Month: February 2004

  • mwuahaha  Bush has an "Official Blog" (that's what it's called ) that's really nothing more a highly polished webpage (well, it does have RSS feeds, but you can't leave comments.  So how excited are we about that?!)


    Kerry also has a blog, the Kerry blog, that is a lot more fun since anyone can leave comments!  Even vociferous detactors (like sometimes me).


    If Republicans want to change their image of being too overly staid and detached, I'd suggest that they either drop the 'blog' bullcrap label or open it up to comments.


    I'd love to ask both candidates:  "There's a blog on your website.  Could you please explain what a blog is?"


    I've an inkling which candidate would have no idea.

  • Last Sunday I posted about George Bush’s abuse of science and the scientific community through its policy of ‘selective repression’ of scientific findings that it considers embarrassing to ‘sensitive issues’.  And, if you recall, I summarized the gist as:


    "This is akin to the White House directing the National Weather Service to alter a hurricane forecast because they want everyone to think we have clear skies ahead," said Kevin Knobloch, president of the Union of Concerned Scientists "The hurricane is still coming, but without factual information no one will be ready for it."



    "Blue skies, Nothin' but blue skies from now on …" (a la Willie Nelson). Oh, and don’t forget: it’s the calm Oval Office eye at the center of the hurricane that rules.  There’s nothing more sublime than looking straight up into the heavens to see nothing but blue skies while the rage of imminent destruction swirls everywhere else around you. (Actually, I’m not being sarcastic—that is the true beauty of an ultimate storm.)

    W E L L . . .


    Now the Pentagon tells Bush: climate change will destroy us


     


    (http://observer.guardian.co.uk/international/story/0,6903,1153513,00.html)



    I told you I wasn't being sarcastic.


     


    Look for this to become a major issue in the ensuing Presidential campaign.  Kerry has already acknowledged climate change as a real threat (even before the Pentagon’s doomsday report leaked above)—Bush has always been an adamant resister and repressor of such admissions.


    But let’s not just dwell on political mundanities.  Let’s think ahead:




    • When D.C. floods, where will the White House relocate to?


    • What will be the first state to totally get immersed? (my bet is Florida: last out- Eocene Period, 38 million years ago-, so first back under). 


    • And last, but not least, are the Xanga servers high up enough in some NY highrise to avoid going *glub glub glub* ?

  • These are the thoughts I can never write—or, if written, never share. How could I ever admit that I’m crazed beyond control just by the imminence of feminine energy? No, not just sight—though women always make the scene, for the spectacle of femininity has no compare. Nor just touch, nor soothing voice, nor enchanting fragrance. Though just light accidental brushing against women can thrill me with chills, and a woman’s unexpected whisper too near to my ear can claim my mind, and a girl’s blossomed fragrance ever compels me to fantasize myself as Pacino playing the blind Lt. Colonel in Scent of a Woman. Of taste? Don’t get me started—I can’t dare talk about that. Yet not one of these alone, or even the compilation of all, ever approaches—or even constitutes—the mysterious allure that female energy has for me, in and of itself.

    I’ve been on battlefields with spectacular histrionics, in fights of gallant kinetic involvement, awash in the ocean surf’s captivating and rippling rhythmics, at times soothingly intellectually massaged to my mind’s core. Immersed, engrossed, wrapped up, and absorbed in drugs, extreme sports, dark missions, far odysseys. No match. There’s no match throughout the abundance of all…to one moment of exposure to the vibrancy of a woman.


    So what comprises the source of this captivation? This magnetism which can be even empirically meager? This essence disembodied yet pulsing from the incarnate? So am I driven and ensconced in endless reflection…but reflection, like Narcissus, merely shows me myself. What Echo is there that I now long to hear, the actualization of which was clearly once near…but dispelled and now latent in reverberation’s valleys?

    Ah! Valley Girls, I ruse in response to myself. Probably as close with this answer as with anything else.

  • Well, my descent into Oblivion was interrupted by a domestic emergency.  The bathroom toilet's Fluidmaster fill valve snapped off with an ensuing flood of the floor, and this turn of events required me to terminate toilet service immediately and rush to the local hardware store to buy a fill replacement unit.


