knowing that i’ll never know is knowing all i need to know.

you came

you saw

you absconded

with my heart no longer intact

i have come to rely on instinct, wit, and intuition alone

to complete the dirty work of reconstituting a living

trusting that the shadow of a cloud

is not the cloud itself

while realizing that a cloud hasn’t much intrinsic value

even at that.

Why '8'?  It's already on 'the Chart' (Oxygen).  I would have designated HU as '0' - to represent the numinous ethereality of heart-soul.  But I bet Dow was anticipatingly sensitive to a criticism that designating HU as '0' would indicate that they considered HU to be 'nothing', 'worthless', 'zilch'.   Hence, in the interest of good PR, they have here propagated a snippet of bad science.  Just as in the interest of profit, they have in the past, prostituted good science.  Still, a rather captivating and atypical ninety seconds of elementalism here.

FALSE DAWN: A few nights ago, photographer Rob Ratkowski stood atop the summit of the Haleakala volcano in Maui under a velvety, star-strewn sky. Daybreak was was only moments away when a pale glow lanced up from the eastern horizon--but it wasn't the sunrise, it was the Zodiacal Light:

Above: Zodiacal light silhouettes an observatory dome atop Maui's Haleakala volcano; a 3-minute exposure on 800-speed film by photographer Rob Ratkowski.

Zodiacal light is sunlight reflected from countless tiny grains of space dust orbiting the sun. These grains are sprinkled among the orbits of the planets, making a vast dusty pancake as big as the Solar System itself. For people in the Northern Hemisphere, the next two months are a great time to see Zodiacal light because the dust band is oriented nearly vertical at sunrise. Says, Ratkowski, "I was amazed how bright it really is, washing out the stars within its glow." 
 - spaceweather

A 'vast dusty pancake'.  We live and love amidst a vast dusty pancake sprinkled about.  ha!

Are you killing me?

Are you killing me?

My conclusion: Yep, you're killing me.

* dives from status of 'pontificate-on-high' to lowly 'man with no-name who's got plenty of nothing'

And it ain't the first time I've been underground either.

Did you hear?  They demoted Pluto to a “dwarf planet” today.  It’s not one of the planets in our solar system anymore.  I don’t think this was a deliberate insult to Pluto per se as much as a delicate reaching out to dwarves, a much-neglected segment of our society.  Following suit, look for them to demote Mercury to a “midget planet” next.  By the way, are munchkins from Venus or Mars?

I’m traveling to Ottawa, Canada next week to obtain some work-related training at the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) College.  Can anyone tell me if those boys like to party or not?

Does it really cost $96 a day to feed oneself in Ottawa?  Because that’s what the State Department affords travelers like myself.  And they stipulate that if you spend more than 3 times that limit that you will then have to justify your expenses.  If it is really that expensive to eat in Ottawa, then I expect I’ll see a lot of poor thin Canadians strutting around.  Lord have mercy.

Still running (I am).  Is it any surprise?   I suspect I still have enough in me to complete my second virtual lap around the circumference of Earth before I revert ever more to walking.  Ha.  One of my personal challenge fantasy-visions is to run a marathon at the age of 100.  In Antarctica.  After (projecting future global warming) some of that ice has melted and there’s exposed virgin terra firma to dance upon on again.

"He who does not trust enough will not be trusted."—Tao Te Ching, 23.  No, I'm not preaching, just reminding myself.

My speculation, pure on-the-sidelines speculation, about the JonBenet Ramsey murder case and John Mark Karr's confession:

1) He isn't guilty.
2) He isn't insane or even a total kook.
3) He isn't confessing just as an act of self-promoting publicity, otherwise know as seeking "15 minutes of fame".

Rather:

1) He calculatingly postured to get arrested and is confessing because, in some strange way, he really does 'love JonBenet' and
2) He fully realizes that, even though he's found not guilty of her murder (as he expects), he will have suceeded, in the media, of turning a 'cold case' into a 'hot case' again, and
3) After his acquittal (if he's even charged), the media will continue to ask: "Well, then, who really did it?", keeping the case 'hot' and forcing authorities, in response, to revamp their investigation. And thus John Mark will have achieved his goal of total media manipulation, self-seen as an act of his 'love', in the pursuit of the true murderer of his pedophilic fascination, and thus
4) He sees himself as sacrificing his reputation, and perhaps even submitting himself to incarceration (for related charges of false report) and liability for the court costs, 'for her'.

Makes you stop and wonder what some people consider as their 'love' and what they will do for that 'love'. 

I'm tempted to reveal the 10 most deepest, darkest secrets of my soul and the 10 most hurting vulnerabilities of my heart and the 10 most defunct, defective dysfunctions of my mind.  Here.  But only for 10 minutes exposure top.  Then swoosh 'em away.  One a day.  Over the next 30 days.  At totally unanticipatable times of the day.  In a manner that will not be viewable through email subscription (just a technical detail I will not bother you with) lest someone think they can catch up via subscription without paying attention.  A form of Russian blog roulette, if you will.  And if you read, you watch me shoot myself in the head.  Otherwise, I flush my deepest dreads into cyber-oblivion and thus catharize my hurts forever more.  Yes, I'm tempted.  Bang.  I live.

