It Could Be Worse, I Guess

Obama Signs "Stimulus bill" at headquarters of New World Order in Denver

I subscribe to about 20 podcasts, give or take.  One that I have subscribed to since its inception is No Agenda by John C. Dvorak and Adam Curry.  Basically the two of them ramble on for an hour or so weekly on whatever topics interest them.  Curry is a conspiracy buff and Dvorak is in curmudgeonly agreement.  So last week, they were discussing why Obama signed the stimulus bill in Denver Colorado, of all places.  Curry believes that Obama is actually the tool of Zbigniew Brzezinski and the Trilateral Commission in its quest for world domination. Dvorak thinks Obama is actually two people (that's why they did that 'secret' swearing in after the Inauguration).  You have to love the Internet.

Well during the discussion, they talked about the common belief on the 'Net that the new International Airport in Denver is actually either a.) a Masonic temple and/or b.) the above- ground entrance to a secret underground military base from which the world will be eventually ruled.  Evidence of this includes the symbols incorporated in the decorations in the airport itself.  well , naturally I scampered out to the 'Net for a look and I must say, WTF?!?  

They are certainly scary, weird, unexpected.  One thing that struck me, naturally, was the similarity to the illustration of the "alien" warrior and the soldiers in HalfLife 2  check it out

What were the designers thinking?  It certainly gives you pause.  

Every democracy in History has sooner or later degenerated into an empire / fascist state.  Is that the legacy we will leave our children?  it may seem like science fiction (well, exactly like science fiction, if you think about it), but it does make you think.

Now For Something Entirely Different

In this Sunday's NYT style Magazine there is an interview and photoshoot with the actress, Rosaro Dawson.  Link to a video interview here. She describes her mother's discpline technique this way:

Was your mother a disciplinarian?

"My mom licked me - that was her punishment.  If I was a little uppity or if I didn't listen or if she wanted to get my attention, she'd lick the side of my face or under my armpit.  My mom's a six-foot-tall amazon and she'd say,"You came out of my vagina and I own every part of you." and she'd lick me like I was her wee pup and she was a lioness.  It was humiliating and really intense.  Very primal.  It's not spanking, but it definitely works."

Yikes! On so many levels . . . .

More Rilke

So I will let you figure out how these all items tie together.  I am not sure I know, but here is another short Rilke poem for your consideration.

Wir sollen nicht wessen, warum

dieses und jenes uns meisert:

wirkliches Leben is stumm,

nur, dass es uns begeisert,

macht uns mit ihm vertraut

We are not to know why

this or that masters us;

real life makes no reply,

only that it enraptures us

makes us familiar with it

May, 1924

Far North

Every so often a film comes along that moves and challenges me; a film that haunts my dreams and thoughts for days afterwards.  Far North is such a film.  I watched it Saturday afternoon after watching Apocalypto on Friday night, so I figured I was pretty hardened to violence, but I have to tell you that this movie has some scenes that are not for the squeamish. But it is worth your discomfort.  It is thought provoking - it will make you consider violence and its relationship to beauty.  It will challenge you to consider the price of living in a community and the cost of renouncing others.  It is a tragedy that you can see coming from the very beginning, but I will guarantee you that unless you already know, you cannot guess the ending.  It is a film that is as intimate as Once and as expansive as Lawrence of Arabia or, better , Dr. Zhavago.  I watched it alone, but I wish Dawn had watched it with me.  This ain't no date movie, but it is about men and women. It is a film that some consider misogynic, but was based on a short story written by a woman and the strongest characters are both women.  Beauty and violence - natural and human - are the themes here.  What are we capable of doing for love, or in spite of it? Which is worse, the cruelty of humans or the hostile  indifference of nature?

Here is the trailer:

I posted a review on Netflix in which I compared the movie to a fairy tale and it is a fairy tale, but not in a Disneyfied way, but in a Brothers Grimm, death and dismemberment, what-to-hell-is-my-unconscious-trying-to-tell-me? kind of way.  It is as stripped bare and elemental as snow under the Northern Lights. . . . and as unforgiving as snow at -50 degrees.  It is hard to determine where exactly the story takes place or when.  It is a little like being lost on the tundra or at sea.  Please don't go read the reviews, since the ones who rate it highly have it right, but the one 's who rate it one star are f*&^tards who obviously didn't begin to understand what the film was all about.  And there is a serious spoiler in one of the reviews.

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After you have seen this movie, come back and listen to this interview with the Director, Asif Kapadia. then Google the title for more info.