    Actually, the sight of the water gushing unmoderated out of the broken fill valve and beyond the rim of the toilet's tank brought to mind another passage from Samuel Taylor Coleridge's Kubla Khan poem sited two posts below.  Here's the relevant imagery:


    And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
    As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
    A mighty fountain momently was forced :
    Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
    Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
    Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail :
    And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
    It flung up momently the sacred river
    .


    Sacred river indeed.   No doubt that's why a toilet is often referred to as 'the throne'.


    Okay.  I'm getting my head out of the chasm (toilet tank) and heading out to soak up some sun on the run. 

  • Outside the pleasure dome it’s calm.  I’m now in a field called the Plain of Napalm. It’s precisely featureless and lacking even shifting shadows.  It’s the kind of place where you start walking in a straight line and end up instead in circles.  There is an unseen sponginess here, a near manifestation whispering: “Remain and banish all desire.”  I could.  I almost could.  Except that I sense that this inanimate sponginess exactly desires that.  My desires would no doubt disappear, but only because it would inorganically suck them out of me.  This place gives SpongeBob SquarePants a bad name.  It’s time to transpose consciousness, I guees.


      --nfp, still reporting from Oblivion

  • I am perfectly imperfect and on the verge of wilding into a cavern called Oblivion.  And in this cavern there is a chasm.  I see the edge.  I teeter.  I fall in.  And I understand:


    In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
    A stately pleasure-dome decree :
    Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
    Through caverns measureless to man
    Down to a sunless sea
    .


    Down to a sunless sea indeed.   Ah, but you say: “A pleasure dome, a pleasure dome!”


    But not by anybody’s chinny-chin-chin will it let me in.  Damn Kubla Khan and his private club klan.  I’m stuck on the shore of a lifeless sea with no option but to form my own decree.  So decree I shall, undaunted by this minor setback.  More to follow.


      --nfp, reporting from Oblivion

  • What gives you the right to just bust loose,
    turn on the juice,
    smack the world with your bizarro-ack attack?


    Who set you free to run amuck,
    burst forth unstuck,
    have havoc cry every time you whim to kick up muck?


    Why do you now want to change the game,
    set staid domains untame,
    decry all that has proceeded the flux of your breaking-news barrage?


    Ah, Spring, you freaky son-of-a-bitch,
    birthing clown flowers bursting forth here and where,
    spoiling my beautiful timeless ice fantasy,
    breathing pulse into utter inertness itself.


  • What bliss there is, is this:




    • Being more important to a special someone sometimes than to the rest of everyone ever.


    • The ability to still the mind, especially when it questions its own existence.


    • Music in one’s ears even when there’s nothing there to hear.

  • Come to think of it, s-t-r-e-t-c-h-i-n-g is a lot like changing your vehicle’s oil.  No, that doesn’t mean that you should stretch every 3,000 miles walked/run or change your oil everyday (though I suppose sometimes it’s behooving to oil up one’s body and stretch one’s mileage).


    Wouldn’t it be nice to have a Stretch-a-Matic that would stretch you out everyday in every which way just enough and no more? !


    Okay: now  s-t-r-e-t-c-h !  (Do it for me, if not for yourself )


  • Supplication to the Sun


    I could sit in the sun today
    without writing
    leaning against the trunk of a hemlock
    on a hill overlooking the quite bygone
    with my eyes closed
    contemplating nothing
    except the incandescence itself:
    drunken to the core this Sun,
    imprisoned only by the life that slurps it up.


    But how to share if I don’t scribble?
    A soul could babble with psychic export
    the intent of all creation and not another
    would likely sense, psychically feel the purport
    thus transmitted.


    So seize me, Sun,
    inspire my words
    so that during my brief span
    of earth-bellied fire I
    through them might too
    shine on.


  • 6 minutes.


    360  seconds.


    That’s all we’ll ever need.


    Because the Earth moves in space the equivalent of its own diameter in just 6 minutes.


    Delay an Earth-bound asteroid by 6 minutes and it will be off target for sure.


    Too bad the dinosaurs didn’t know that.

  • Just as the Patriot Act has become for the Bush administration the grid of implementation in restricting internal threats to America from a horde of potential hidden enemies, so too has this administration extensively devised an unprecedented intellectual grid to screen findings from the sciences for their ‘relevance’ to the its agenda.