I have come to believe that sanity consists of little else than being able to assure yourself, most of the time and with a high degree of self-found probability, that the rest of the world collectively is crazier than you.

If, however, you are thoroughly convinced of such with no need for self-assurance whatsoever, then you are definitely not sane.

Xanga has a new 'CSO'... and I thought they only hired kids.

NEW YORK, Aug. 1 /U.S. Newswire/ -- As part of its comprehensive approach to online safety, Xanga has hired experienced cybercrime prosecutor, Stephen Kline, to lead the company's safety and compliance initiatives as Chief Safety Officer. Since 2000, Kline has worked in the New York Attorney General's office as an Assistant Attorney General in its Internet Bureau, where he has investigated and prosecuted numerous high- profile Internet-based fraud and compliance violations in both state and federal courts.

During Kline's six years with the Attorney General's office he:

-- Prosecuted the first enforcement action of the Children's Online Privacy Protection Act

-- Jointly prosecuted with the FTC a group of more than 60 adult Web sites for hundreds of millions of dollars in credit card fraud –- the largest case of its kind ever

-- Prosecuted several spam operations, including some of the world's most notorious spammers

-- Served as an expert lecturer for law enforcement and attorneys on compliance with Internet-related laws

"Xanga is an industry leader because of its innovative approach and strong commitment to safety," Kline said. "I'm looking forward to working with both the Xanga team and law enforcement in order to continue to offer Xanga users a safe place to express themselves."

Reporting directly to Xanga CEO John Hiler, Kline will serve as Xanga's chief liaison to law enforcement officials, regulators, policy-makers and industry groups. Additionally, Kline will be responsible for defining Xanga's abuse policies and procedures, and also ensuring that Xanga is in full compliance with state and federal law.

"What makes this so exciting is that Stephen is a real innovator," said Hiler. "His work with the New York Attorney General's office was on the cutting edge of Internet law. We're hugely excited to have an innovator like Stephen focused 100 percent on the safety of our users."

Kline will begin work at Xanga on August 16, 2006.

   - U.S. Newswire

What endures, endures.  The rest is just a matter of a passing lesson in practicing living, whether or not the lesson is ever learned or even acknowledged.

If you had to be one or the other... Would you rather be the first ant out of the ant hole in the morning? Or the last one in at night?  Might all depend on when and where the anteater feeds.  At all times, beware of lurking anteaters.

If I could simply be ripped out of this culture, what would be left, what might remain?  Everything.  And in addition, the empty niche I once occupied.  The question is: Could that niche be better occupied?  And:  Would my successor ask the  very same or even a better question as this? 

Love, romance, erotic fantasy, and sexual co-excitement aren’t a big factor in my life right now.  Notions of such that I might have entertained in the recent past proved illusionary—the maya of Buddhist teachings, if you seek a conceptual referent.  And thus inapprehensible to my gimlet eyes.  So I suppose I might better say that illusion isn’t a big factor in my life right now.  Love, romance, erotic fantasy, and sexual co-excitement just are.  Somewhere about.  I might run into them again someday.  Then again, maybe not.  I’m sure the world we dance upon really doesn’t give a fucking damn one way or the other.  Nor would I, if I were it.

Back to my old shenanigans in Dreamland—running 7 miles instead of just lounging in the Sun and writing.  It seems I’ll do anything to avoid the chore of writing.  There is one redeeming aspect to the running, however, and it is this: I often end up writing poetry in Dreamland after 7 mile runs.  The implication isn’t that I’m about to write anything of consequence now.  But let me close my eyes, relax in the sunshine for a few moments, and drift away…

With eyes closed, I was sunning,

poetically inspired,

and about to stumble

upon some dream

-of-consciousness imagery

lamenting the disappearance of my lover

and her inexplicable non-fulfillment

of a promise of beatifying attentions,

when a bee buzzed into my ear
and I, startled, but without fear

reached instinctively

for the trespassing bumbler,

got it to crawl onto my hand

and then slung it swiftly away,

by chance, crashing

into the black granite obelisk

I had been lay-leaning against.

The bee lay broken,

in ruins,

smashed (kind of like the golden promise).

Not exactly the imagery, however, I’d ever use

to lament  (in a poem) a lover’s blues.

So there you have it.  Seven miles and a poem.
Not a bad routine as far as routines go.

Instead of running yesterday in Dreamland, I decided to just sit in the sun and write (what’s below).  Well, that’s not entirely true.  I did run 1.5 miles first.  But, for me, that hardly qualifies as an effort.  1.5 miles is to an effort at running as a simple greeting kiss is to sex.

So, this is what it’s like to be a sedentary being, eh?  Laying in the sun, not challenging one’s muscles, not punching one’s pulse into punishing palpitations.  It’s alright for a change.  It’s good to indulge occasionally in the non-athletic life even if there is no TV at hand and fridge to run to for snacks between commercialisms. 

I imagine now that I am very, very old and this is all I can do—lay in view of the Sun, drink tequila, and have visions of Aztec guardian spirits lamenting the modern dilemma.