Rainer Maria Rilke

This week's poem is very short. It is from Rainer Maria Rilke and is translated in the book, Rilke on Love and Other Difficulties, by John J.L. Mood. I bought the book on October 10, 1980 according to the flyleaf, but I had been reading Rilke all thorough college, beginning with Letters to a Young Poet. I remember that this short passage had great impact on me in those post graduation years as the group of college friends I was so close to began to drift apart.

Irgendwo blüht die Blume des Abschieds und streut

immerfort Blütenstaub, den wir atmen, herüber;

auch noch im kommendsten wind atmen wir Abschied.

Somewhere blooms the blossom of parting and bestrews

evermore over us pollen which we breathe:

even in the most-coming wind we breathe parting.

October, 1924

Back to the Lake

Last post I promised a poem of my own so here is one.  I wrote this poem for Dawn for St. Valentine's Day, 2007. I have written most of my poetry about or to Dawn over the years. Most of the poetry I have written over the years has been in response to an image or an emotion. In this poem I wanted to acknowledge companionship. I have learned over thirty plus years that love is more than an emotional state; or better, it is more than an emotional peak or valley. that is what I am trying to express in this poem. 

Every word and image is carefully chosen, consciously and unconsciously.  I once read that among Dylan Thomas' papers were found 75 pages of drafts for a single poem.  Well . . . OK . . . over-thinking that one a bit, Dylan?  I have certainly re-written and edited my poems after writing them out, but only in as much as sometimes other images and emotions get mixed together when composing.  A poem, to me, is the Unconscious communicating to the Conscious Mind and is therefore, by definition, symbolic.  Yes, you can have a very conscious, structured poem, but the inspiration for the poem comes from somewhere beyond the rational mind.  At least that is where my best poems have come from. The task is to marshal those images and combine them with other images that readers will be familiar with to communicate the message you have received.   The poet is a medium for their own psyche. The key to a poem, is to clarify and focus on one thing at a time, then expand on that one thing.  A poem is not a novel, you can't have sub-plots.

That being said, it is interesting to re-read my own poetry, just as I re-read my favorite poets, and see new meaning and new questions.  Just now in re-reading To The Lake, I began to wonder, 'Who threw the ball? And why? Is that unseen actor important to the poem?  What does it represent?'  I guess I will let the reader draw their own conclusion on that.

Any  lake, for me, is always The Lake, Mattawaumkeag, where I spent my happiest moments of my youth up through my college years. the Lake always symbolizes relaxation and reflection.I read Lord of the Rings at the Lake, I met my first friend from the South at the Lake, I slept (eventually) on that marvelous bed on the porch listening to the water lapping the rocky shore and the loons calling each other on the far shore at the Lake, and I met the ghost of my past at the Lake.  

Just after I graduated from college, I spent ten days there: reading, reflecting, boating, fishing, cooking and smoking. I have never forgotten those days and the books I read there (Albert Camus, Harvey Cox, Daniel Berrigan). It has been one of the happiest times in my entire life. So for me, the Lake always represents reflection on actuality and contemplation of potentiality.

Why the dogs? We had dogs on the farm when I was growing up and I could take them or leave them. I never had a 'dog of my own', per se. In my adult life, we have never been in a position to be able to afford a dog, either in terms of time or money. Although we talked about getting a dog not too long ago (and Dawn had a dog when she was growing up), I doubt it is something we will pursue. We would rather have the freedom to do things than the companionship of a pet. That being said, the dogs for me represent loyalty and companionship. To see two dogs together, you can see their recognition of each other, and their communion with each other as a species. It is as if they think, 'Yes, lets be together with these humans and serve them, but let's not forget who we are. and let's be joyful in our service.'

The scene is bright with sunlight, then. The dogs are black labs. The ball is a florescent green tennis ball. The pines that come down and lean over the water are deep green and dense. There is the edge of a camp in the background.  The water is still and dark. The dock is worn and rolls out into the lake on old iron wagon wheels. It creaks when the dogs run on it. Somewhere further down the lake, children swim and shout to each other.

Return to the Lake

for Dawn

The brilliant green ball arcs
Across the still lake. Lands
With a plop.
An instant later the pair of retrievers
Race down the dock, shoulder to shoulder,
Tongues wagging from canine grins.
They reach the dock’s edge and leap as one,
Heedless, they follow the balls arc.

It is the easiest thing in the world, the easiest thing
To write from pain, from longing, from passion. The
Dagger in the heart drives the word. But what
Happens when the blade is withdrawn?
When the wound closes and the chambers fill again?

What song for the dog’s joy? The simple meal,
The warm bed, The companion at
Your shoulder? The common goal?

We see our pair suspended, hanging
Over the still water. Paws outstretched,
Tails back, noses alert.
Thighs ready for the landing, eyes
On the brilliant ball. A moment from
Now we will celebrate their joyous splash.

February 14, 2007