    The difference is that whereas the Patriot Act restricts behavior in response to a demonstrated menace (I’m not here judging the merits of this Act, but no one can deny it was a response to very real threats),  the spin-policy on science that Bush has concocted and implemented  restricts the tradition of impartial across-the-board input from the sciences to government, regardless of the implications , that scientists throughout all previous American administrations had professionally invested in.  For Bush, the implications of science are now judged as “threatening” or “non-threatening”.  And any scientific work or findings, no matter how merited , that is assessed as “threatening” to “sensitive issues” is routinely undermined and subdued.


    An Investigation into the Bush Administration's Misuse of Science


    “A growing number of scientists, policy makers, and technical specialists both inside and outside the government allege that the Bush administration has suppressed or distorted the scientific analyses of federal agencies to bring these results in line with administration policy.”  So says the Union of Concerned Scientists, a diverse group of scientists both in and out of government, from all political spectrums, and with more than 60 of the nation's top scientists, including 20 Nobel laureates, leading medical experts, and former federal agency directors, as well as university chairs and presidents.


    You can read the actual report here:


    http://www.ucsusa.org/global_environment/rsi/report.html


    Or a news summary of the report here: 


    http://www.oneworld.net/article/view/79763/1/


    Both are rich with amazing details of scientific censorship and abuse.


    But the gist is this:


    "This is akin to the White House directing the National Weather Service to alter a hurricane forecast because they want everyone to think we have clear skies ahead," said Kevin Knobloch, president of the Union of Concerned Scientists "The hurricane is still coming, but without factual information no one will be ready for it."


    "Blue skies, Nothin' but blue skies from now on …" (a la Willie Nelson). Oh, and don’t forget: it’s the calm Oval Office eye at the center of the hurricane that rules.  There’s nothing more sublime than looking straight up into the heavens to see nothing but blue skies while the rage of imminent destruction swirls everywhere else around you. (Actually, I’m not being sarcastic—that is the true beauty of an ultimate storm.)

  • It used to be ‘summertime and the cemetery’ where I’d break free of a stifling ennui that would, from time to time take hold, and have me blog-tied in unprofessing conundrums.  But in the wintertime, I’m just not Nordic enough to always plop my ass on a pile of snow and lean laptopped against a tombstone colder than even the bodies down, down, down....


    So I’ve taken refuge this morning instead in a coffee shop.  And while writing at an actual table for me is almost comical, I’ll attempt to mesmerize myself into a prosing mood by imagining myself awash in an ocean of spirit beings, sunning on the beach and sand of a newly rediscovered lost nation...Idealand.


    Is that Idea-land or Ideal-and?  I don’t know!  Is ‘nowhere’ no-where or now-here?!  Does it matter where you are if you can lose all the nagging concerns and cares of yesterday and look upon the world anew?


    Mary was a little bland
    Her lips were white as snow
    And every thing that she would kiss
    With death began to glow.


    Okay, where the hell did that verse come from?  ‘Fess up: what/who out there just co-opted me with that nursery rhyme morbidity?  *reminds self that not all muses deserve a tryst*


    I deal land?  Realtorworld!   haha   And it’s all my intellectual property.  Except I eschew using the word ‘intellectual’ to refer to myself or anything of mine.  I’d rather be outtellectual in my outlook and live in the world instead of my head.  Or merge 'in' and 'out' into a form of meditation in action where instinct and intuition play as large a part in life as judgemental response and thoughtful consideration.  Let’s call it ‘wholeness +’: a sense of Jungian integration in the totality of one’s immediacy (which is 'the world' and which Jung calls 'individuation') fused with an indomitable lust for life and an ever state of readiness to react ‘however’ in pursuit/defense of this lust for life quest.  And even if onlookers remark that “that motherfucker is just crazy”, you don’t care because you’ve always gotten away with walking on thin ice, and you’ve never fallen, and it hasn’t cracked enough to swallow you up…yet.  And you proceed with the profound knowledge that in life 'yet' is all we really have ahead.  And you’re one with 'yet'...so far.

