några meter bort och betraktade den. När musen fick syn på min mor, rusade den bort och ställde sig vid hennes fötter. Efter en mäktig stund av häpnad och under bland åskådarna kilade den vidare förbi henne och försvann genom ett galler.

Min mor, och jag, när jag fick höra detta, var övertygade om att hon bar på något för oss omärkbar sken eller doft som identiferade henne som Musvän par excellance. Hon hade tagit ställning, och det syntes. Om hon någon gång skulle finna sig bunden med rep och redlös, och synbart bortom hopp om befrielse, är jag personligen övertygad om att hon inte skulle ha något att frukta. Fanns det bara möss inom räckhåll, och det gör det ju alltid, vore hon snart den fria kvinnan hon har visat sig väl förtjäna att vara.

A True Story of a Mouse

When my parents were living in Sweden, they rented an old house with many wonderful apple trees in the yard. They greatly enjoyed the apples, and gathered and stored them in one of the house’s unheated rooms. The rumour of those apples spread like wildfire among the mice in the immediate area, and my parents’ home recieved frequent nocturnal visits. My parents feel, as I do myself, great generosity towards and compassion for all of nature’s children, and if the mice had chosen to confine their consumption to one apple, or even a few apples, they would have all been able to share the harvest with no element of envy or anxiety. But mice have a voracious apetite for life in all its variety, and they were not satisfied unless they tasted all the apples. They gnawed on the fruit here and there, and were, moreover, inclined to relieve themselves, every minute or so it seemed, just while and where they were eating. The situation became precarious. My parents, soft-hearted as they and I are, were unable to execute mice unless forced to. They managed to procure a cage-like trap, and one by one they captured their visitors, who were probably quite tired of apples, by means of peanut butter and sunflower seeds. They drove away with the mice to a nearby stable where a mouse more or less wouldn’t make any difference, and where there was a guaranteed supply of food that could be gathered from spilled oats and such. Peace reigned between mice and men.

A year or two later, my mother was in Hötorget, the Hay Square, in Stockholm. It was the middle of the day. There was, as usual, a crowd there, and a considerable amount of movement and activity. In a spot near the subway entrance, a group of people were standing and looking at something on the ground. My mother became curious, and pushed her way towards the center of the group. She looked down and saw, in the middle of the open space in front of her, a small and clearly frightened mouse. There it sat, staring at all those people who stood a few yards away in a ring, watching it. When the mouse caught sight of my mother, it rushed over and sat down at her feet. After a short but powerful period during which wonder and amazement spread through the crowd, the mouse scurried on past her and disappeared behind a grate.

My mother, and I when I heard about it, were convinced that she, completely unawares, exuded some sort of glow, or odor, that identified her as a Friend of Mice of the Highest Order. She had taken a stand, and it showed. If at any point she should happen to find herself bound by ropes, helpless, and seemingly beyond the hope of rescue, I am quite certain that she has nothing to fear. As long as there are mice at hand, and there always are, she will soon be once again the free woman she has proven that she deserves to be.

Changes

2005-02-09T18:01:00.000+01:00

I've always hated, with few exceptions, songs about music. I hate it when people in books say, "this is just like in a book". Yet here I am, talking about my blog on my blog. I will keep it short.

I've changed the name. I think the Interesting name, though interesting, was stoopid. Also, the word blog was in there. I would never say blue jean pants, or table furniture. I have allowed, even encouraged, this black and square space to metamorphisize into a wilder spirit with an ever so much more evocative name. The black of my pages now spreads out towards infinity. It is not confined. It slices rather than pounds.

I am no longer kept captive by the need to be of interest. I am merely perching here, and at any moment I may swoop off the page and alight elsewhere.

I am free.

Making Demands

2005-02-06T18:43:00.000+01:00

I could swear I'm walking around with my head stuck up my own ass. Sometime between writing the title of my last post and arriving at the end I completely lost track of what I was going to say. Intoxicated by my own fumes, perhaps? What I really meant was that I want people to say something about what they read here, and give me something to chew on that isn't my own cud. Comments. Comments are welcomed, comments are sought, comments are deeply appreciated.

Interactivity

2005-02-06T18:04:00.000+01:00

Some blogs have maps. Colourful maps of the world, with bright red dots on them to represent visits. At a glance, any one of us can see how many people have meandered across a particular little spot on the internet, and from whence they came.

Do you see one here? No? Not even a very small one?

No. On my blog, you must divulge your presence if I'm to know of it.

This is on purpose. I do know where to get those little maps. I could probably even figure out how to fasten one on here. I don't want to. One of the wonderful things about internet is its anonymity.

But....