What is the modern dilemma, you ask?  But, of course, you already know.  Wide-scale socially-erupting rudeness, a disrespect for differences that leads to aggravated ideological  dissension, snaking hate with pit viper intent and slashing forked tongue that won’t abate, the untimely disruption of the dissolution of a tired-of-life loneliness, the pandemic lack of relationship that could entrust itself to be god(dess)like in the clutch of love, lack of creative trust in credible dreams that otherwise wouldn’t be make-believe, lack of truth to oneself, lack of truth, lack of self(lessness), letting the demands, desire for, and exercise of war/sex occlude the possibility of being dilemma-less.

You see how I can be when I imagine?  I imagine it is in the interest of most of the here-concurrent-coalesced worlds to have me forever henceforth imagine myself being very, very, very, very, very, very old and tequila-laden.

Oh.  But I ran another 1.5 miles after writing (what’s above).  Hardly more qualifying as an effort at real running than a simple parting kiss is to sex.

War imposes and beauty vanishes.  Or is it the other way around?  I do not have to look to foreign lands but only into my own heart to find out the truth of this.

How to let go of yourself?  Let go of desire.  You will find that the world is more, not less, without the need to compulse yourself.

You cannot watch the Sun rise and the Sun set without it watching your soul rise and soul set.

This world is haunted not by the dead, but by the living who are afraid to live, and afraid to die.  The reason it is so easy to make a zombie movie is because one doesn’t need to cast about cleverly for characters.  Almost any grab-bag sample of humanity will furnish a plethora of those who tremble in the shadows of answers to questions they are afraid to ask.

Imagine, just, being a pre-historied but highly enlightened primitive and seeing something like that never-before-seen that  that numinesces most exquisitely in the sky, and realizing that the answer to the whole meaning of the universe is inexplicably, inextricably, yet totally improbably at hand.  And then professing belief-beyond-belief in some now forgotten language “Oh. My. Pre-Pagan. God.”   Seeing something like what , you wonder?  Yes.  Look to the sky.  And then imagine.  Once again.

I took a break from extreme running yesterday.  It was only 88 degress - too cold to run.

At rest, my heartbeat is 54.

DEET is my best friend.

No, really.

Door # I or Door # II?

I.

"So now that Iraq is on the verge of a civil war, what's the alternative?"
  -notforprophet, Feb 24, 2006

and

"Make a strategy out of withdrawal.  Withdraw and allow civil war to ensue and take its course.  If the insurgent/terrorist forces gain the upper hand, they will transform themselves, as they must, into more easily targetable regular forces and established pockets of government.  Then reinvade, pound hard, and withdraw again.  Repeat and repeat until the insurgent/terrorist forces understand we will forever deny them legitimacy."
  -notforprophet, Oct 30, 2005

or

II.

Top U.S. Generals Fear Iraq Civil War
   -Seattle Times, Aug 4, 2006

and

"Under questioning by Sen. John McCain, R-Ariz.,  Gen Pace said he did not anticipate one year ago that Iraq would now be in danger of descending into civil war."
  -Houston Chronicle, Aug 3, 2006 

Update: John reinstated the site above, apparently having read this post and then responding in the comments accompanying this post.  I don't know if I should feel highly honored or frightened that John is watching my postings so closely.

Think social networking sites are already a hacker's paradise? Just wait... Social Networking Gone Bad.

I continued my extreme running yesterday for a total so far this week of 21 miles at 90+ degree temps.  At this point, I feel I could wander into a desert warfare training camp and hold my own.

This is the time of year that you can spot maple trees bearing fruit.  The fruit of the maple are dry, papery, winged seeds called samaras. 

Someday, soon, you may also be able to spot a samara look-alike that harbors a chemical rocket with a sensor payload.  What?  DARPA (The U.S. Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency), the promulgator of the Internet, has commissioned the design of a nano air vehicle about the shape and size of what you see above.  More...

Writ in the dream of day, posted after sunset:

The Sun reigns in Dreamland on this ninety-something day as I lay on the crest of a cemetery hilltop stretched out upon a paint tarp listening to an ice cream truck pipe out “It’s a Small World After All” in some populated environ away in the distance.

The 5 mile run I undertook—prior to digging my laptop out here and sipping on a beer—I vocalized again and again at the finish as “just fucking brutal.”  I had actually to reawaken a huge dose of mental toughness (that I had let somewhere along the way slip off sleep) and drive myself mercilessly into anguish in order to complete the last couple of miles.

However, the payoff comes now, afterwards, as I lay in the Sun, slow my metabolism, and cool off as my sweat-drenched t-shirt takes on a light summer breeze.  (It’s true: I brag. Most people I know are blatantly oppressed by the heat that I now find refereshingly cooling.)

Everything is so far from here, so far from here.  Even the Sun—which seems to affect everyone so dramatically on such a blistering summer day—is a star away.  Alas, all that my heart yearns to embrace seems even farther than that “star away.”   Hence, the Sun, even as distant as it is, is surrogate, and remains my guide… day upon day upon day.

The Sun gifts us radiance and heat.  What complaint should we ever have?

If it gifted us not, where would we be?