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| Hello, mysterious readers. Sorry about the long silence. I'm not sure what you were hoping to hear, but I'm sure it wasn't this. I recently finished reading a book, which I hereby assign to all who read this. It's "Hard Scrabble" by Mark "Tiger" Edmonds. Read it. It has been described by Irishmen in Japan as life changing, by coffindodgers as a challenge to have the courage to ask the questions that cut straight through to the honest, real part of the soul. It will inspire you, make you fall in love with at least two people in the book, and leave you with insights that you will reflect on for a long time to come. One of mine is, "Maybe faith is about letting go rather than holding on." Now go find yours. I'll post more later. Thanks for visiting.
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| Wow, people have still been looking at this site even though I haven't posted so much as a dirty sock in like eight months. Thanks, you wild and crazy people, whoever you are. As life keeps happening to us all, I'm skeptical on how much of my own idiosyncratic view of it I should inflict on unsuspecting cyberhikers.
With the political season being imposed upon us all, let us remember that a politician's job is ultimately to spend money, and anyone who is eager to do that for an innumerable amount of people is already suspect. The cycle of politics is as follows: promises, promises, the sky is the limit, we can fix it all if you elect me... and then after the election the politician realizes it was not that simple after all--that is, regarding the promises that weren't already broken or discarded outright. A wise man (not myself, obviously--J.K. Galbraith?) said "Democracy is the belief that people know what they want, and deserve to get it good and hard." And, for those good politicians, the ones with intelligence, vision, and integrity, I apologize for what I've said about your career choice, but honestly, where are you when we need presidential candidates?
To quote that genius Yeats, "The best lack all conviction, while the worst are filled with passionate intensity."
I don't intend to discourage voting. Just the opposite. Vote your little hearts out. Don't just rock the vote, boulder it. "Vote early and often."
Epictetus said we are not disturbed by things, but by the views we take of things. Put that on your peanut butter cup ice cream and eat it, gentle readers... I fully intend to!....
I'm including some random nature photos, one from my front yard and two from not my front yard. If you can figure out which is which you win a free oven mitt, as long as you're willing to drive Mrs. Nusbaum's car pulling a small church. (And if you can guess that movie reference, you win an Optigrab for your eyeglasses, if you promise never to indulge in cat juggling again. Roll the ugliness.)
That's it for now, crime fighters. Drop a note and say hello sometime. Good night, Austin, Texas, wherever you are.
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So here are a couple of promised photos of the gray cats for your enrichment and edification! By the way, 10,000 pride points to the first reader to find the hidden meaning in yesterday's post. | | |
| Greetings, crime fighters, music lovers, Sunday paper backgammon players, and roving minstrels, poets, and squires,
Wow, people, be very careful about navigating the tabs in your blog entry area. I just lost a bunch of stuff. Technology is going to drive a lot of good people insane.
So I will try to recreate my currently-drifting-in-cyberspace posting of diverse musings...
Let's see, there was something about Useless Hilton perhaps ending up in the slammer for awhile, and such a place is a rough old world, innit? But at least she will be able to maintain her pace of publicity, dream up or perhaps even tape a nice reality show. Perhaps help to host American Idol (for which she is of course eminently qualified), or maybe sing along on Bratney Sparse's looming comedic comeback album.
But all is not lost, for Wilco bequeathes on us all their new album today. I hope it is soon spinning in all of our heads. Unless of course it's not your cup of chai. If not Wilco, at least Tull.
And then I believe I inflicted on unsuspecting readers some various questions from the corners of my cornerless mind:
How much of the reported news do you believe at face value, and why?
What is your understanding of the difference between creativity and spirituality? Is there a connection? A difference? Or is it just a slippery ledge?
Is there such a thing as "secular" literature? Literature is a product of the mind, soul, and world-view of its creator. Aren't we all... "religious"? (Whether Catholic, Protestant, Buddhist, Druid, Wiccan, Agnostic, Reformed Environmentalist, Atheist... it takes faith to survive. Faith in something.) Forgive if these sound like loaded questions... opinions are like duodena (meaning we all have them, though they're often unpalatable), and I can't help but present this question from my perspective. "Think it possible you might be wrong?" "Yes. Entirely possible." [anyone know who said that?]
Your thoughts, reflections, musings on any or all of these questions are welcome, and could prove interesting (yes, Neil Young, even innaresting).
On a feline note, I've written a couple songs (and counting) for Buford, who beautifully graces my previous post. It has helped me. If you misbehave, I may one day upload one or two of them for you to hear... and then you'll be sorry... A couple weeks later, I adopted two gray cats, one in a Large (three years old and mystical) and one in a Small (three weeks old and ferocious, with a mania for mint). Pictures should follow. Pictures may also soon follow of the butterfly garden, which is blooming better by the day, and will soon assume the status of Chaotic Eye Candy.
Until then.
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| Since Wednesday afternoon, my little tiger friend has been gone. You know how your mind fills in the field of vision at the corner of your eye? It keeps filling him in. I keep seeing him in corners, in objects that could vaguely resemble a sleeping or prowling cat. In a way, he'll always be around. It's hard to explain to any who never met him, that he was no ordinary cat. He understood love and getting the best out of life better than most people I know. It was a slow goodbye. For 41 days we knew he was dying, and then his good days ran out. I dream about him most nights in some form. Sometimes he's just napping in the background as I'm looking for a missing sneaker or riding a motorcycle through a forest or whatever. But he's there. A couple nights ago, he let me know that he's better now. Hopefully it's possible to write a song about this without it being overly sappy, cliched, or maudlin. I'm trying. If all else fails, I've also written an instrumental for him. Here are some pictures of him.   
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