A flame is quietly wavering above the clear pool of melted wax cupped in the top of the stubby green candle on my desk. A new nova was discovered only a few days ago in the constellation Scorpius. It will be visible to the naked eye tomorrow morning just before dawn.
19/02/2007
Tonight
A flame is quietly wavering above the clear pool of melted wax cupped in the top of the stubby green candle on my desk. A new nova was discovered only a few days ago in the constellation Scorpius. It will be visible to the naked eye tomorrow morning just before dawn.
18/02/2007
Yesteryear's tombstone art
This photo is of an old tombstone in nearby Carson City. I took it a few summer's ago but polished it up today for your viewing pleasure.
Labels:
photos
17/02/2007
15/02/2007
Beat Baby #05 - Magic Carpet
Here's the latest in the adventures of Beat Baby and Hep. This episode took a long winding path to the fourth frame but it's finally done.
Labels:
The Arts
13/02/2007
Night without candles
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White Owl by asha |
_________________________________________________A STORY
by Czeslaw Milosz
Now I will tell Meader's story; I have a moral in view.
He was pestered by a grizzly so bold and malicious
That he used to snatch caribou meat from the eaves of the cabin.
Not only that. He ignored men and was unafraid of fire.
One night he started battering the door
And broke the window with his paw, so they curled up
With their shotguns beside them, and waited for the dawn.
He came back in the evening, and Meader shot him at close range,
Under the left shoulder blade. Then it was jump and run,
And a real storm of a run: a grizzly, Meader says,
Even when he's been hit in the heart, will keep running
Until he falls down. Later, Meader found him
By following the trail—and then he understood
What lay behind the bear's odd behavior:
Half of the beast's jaw was eaten away by an abscess, and caries.
Toothache, for years. An ache without comprehensible reason,
Which often drives us to senseless action
And gives us blind courage. We have nothing to lose,
We come out of the forest, and not always with the hope
That we will be cured by some dentist from heaven.
Berkeley, 1969
Czeslaw Milosz poetry
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