  • A letter to Xanga:


    Bob,


     


    This is nfp.  There is a flamer named 'jschlotz' who flamed my blog yesterday (the Cleopatra poem') and when I blocked him, he impersonated my blog by creating an 'inebriated_steve' blog and feigned, in comments on my post, to have 'me' flame 'him'.  My daughter, in her blog (Starrr16), had had trouble with him before and rejected his sexual advances.  Apparently, knowing that I am Starrr16’s father, he’s targeted me for some sort of ‘reprisal.’   The theft and impersonation evident on ‘inebriated_steve’ is unacceptable.  Please take whatever measures you deem appropriate not only to delete that post but also to identify its author as the same one of the ‘jschlotz’ blog.  I’ve a feeling that this sicko is just going to keep coming back in new blog forms if not blocked at an IP/ISP level.


     


    Thanks in advance,


    Steve--notforprophet


    Update:  No, Lady_Roxy, this jschlotz character (my daughter just referred to him as a 'stalker') hasn't been banned on the 'inebriated_steve' blog yet.  Rather, he's now impersonating a Xanga administrator and pathetically attempting to cover his violations by 'blocking' himself.  Apparently, he's thinks Xanga's a toy and we are his playthings.  First impersonating me and now impersonating Xanga--damn, this outburst must be the biggest thrill of his so obviously lonely life. 


    Continued Update:


    I just updated Xanga with this communication (slightly edited):


    Bob,


    This is Steve (aka notforprophet) again.  This 'jschlotz' character is now impersonating a Xanga administrator in trying to cover his violations on 'inebriated_steve'.


    I reacted to him rather vehemently yesterday, moreso because he had stalked my daughter previously than because he had became a pain in my blog.  I'd much rather you guys deal with him.  I'm quite capable of defending myself with strident rebuttal, but really don't want to continue to grapple in that dark linguistic alley with a sicko like this guy.


    Thanks.


    Final Clarification: Xanga (Bob) was the one who posted closure of the impersonation site, so there actually was no 'impersonation' of a Xanga admin, just of 'me'.  Sorry for the confusion.  Bob is recommending that I file a police complaint so that they can subpoena Xanga and track the culprit (jschlotz): 


    "The best solution is to file a complaint with your local police department
    and have them subpoena Xanga for information on your harasser. Sadly, I
    respond to several subpoenas a week here. The police can reach me here at
    premium@xanga.com or just fax the subpoena to me."


    Actually, that would be little trouble for me, all things considered.

  • Sailing under a sundogged sky
    upon a dream  bereft of the importance of self.


    (I’m in love with Cleopatra;
    She’s in love with the Nile.)


    Side-stepping scorpions in the sand,
    Sidewinding dunes that might be mirages.


    (I’m in love with Cleopatra;
    She’s in love with the Nile.)


    Playing like Osiris under the stars,
    drawn on by the sparkling gaze of Isis.


    (I’m in love with Cleopatra;
    She’s in love with the Nile.)


    If but the deluge of passion in my heart
    could flood her risen beauty.


    (As her beloved river
    overflows the land she rules.)









  • Nothing has been, nothing will be; everything is, everything has essen
    ce and presence.Nothing has been, nothing will be; everything is, ever
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    rything is, everything has essence and presence.Nothing has been, noth
    ing will be; everything is, everything has essence and presence.Nothin
    g has been, nothing will be; everything is, everything has essence and
    presence.Nothing has been, nothing will be; everything is, everything
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    g is, everything has essence and presence.Nothing has been, nothing wi
    ll be; everything is, everything has essence and presence.Nothing has
    been, nothing will be; everything is, everything has essence and prese
    nce.Nothing has been, nothing will be; everything is, everything has e
    ssence and presence.Nothing has been, nothing will be; everything is,
    everything has essence and presence.Nothing has been, nothing will be;
    everything is, everything has essence and presence.Nothing has been,
    nothing will be; everything is, everything has essence and presence.No
    thing has been, nothing will be; everything is, everything has essence
    and presence.Nothing has been, nothing will be; everything is, everyt
    hing has essence and presence.Nothing has been, nothing will be; every
    thing is, everything has essence and presence.Nothing has been, nothin
    g will be; everything is, everything has essence and presence.Nothing
    has been, nothing will be; everything is, everything has essence and p
    resence.Nothing has been, nothing will be; everything is, everything h
    as essence and presence.Nothing has been, nothing will be; everything
    is, everything has essence and presence.Nothing has been, nothing will
    be; everything is, everything has essence and presence.Nothing has be
    en, nothing will be; everything is, everything has essence and presenc
    e.Nothing has been, nothing will be; everything is, everything has ess
    ence and presence.Nothing has been, nothing will be; everything is, ev
    erything has essence and presence.Nothing has been, nothing will be; e
    verything is, everything has essence and presence.Nothing has been, no
    thing will be; everything is, everything has essence and presence.Noth
    ing has been, nothing will be; everything is, everything has essence a
    nd presence.Nothing has been, nothing will be; everything is, everythi
    ng has essence and presence.Nothing has been, nothing will be; everyth
    ing is, everything has essence and presence.Nothing has been, nothing

