Real friend test

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Skin flick

Do you need heart or guts to watch this video?

Bird eat bird

Today is Haloscan's big deadline. Either start paying for their service or get dumped. Screw them. I have been wanting to switch back to the Blogger commenting system for years but, oh no, Haloscan didn't offer that option. Undoubtedly, part of plumping up the user base in hopes of getting acquired and/or eventually discontinuing the free service. Yes, I could have reverted to Blogger's default widget template at any time thereby (probably) deleting them in the process but didn't want to make work for myself so good. Delete me. Adiós assholes.

And while I am on the subject of good sites gone bad, WTF Technorati? Seems Corporate also decided to castrate this once saavy interconnected site and turn it into a top-down-one-way-maze leading to the inevitable craphole advertisement. Fuck you too, Technorati.

Okay then.

And while I am on the subject of predator and prey, a small hawk recently claimed the Bird Park as his personal hunting ground. He is eating the little birds and leaving disturbing feather piles in and under bushes and trailing across the yard in tell tale testimony to successful captures. Just yesterday he swooped by my window after some poor fellow who probably did not get away. The Bird Park is on the brink of becoming yet another Nevada ghost town. The magpies still come about 7 am but they just grab their peanuts and go and though, at the moment, the little birds are braving death for a quick breakfast, they don't stay long. I really miss watching them throughout the day. Now, more often than not, I just look out at the fence and ugly roof line of the neighbor's horrible house. No movement, no life just another dead suburban moonscape. While I really resent corporations who suck the life out of things, I don't blame the hawk. He is not obsessed by profit and control but, between him and the fat neighborhood cats who saunter by after breakfast to play lion, there is not much joy in the Park. It's sad. I'm wondering if the magpies might chase the hawk away or at least challenge his hold on the place. They'd hang around if I feed them more. They scream at the cats. Of course, they also eat finches. It is a bird eat bird world.

The pigeons don't bother anybody but the neighbor on the other side of the fence but he died last month so that's something anyway. His widow doesn't give a crap about the outdoors. And the quail keep to themselves and are very fun to watch. They too are plagued by hunters, mostly the babies, but that's in the spring. Talk about sad. I get instantly attached to the tiny fluff ball babies following their parents around like a little train winding around curves after the engine. Last year the hunters gobbled them up like popcorn. What are ya gonna do? We are all food for somebody no matter how I wish it were NIMBY.

Blue Moon New Year

The photo is from Beaver Dam Wash. We don't go there anymore. The one road in washed out. Only the moon goes there now.

Mexico revisited

I needed a graphic today

and ended up going through my photos for hours.
After that, I felt pretty useless.



Three of Cups, reversed.



Maybe I'd feel better about myself

if I were an Escritorio Publico

but my customers would have to speak English.

Mexico is a beautiful but sad country.

On this particular trip, M. Lee drove 10,000 hard miles



and I took 10,000, mostly blurry, photos.

The rest of this batch is at flickr.

Robohamster

Ladies and Gentlemen, and children of all ages.....

Meet Robohamster from ekai on Vimeo.

Here on earth

The gulp of magpies just left after a quick breakfast of peanuts and cookie crumbs. We picked out the chocolate. Bad for birds. They came late this morning, after the longest night. The regulars will return throughout the day. The rest go I don't know where, wherever magpies go on their winter foraging route. The way they shoot up from the east at day break like a fighter squadron, I like to think the Bird Park is their first stop.

Writing is a tough job. For me. Seems words prefer a different part of my brain than that part I use when writing them down. Writing makes me self-conscious. Critical. I have given it up ten million times ten million times. Still the words want out so I write again and the process repeats itself. At this moment, I loathe myself for being so analytical. Welcome to my morning.

It is a lack of faith. Not religious faith. Screw that crap. No need to explain further. After all, this is, for the most part, a time lapse conversation with myself and I already know what I mean.

I wrote one poem while in Costa Rica and plan to submit it to The Midwest Quarterly. Their listing in Poet's Market states they are looking for poems that use "intense, vivid, concrete, and/or surrealistic images to explore the mysterious and surprising interactions fo the natural and inner human worlds." We shall see.

I hope your morning/day/night is going well. The winter solstice is among my favorite times of year. End and beginning. Darkest night. It is not just a moment but a season. It's message this year? Lighten up.

Happy Winter Solstice

photo via Story Midwife

Maybe the Moment with voice

I have been a fan of Ken Nordine, master of Word Jazz, since high school. Anyway, at 89 he is still doing wonderful things like this video which he posted on youtube last spring. It is not only funny, strange, poetic and lateral as always, it is actually poetry, and not because it is rhymed. It is poetry because, well, it is a poem, a rare bird these days.

Maybe the Moment with voice


And speaking of birds, hawks and eagles are beginning to arrive in the Carson Valley which is a wintering ground and nursery. One pretty little hawk has taken to hanging out at the Bird Park but he's a real party pooper. Everybody takes off the minute he arrives. The neighborhood cats also hunt here, fat bastards. The magpie alerts me when they show up, lots of squawking, but they don't have much to say about the hawk. So it goes.

Magpie Snow Day Breakfast

Maggie and her tiding enjoy a breakfast of toast and peanuts in the Bird Park after a night of snow. Little wonder "gulp" is one of the names for a group of magpies.


PS. I'd appreciate hearing from you if you happen to know the name of the composer of the piano piece. I would like to add the attribution. I didn't note it at the time and now I've forgotten. 

Issa and Thoreau on compassion

No human being, past the thoughtless age
of boyhood, will wantonly murder any
creature, which holds its life by the
same tenure he does. The hare in its
extremity cries like a child.
...............................- Henry David Thoreau




All the while
I pray to Buddha
I keep on killing
Mosquitoes.
...................- Issa

The squirrel that you kill in jest, dies in earnest..- Henry David Thoreau