I am inordinately curious to know how many people there are who do end up here. I can't find out on my own. It is all up to you.

Make a little passing mark.
Do it, if you like, anonymously.

I will be inordinately grateful.

More specifically

2005-02-05T22:57:00.000+01:00

No, just not lying is not good enough. Saying something true and saying the true thing that should be said are two entirely different things. I believe that there is something that should be said (or seen) in each particular situation. There are a good number of people I can't talk to at all because I'm not willing to say the thing that I need to say to them. It's always there on the tip of my tongue, making all other conversation impossible. Maybe that's like dragging my heels, and slowing down a process that I should be a part of but am too cautious (or cowardly) to initiate. Each thing that needs to happen is waiting where it left off. If this is true (and to me it seems so), then it's very encouraging. It is never too late. Alright, never is a pretty strong word. There may be points on the way to destruction that cannot be crossed without permanent damage, but I hope not.

On the other hand...

2005-02-02T16:09:00.000+01:00

As Johan has pointed out (with different words), some people's lies are like music, and their words don't hide the "true" melody. But I cannot lie comfortably, and don't intend to.

The Subject of Today's Sermon is.......

2005-02-02T15:47:00.000+01:00

Why I don't lie.
Actually, I mainly don't lie because, generally, I can't. It's not that I'm a bad liar. I did a lot of very successful lying in my youth. It just feels entirely wrong now. But, cerebral as I am, I have thought about what it might be that feels so wrong.

"The truth shall set you free". This quote is, I think, widely misunderstood. It is not the truth about "God" that sets us free, it is the truth about anything at all. Awareness of any particular moment's truth, or identity, allows us to resolve that moment as it happens, instead of brooding, and justifying or ignoring it, and building up entire world views that are (to reach into my ready supply of biblical quotes) built on the sand. Actually, we don't need world views at all. They are unnecessary luggage. The world is right here. All we have to do is look at it. The lightness of being that is the result of this immediate recognition and resolution leads to a search for truth in all moments. We are set free from our false constructions.

Each moment is like a seed with a pod on it, and we have the ability to remove the pod and see the seed. The purpose of the seed is to be seen, and let go of, so it can fall into the soil and grow. Instead, we generally look at the pod, and put it in our suitcases with all the other pods. We have a lot of compartments in our suitcases, and we spend a good deal of time and energy deciding which pods should be grouped together where. We tend to carry around an enormous weight with us across nearly barren ground, entirely unnecessarily, when we could be walking through a garden in which each plant is there to be examined at will. As far as all those old, accumulated pods go, there is no need to sit down and go through the contents of that suitcase before ditching it. Any necessary seed will surely turn up again in its own time. It would be a practicle impossibility to relive all those moments anyway.

And why wouldn't I lie, even if I could more easily? It would seem that every lie I tell someone is the equivilant of handing them an empty pod. It is a source of confusion, causing them to create a false image of reality that incorporates my lie. It becomes less likely that they will realize that the seeds are what is important. It becomes less likely that they will throw away their suitcases. I have no right to do that to anyone, even an enemy. I might be (probably would be) weak and lie to save myself or someone else, but I don't believe it would be the right thing to do. Well, maybe I could lie, as long as I told the truth afterwards. I'll have to wait untill I'm in that moment and see.

About time to give myself a good talking to

2005-01-31T17:27:00.000+01:00

Hey! Me! Come here! Yes, right here. To this blog. My blog. I can try writing something where I belong for a change, can't I? I mean, who do I think I am, exactly? Roaming the internet, cluttering comment pages, imposing on the hospitality of others and elaborating on or challenging their ideas whether they like it or not? And it's not exactly sweet nothings I whisper, either. Talk about know-it-all, demanding, depressing nothings. I mean, LIGHTEN UP. Hey! Take my hands off those keys! I'd appreciate it if I'd at least look like I was taking this seriously. And what makes me think they're interested in what I have to say? They have minds and lives of their own, and they were doing quite well before I came along. Boring? I think it's boring on my own blog? Lonely? Well, well, well. Who's fault is that? Write something interesting for a change, I mean, really interesting, and if that doesn't help, then I'll feel sorry for me.

Internettles

2005-01-30T17:29:00.000+01:00

They hurt, so watch out for them.

Creator Incommunicado

2005-01-27T06:23:00.000+01:00

My blog functions have been inaccessable. I was unable to write all day yesterday. That this would happen yesterday in particular is yet another of those coincidences in planetary life that bemuse and titilate me. I had time then, I have no time now. Certain thoughts have settled and may now never leak out into blogdom. We shall see. But I am alive and thinking, and will be back soon.