  • Update, Sunday morning: The mobile blogcam proved viable last night, so today it goes into action at Lady_Roxy's birthday bash.    Actually, look for it here first around 4 PM (EST) and thereafter as (and if ) appropriate .  But be patient: normally it feeds off a blazing T-2 type cable hookup, but on the road it will be sputtering along on my 100 kbps Sprint satellite phone.  So the motion may not be quite like the ocean; perhaps more akin to King Kong grabbing Fay Wray.


    ~offline for now y'all~
    ~look for it here *in-blog* when on-line~

    ~or click here if not using IE Explorer~

    The nfp mobile blogcam (the very first and still probably one of a few of its only kind in the world!) is going out tonight for a cruise. I'll be on-and-off here, testing, tweaking, recharging batteries, reconnecting as necessary througout the night. ha Do me a favor and let me know it this even works!




    ~mobile cam on shoulder strap, mobile laptop cam server on back in backpack;
    wireless laptop (other) in hand with slight time-delayed 'live' feed~

  • succubus


    She came to me last night, again, like a nymph teasing trysts, and said:


    "You have just three wishes, then I must vanish."


    "Just three?" I protested.


    "Just three.  So go ahead."


    And I replied:


    I want to *kiss* to *kiss* to *kiss*
    and writhe with passion in your embrace.
    To *kiss* yet more and pull the cover of bliss
    eclipsingly over the cuddle of us
    so that we may incandesce imperiously in our own tenderness,
    yet appear as no more than a wee far-cast twinkle
    to any gimlet searcher seeking out bursting novas
    as some divine sign of redemptive brilliance.
     
    I want to pulsate as a delving pulsar would
    into your invoking, involving, inescapable imminence.
    As if you were the black hole at the center of my universe
    (even though you are the very light that illuminates angels'
    wings).
     
    *kiss* *kiss* *kiss*  ...  (until the waking reappears
    )

  • I was 'going to'  (as if, now that I look upon the blog below, I don't ) rant today about Valentine's Day and the hyped significance thereof.  


    Oh the commercialism, abominably yes.  And the ridiculous accolade of any single day as an "official day for lovers". (Never should we dare to love unofficially? huh? And what if I dare to love you ever-always without the intrusion of a day's division to sever the wildering torrent of our runaway romance?).  Even the insulting dimunition of a stud renegade kick-ass god like Cupid into some chubby, mischievous tyke. (Some god of love, Cupid: Cupid even brought proud Apollo, the god of reason, to his knees. First he launched a gold-tipped arrow at Apollo, who fell for Daphne. Then he pinged Daphne with a lead-tipped arrow so she would be repulsed by him and run away. He was a real son-of-a-bitch!  Hell, often he would screw the pretty girls himself much sooner than play some silly game of matchmaker.)


    I've always put all such crap aside with the utmost disdain.  And would rather ask myself instead: "If I am a wolf, what day is this?"  And answer: "Another day to howl, to range, to explore, and to care with wolving love for all that's mine." 


    I lament only that there's no full moon to howl at tonight, and leave you with this link: the true history of Lupercalia  (the holiday of Valentine's Day before it was hijacked and tortured into Christian subservience).


    Oh yes, by the way, Lupercalia and lupus (wolf) share the same root...and some of the same raw purifying energy.

  • Good morning, sunshine,


    I followed the star trails right into daybreak and found you. And so now bask in the sweet, warm glow of you.


