|The very best bench in Kew Gardens park:|
I go to the library two or three times a week to connect to the Internet, and afterwards I like to sit on this bench just behind the library building, have a smoke, see what I can see. A few days before Valentine's there was a snowfall and it was covered with snow so I passed on by. But the next time I noticed that someone had cleared the snow off part of it.
Ah! It dawns on me that I am not the only one who values this bench. A connection. An affirmation. Slender but heart warming in the solid frozen park.
My father was a gardener. We saved eggshells in a paper bag in the kitchen and sometime in the spring, as we turned over the plot, it would be time to crush them up and spread them.
Old habits die hard ... so here I am after five or six years in this town with bags and bags of eggshell in the cupboard. They are getting in the way so I crush and consolidate them into one plastic supermarket bag - a good load, maybe ten pounds or so. The bag sits waiting by the door for more than a month.
It's obvious the only place to spread them is in the park but I hesitate because ... well, it's Toronto, and everything is forbidden ... then some residual energy from having found the bench cleared carries over and on a sunny morning I trudge over, make a hole in the bag and distribute the shells to the trees and bushes in a bit of fenced woods; smiling secretly, feral, mad.
Old friends are dying off more-and-more frequently and last week this led me to musing on the word 'intimacy'. It is at least triple-edged: from innermost nature; to observation, knowledge, friendship, acquaintance and close familiarity; through to a delicate euphemism for sexual intercourse.
I am remembering an afternoon and evening (and night until closing time) in a bar called The Cambridge on the outskirts of Winnipeg which we renamed 'The Bellybutton of Canada' and 'Canada's 7th Chakra' when the conversation turned so deep and intense that the three of us thought we really would levitate the place.
So. The notion here is that the shifting of intimacy's meaning from the days of Launcelot Andrewes to the present constitutes a kind of ironical secular condom.
And then ... out spews the following approximately stupid dreck. Go figgure?
Keeping in mind that the UN Human Rights Commission in general and this committee in particular hasn't quite got an untarnished reputation for abuse either.
"Just Louise, and her lover, so intwined."
Mommy I'm making roast chicken!
I found a recipe book.
[Frango assado is Brazilian slang for a sexual position resembling roast chicken.]
|There is a lot in these images from tOad:|
Re-education of the kitten thrower.
[In case you missed it, someone posted a YouTube video of throwing a kitten at a wall. I haven't seen it (either?). Our cartoonist has apparently also seen the 'Clockwork Orange' movie but it seems to me he has got them both wrong.]
No state intervention in my family.
Don't touch my daughter.
Faithful to our traditions of excision.
[Excision means cutting off body parts - in this case, sexual parts.]
She loves me. She loves me not.
Intolerance: Do we feel remorse? Ridiculous! It was just a poor person.
[No idea how Gilmar gets from hyenas to intolerance, none at all; cannot figgure out the connection. Maybe you can.]
Safety in numbers:
Intimacy then, as a word and, in a way, is degraded. Not through sexual admixture - sex, in all of its manifestations I have known includes at least some possibility of touching the eternal - but in another way.
[As soon as they mention 'eternal' you know you've got them: Recidivist transcendental reprobates! Whoremongers! Praeterite!]
Not to be blamed on several generations of pornographers either, particularly those with agendas: Hugh Hefner; Bob Guccione; wazizname, the guy who died recently (?) ... oh yeah, Al Goldstein ('Screw' magazine); the guy who runs Abby Winters (yes, apparently Abby Winters is run by a man ... named Garion Hall); who have simply shifted the context - merely contributing to the number-line that starts in The Vatican and runs off somewhere towards ... something else.
Of course I am a snob, but the Roman Catholic 'position' as well as books like 'Kama Sutra' and 'The Joy of Sex' leave me thinking, "That's not what it is about at all," and wondering: "What is it about?"
[And so this meditation, gentle reader - a roughly U-shaped trajectory (I very nearly trashed it towards the middle) - leaves me feeling surprised, strangely satisfied, smiling, humming a tune (Spiegel im spiegel) ... almost happy. Be well.]
"The cops don't need you, and man, they expect the same."
Provenance: Kerry gave the speech on Sunday the 16th. I heard about it five days later from the email list of Peter Sinclair/Climate Denial Crock of the Week: 16th, 19th (early), & 19th (late). I got organized on the 22nd and here it is in the blog on the 23rd.
Remarks on Climate Change by John Kerry, Secretary of State, @america, Jakarta, Indonesia, Sunday February 16 2014 - 45 minutes: video and transcript.
John Kerry's speech made me want to run into the street shouting 'Eureka!' Indeed, I recommended it (babbling fool!) to the clerk at the supermarket checkout and she scribbled a note for herself - maybe she watched it.
