Torture Prosecutions

On the eve of Bush and Cheney's exit from office it is vital to remember that...

Silence is compliance.

Bush and his administration must be prosecuted for their war crimes, especially for ordering acts of torture. If we allow them to walk away from these criminal acts, we are as guilty in our cowardly silence, as they by willfully violating both Constitutional and International law.


torture Obama war crimes torture prosecutions

Notes from the crossroad

I am currently in the middle of what is shaping up to be my yearly new year's office re-organization. Last year's attempt, while a good start, didn't quite meet the projected goal. It is still frightfully congested in here. Adding a desk did not magically result in one open surface. The new space quickly became as cluttered as all the others. I could have told myself that last year. Did. The only problem was I wasn't listening. However, this year I tweaked the concept. Reduce surface space. Reduce opportunity for chaos. Here's how it works. Toss out two tables. Replace with one cheap, small computer desk. Add one bookshelf. Move shit around. This time it is going to be different.

Anyway, just thinking with my fingers. Talking to myself. Technorati puts this blog in 1,150,716th place. Dismal. That makes the language barrier a very tucked away corner of the digital multiverse, much like a tiny corner table in a noisy, overcrowded coffee house with steamy windows and an anything can happen, don't know where this is going, crossroad of the world feeling.

I have to stop now. I'm meeting a guy in Reno in a couple of hours to discuss a tiny newsletter type thing I'm going to be working on now that I'm back, provided I don't lose my left hand. If I am reduced to a one-hand-hunt-n-peck, I would probably be a little choosier with my time at the keyboard. Swirling around the event horizon would but probably, remain high on the list while public service work could drop a notch or two. I just jammed a seam ripper about a half inch into the fleshy part between my thumb and hand. Puncture wound. Deep. A full force flaying of the flesh that would be impossible to do intentionally. I have little interest in being a fall on my sword hero. I doused it with everything in the bathroom. It doesn't look like much now but it did some mighty throbbing in the beginning. Already, I'm thinking HOOK!

Typewriter to Bookstore

Going to finally finish that manuscript this year? The Digital Marketing Team at Macmillan threw together this little video to enlighten us all on the next step....

A publishing story

03:37

Growing up moose.

Tara & Bella

Here's a happy story about a very odd couple:



Note: Video begins with a LOUD obnoxious 30 second commercialso, before starting the video, turn volume off.

Evening in León

Sometimes the camera does catch the mood of the moment. Or enough to remember it by. In any case, this is one of my favorites. And just to be clear, I did not tweek any of these photos, in any way. The light and colors appear exactly as they were, which really amazes me because they were so theatrical and painterly.

Evening in León - Nicaragua

It was one of four.

Bob Wilkins died today. :(


Nicaragua Leon evening street scene

Hand out

Mary Mungummory waits for her daily hand out at the kitchen door while inside Paloma the dog takes advantage of the distraction to search for scraps on the floor. But, in spite of this apparently homey scene at Monty's Surf Camp, Jiquilillo beach is no animal haven. There, as elsewhere in Centroamerica (and the world) injured, sick, starving, often homeless animals are not only systematically neglected, they are abused. As for the precocious Ms. Mungummory, I have no doubt that one day soon it will be her body roasting on the flame.

It is a bother to notice them. And it is an even bigger bother to actually do something to help one of them. Plus, everything excuses our indifference... poverty, religion, tradition... an indifference that is enshrined in the slag of specieism. But nothing makes it right.

Bird Park blues

Baby Woodstock, summer rescue
The first day of the new year still hangs in rear view mirror but soon it will fade from view like all the others. Today, outside my window, I watched a hawk capture a small bird and carry it off. The Bird Park used to be a refuge for the little guys but last summer was a tipping point and since then it's become a regular hunting ground for the scavengers. Even cats make the rounds. Life. Everyone's food for someone. Except for a few morning peanuts, I stopped putting out food for the big birds but, in the two weeks we've been home, it's clear the word is out.

Today, I feel like I'm on the downside of everything. I don't really like being back. I feel very isolated here but here we are. I know the mood will pass but the fact will not. Anyway, I've been adding a lot of photos to my Centroamerica album on flickr if you're interested.

New Year, 2009

Meet Sweet William, the newest member of the troupe. His origin is shrouded in mystery. All we know is that he crossed the snow-covered mountains of Montana and the vast desert region of the Great Basin to join us, a gift from my son and his lovely wife. No doubt about it. Sweet William is a charmer. Heartbreakingly sweet. Everyone loved him instantly, but tricky old Uncle Monkey had an apple up his sleeve and claimed the honors.

So...
here's to a saner, healthier,
more peaceful future for all
inhabitants of planet Earth
from all of us here at the
Language Barrier & Invisible Theatre.

Come on. Visualize Peace.

Quirky Christmas

Photos from the Petén region in Guatemala, gateway to the ruins of the great Mayan city of Tikal.

I was especially taken by the absurd beer tree perched on the highest point in Flores, the tiny island town where we stayed while visiting Tikal. This island was once the home of the Itza and the site one of the last independent Mayan kingdom, Tayasal. Naturally the Spanish eventually got around to destroying the place, along with the rest of the Mayan world, in the name of god and king. Then went broke.

Guatemalan snowman
where once the mighty Mayan Spaniard stood.