  • ~snarl on a sunny (yester)day~


    ~the ugliest tree in Dreamland (cemetery)~

  • I don’t know if I enjoy this self-visualization :


    I run up hills like a horse
    not on all fours,
    but rather intrepidly.
    instinct is
    not to look down
     or up,
    but straight
    ahead with my
    intent, yet to let my eyes
    dance all around
    (as if to catch sight
    of stars falling from the sky).

  • My goals for today were:


    1)  Get stronger.
    2)  Get faster.
    3)  Get thinner.
    4)  Get richer.
    5)  Get wiser.


    My accomplishments so far:


    1)  Slightly.
    2)  Marginally, on the last lap.
    3)  Foodless so far.
    4)  Unmeasured. Probably a draw.
    5)  Off to ponder this.

  • Dangled then entangled
    And only the internet to blame.
    But I want to make love in my extranet world.


    Though verse should issue from me like a devil sprouting horns,
    The perverse posture of having much too much to say
    Has allowed the cat to catch my tongue.


    Dats whide I’md tawkin like dis.


    So I’ve opted not to run today (I’ve run out of time)
    But merely sit in my vehicle, drink a beer,
    And stare at the nude woman ghost standing at my passenger door,
    Waiting for me to let her in. 
    I point my finger at her and chastise:
    “Without a body, there’s no sin.”
    “No sin?” she mouths most silently, “No sin?”
    Her eyes are tortured, lost, confused.
    “I’m an alien deathmonger from the star called Satellite,”  I lie.
    “I’m on a mission to rematrix the genome of disbelief.  So sorry I can’t let you in.”
    “Oh,” no voice says, with just lips moving, and then she turns away.
    “Nice tits for a ghost, by the way…” I call out to her fading phantasm.
    *poof*
    Flesh and blood, baby. Flesh and blood.

  • Restless like a monk waiting for his head to be shaved,
    Defiant as a tiger chewing on the steel bars of his cage,
    Wary as an icewalker knowing today’s the day the ice cracks,
    Hopeful as a skywatcher looking to discover the killer asteroid first,
    Resolute as a bear going for the honey despite the stings,
    Brilliant as the inventor of an invention that invents other things,
    Horny as a eunuch dreaming of all he’ll never have,
    Healing as amazonian entheogens administered in a salve,
    Fateful as a faerie knowing that doomsday’s the end of all.

  • Am I insane?  For the past hour, I've felt like (the eidetic image of, popping into my mind) LeBron James, 19-year-old phenom of the NBA.  Something about an incredible sense of exhiliration, something about smiling like wonders will never cease, something about spoofing like I'm king for-the-day.  And I wasn't even athletic today, didn't run at all--still at an unincremented 20 miles (of the Dreamland circuit) for the week. Still...


    Something's different.  I 've a sense of shake and change, the eternally internal moment of rearrange.


  • ~an ancient battered faerie upon a child's grave~



    ~man-sized wreathing~



    ~critter slit~



    ~real and past time splashing~

  • Just about a year ago, I set forth three preconditions of approval for a war in Iraq:

    Just before ‘old style’ war is declared/engaged, if the American Administration is interested in my full support, I’ll require:

     

    1) A
    convincing presentation of some of the evidence that the Administration
    says it has ‘proving’ that Saddam still has the lethal weapons that
    he’s used in the past but now disclaims ownership of.

    2) A
    general explanation of why insurgency and guerrilla warfare efforts
    encouraged and supported by our Special Forces were and would remain
    ineffective alone in toppling Saddam.  How much time, money, and effort
    were spent?  In other words, did we really make a genuine effort to
    avoid a conventional war by pursuing this alternative?

    3) An
    account of intelligence attempts to assassinate Saddam and why they
    have failed.  How many attempts were made?  How many of Saddam’s
    doppelgangers (doubles) were killed instead?  How many of ‘our’
    assassins were compromised or lost their lives in these attempts?  In
    other words, did we really make a genuine effort to avoid a
    conventional war by pursuing this alternative?


    Well, the Bush Presidency has failed on all three counts.  On the
    contrary, the best-ever-handled President (with largely unseen
    political handlers at the reins) has proven to be a ruthless expediter
    of whatever and only what is politically advantageous to his
    Party.   I hereby spit on his forehead and demand his
    ouster.  