Sure, the venue, '@america', is a friendly supportive space. He was not addressing a hard audience (nor the Indonesian government nor the country in general as Andrew Revkin of the NYT mistakenly thinks). Sure, there have been other American Secretaries of State ... including the likes of our beloved & revered Henry Kissinger - who always told the truth.
That doesn't mean that Kerry is not telling the truth. He does appear to have some elementary scientific misconceptions - how thick the atmosphere is, how ocean acidification comes about - but let that pass, let that be rhetorical rough edges.
Obama's statements are always equivocal, mealy-mouthed, qualified; Kerry's are (in this case) forthright - straight talk - no teleprompter I could see, apparently unscripted & un-minced.
As of Saturday the 22nd at 9AM there were 4,897 hits on the YouTube video; by 9AM on the 24th there were 5,173 - you could hardly say it's 'gone viral'. Why not?
How can someone who has made such a speech possibly give the go-ahead to the Keystone XL pipeline?
He promises that this is the first in a series. In a few weeks I will report on this again.
He's an odd looking geezer, no spring chicken either - 70 years old last December. His physionomy could be a drawing by Mervyn Peake. But these photographs taken at the event show earnest sincerity - and a kind of terror, awe maybe (but I could be projecting).
|I learned about the word 'mere' from Pierre Trudeau's 'mere tribalism' speech. A comparable kind of endearing arrogance can be found in one of Brian Mulrooney's stump speeches: "We are adjusting our perceptions." Also considered calling this "Gravity, entropy, is kickin' in," but mere won.|
It is a yin/yang kind of anarchy I am thinkin' of: one axis engineered by H. grædum & 'The Davos Class' and executed by Black Bloc, Anonymous, Occupy; another in personal moral turpitude - turpytude? - and economic incontinence (since everything human could be said to ultimately boil down to individuals and their various personal decision matrices); and the whole physical/chemical/gravitational cosmos ... many axes, even up to Higgs Boson [Higgs' Boson?] - visions of a new Jacob's ladder.
But closer to home and quite recently there's Obama's SOTU speech:
No disrespect is intended here to Cory Remsburg. That he has been so cynically used does not discredit him though it is disturbing. Looking closely at the symbolism and hysterical responding applause it becomes even more disturbing.
Those more cynical than Obama by orders of magnitude can read the writing on the wall - or can see the Looney-Tunes Road Runner plot unfolding. The real state of affairs is more like this:
Times are tough when the cartoonists don't even get it. Must be the cold winter huh?
And rock stars not really 'where it's at' either:
Bud the Spud he ain't.
Out on the highway in his ethanol car, proselytizing agri-business and building diamond mines. OK ... it's a life.
Maybe the last good rock star politician was wazzername's ex ... Sonny something ... Sonny Bono was it? (Sonny & Cher, you remember.) Times were simpler back then eh? Who knew we'd be facing extinction?
With possible analogues at the white end of Pynchon's rainbow: Blicero, Weissmann ... Oh! I know it's sophomoric fer gawd'sake! Still, it was one of the first poems I thought I understood. So.
I lived for a while right across the street from this rock. Thanks to Brent & Peter for the photo. The text is a quote from a poem 'Life's Mirror' by Madeline S Bridges/Mary Ainge De Vere (1844-1920). Treacle & nonsense - the Golden Rule doesn't work like that, it's not that kind of prescription.
Comics for the 10's:
First I understood that each one has an opinion.
Then I invented the Internet.
The reference to gravity at the top: ... I noticed my electric watch losing time over the last six months or so, and then a few days ago it stopped. For $6.90 a kind man (with pen knife expertise) in a little jewellery shop put a new battery in.
The hard drive on this laptop is exhibiting analagous slowdown and making noises. I know it's only a matter of time - but there is no money left for a new laptop. A-and anyway, this computer/Internet thing that I have been at, man and boy, for almost fifty years is wearing thin. It is a salutary zen exercise to know it may stop at any moment with no warning.
One of the very last things Vince said to me was to remember me telling him, many years ago, that computers catch on because they give you their entire attention (however meagre) whenever and for as long as you want it. As direct intercourse of any kind between humans becomes more and more problematic ... well, you catch my drift eh?
Mere anarchy? Is that a bad thing?
Time for this moth to crawl out of its chrysalis perhaps. Who knows what that may entail? Let's go out with a listen to the Incredible String Band and Cousin Caterpillar. Murray and I were backstage at Place des Arts that night.
Be well gentle reader.
The crystal ball of love:
I see worms devouring rats.
But I'm not here to talk about politics.
But the real relics ('realics' call 'em, or, say, dinosaurs) are exactly those voters who reject increased gas taxes. We have to stop using this shit, now, or we're cooked. Simple as that.
A muse turns her back:
Boom! Boom! Pow! Gotta git get!
If Stephen Harper is locked in ice, malignant scientists' Ice-9, shards of the Ice Queen's mirror, anomalous weather events ... ice of whatever kind; well ...
so am I.