    Couldn't we just leave the White House vacant for
    four years?  Let the ghosts of past Presidents residing there take
    control?  Employ trustworthy pyschics to convey the instructions
    of what the communion of Presidential ghosts want to be done?  I
    hear B. Franklin clamoring for a White House bash with lots of fine
    wine, women, and song.  And G. Washington just whispered to me
    that he wants to be protrayed with a contemporary hairdo on the one
    dollar bill.  T. Roosevelt just  suggested, a la Janet
    Jackson, that all future male Presidential candidates drop their pants
    and flash their balls--he's convinced  that none of them have
    any.  And T. Jefferson  is crying for a presidential decree
    to declassify all matters of alien visitations and alien-gleaned
    scientific knowledge. 

    And that would just be Day 1 in the
    'Ghostly White' House.

  • A special 'nfp repost' (or deja vu: it's Groundhog's Day again )...

    A few simple Groundhog questions:

    Why does light bring continued darkness?
    And darkness, supposed light?

    On February 2nd we find the coincidence of many holidays: the Christian Candlemas (Feast of the Purification of the Virgin Mary) Day, the modern Groundhog's Day, the pagan celebrations of rebirth (Imbolc and Oimelc), and St Brigit's Day (Ireland). And they're all related! There's a re-aligned tie-in, too, of the Roman holiday of Lupercalia (modern St. Valentine's Day) since the Feast of Purification and Groundhog' Day were celebrated by the Eastern Orthodox calendar and some Ozark folks on Feb. 14th , and many pagans consider the current Candlemas Day (Feb. 2), the Feast of Lights, to be a pagan version of St. Valentine's Day anyways. So confusing! (For a stunning analysis of the all these intricate holiday tie-ins, check out Candlemas: The Light Returns)

    But back to riddle at hand....

    According to an old English song:

    If Candlemas be fair and bright,
    Come, Winter, have another flight;
    If Candlemas brings clouds and rain,
    Go Winter, and come not again.

    According to an old Scotch couplet:

    If Candlemas Day is bright and clear,
    There'll be twa (two) winters in the year.

    Why so? Because Candlemas day is a cross-quarter day in the pagan calendar, six weeks between the solstices and equinoxes. And according to pagan beliefs, the cross-quarter days can be used as 'inverse' weather predictors, whereas the normal quarter-days are used as 'direct' weather predictors.

    So face it: Punxsutawney Phil is a pagan (naughty groundhog pagan!) utilizing the presence (or absence) of sunshine to create a detectable shadow (or not) from which he inversely makes a prediction! No sunshine, (no shadow), winter's at an end! But sunshine (and shadow), six weeks more does dismality send!

  • Is 7 miles a travail?   Hardly. Yet it’s more than a ‘mini mini marathon’.  Well, it was in the high 20s (F.) and almost festively sunny here yesterday.  Hell, that’s a tropical anomaly compared to nearly the whole month of January’s teenage and younger digits dreary deep freeze.  Consequently, I finally got to run again on dry pavement, without gloves, and felt the sun baking me with its miraculous incandescence.  I pretended, thus pampered, that I was running in a desert in the Southwest in the summer and feeling cool despite the torrid onslaught from a solar cindering furnace. ha  I think I even got a bit of a suntan!  



    ~atop~




    ~within~


     


    IFILM features Real Player/Windows Media Player/Quicktime Player versions of all the ads from yesterday’s SuperBowl here.    Although small in format, I prefer to view them online rather than on tv.  I truly dislike the the tv programming concept of ads punctuating viewing (making the SuperBowl the ultimate 4-hour plus milk-job). My clear favorite is Pepsi: Purple Haze (Jimi) .  The only others I liked were Bud Light: Fergus, Bud Light! , Budweiser: Yelling Like a Ref, and Pepsi: Thirsty Grizzlies. 


    The rest of the ads, to me, seemed lame and bland.  ha  An estimated $180 million was spent for adverstising time during the Bowl and the post-featured Survivor show.   hrmm...  I wonder how many Renoirs, Matisses, and Rodins I could purchase with a bundle of cash of that magnitude?!

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