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ExperiMental Too.

Mon., 09/29/2008; 10:50 a.m.

Watched the presidential debate, and the Number One question on every American's mind has to be: "Does Obama have a speech impediment?" Of course the spinners aren't playing it that way. They claim that Obama came off "presidential." I guess if stuttering leads to good grades in "fine ole-fashioned debatin'," then Obama ought to be King of the U.S., just completely throw away the concept of "president." When it comes to stuttering, Obama receives high honors. Obama said "Whu-whu-whu" and "buh-buh-buh" and "uh-uh-uh" more than any other person I've ever heard, let alone a debater. I almost thought he was slipping into Pentecostal tongues, perhaps to attract more Evangelicals. George Bush the 2nd isn't exactly a great debater, and yet his words were, in all his debates, much smoother than Obama's linguistic flow. Hillary Clinton, who cannot be beat for speaking smoothly and concisely, consistently, powerfully (I mean I think she might have a computer in her brain with thousands of recorded speeches, switching between Speech #2172a or #2172b at the drop of a hat, always perfectly), has talked circles around Obama in every clash.

So what IS going on? Is it some kind of psychological ploy, perhaps that someone who cannot talk the talk must surely be able to walk the walk? Is it a ploy for pity? Reverse psychology?

It cannot be accidental, can it? Someone who speaks that poorly could never be elected President of the United States, could he? Someone who used the word "folks" about four times during the 1.5 hours of debate? Someone repeatedly uttering "gonna?" He never broke down and said AIN'T, but it was obvious he was close.

Was Obama intimated by McCain? Was his feelings hurt because McCain would not look at him? And what was with McCain not looking at Obama? That wasn't very nice, was it? Of course, he McCain could still be upset that Obama referred to his opposing vice presidential candidate as a lipstick-sporting sow (that wasn't very nice, was it?).

Scary times. Scary times indeed.

My advice, choose the lesser of two evils.

Tue., 07/29/2008; 7:48 a.m.

What would you think of a group that actively pursues a secret agenda, that says: "We are not Christian, not really," and yet they believe they are following Christ, and they believe that what Jesus wants more than anything, more than repentance, more than, a sweet disposition, more than good works, more than being "filled with the Spirit" -- more than anything, Jesus wants POWER. And this group points to Hitler, to Genghis Khan, to Stalin, to Osama Bin Laden, and their techniques, their "greatness," and claim that the same domineering POWER can work with "True Christianity?" And they don't read the Bible, but they carry it, they don't learn the doctrines, but they heft their Bibles with authority. They hold their Bibles in their hands and the answer to just about any question is twofold: #1 Jesus, and #2 Power.

What if this group claimed that Democracy was going away, and soon? What if this group claimed that Republicans and Democrats were going away, and soon. And that a Kingdom was coming. And they don't mean the Kingdom of Jesus. They mean a kingdom of men, as they ready their cronies and acolytes in high places.

What would you think of such a group?

Do yourself a favor and pick up the book: The Family by Jeff Sharlet. It is all real, and it is at work, right now.

Picture a "Bible study" where the son of the "man closest to Jesus" uses Genghis Khan as a lesson for True Christians. How Khan places a man in a box and covers the box with fine linen and spreads a banquet on top of the box. While the man suffocates in the box, screaming and struggling, Khan is undisturbed as he feasts. This is a "Bible study," and this is the kind of power True Christians should have, will have, and sacrifices (e.g., the man in the box) have to be made, and it shouldn't bother True Christians, not the screams, the thrashings, not the pleading for mercy.

And this is real.

Fri., 07/25/2008; 11:09 a.m.

Sad day, as Randy Pausch has died, author of The Last Lecture. I had been praying for him, and hoping for him. He definitely and distinctly made a great mark on the world.

Cell Phones. It has taken a while, but the medical experts are beginning to come clean. At least some of them. And some are using their brains.

Thu., 07/24/2008; 1:53 p.m.

One bright day in the middle of the night two dead boys got up to fight, back to back they faced each other, drew two swords and shot each other. A deaf policeman heard the noise and came and shot the two dead boys. If you don't believe this true lie, ask my blind aunt, he saw it all. - Just something we used to say as kids. 

 There was a frog lived in a well, whipsee diddily dandie oh! There was a mouse lived in a mill, whipsee diddily dandie oh! This frog he would a wooing ride with sword and pistol by his side, with a harum scarum diddle dum dare'um, whipsee diddily dandie oh! - There was more to this, we sang it in the first grade, but alas I don't remember.

Wed., 07/23/2008; 8:40 a.m.

 Two months at the new job, Genny is three months old today, and my eyes are blurring in and out. Bean sprouts, bean sprouts, my mind cries. It paints pictures of lettuce slathered with Vegenaise, rolled into neat little tubes, sunflower seeds dripping with olive oil, balsamic sprinkled, sprinkled balsamic, my mind provides scents of these things, titillating me, scintillating me, all manner of weedy greens, spinach leaves, cherry tomatoes, avocado, avocado, avocado, oh those carrots, baby carrots, long carrots replete with skin, and back to bean sprouts, a bean-sprout sandwich on Genesis Bread, sliced tomatoes, onions red onions, onions and leeks, raisins and dried cranberries tumbled through the mix, Bragg's Apple Cider Vinegar but just a dash, and of course a squirt of their miraculous Liquid Aminos, and teriyaki sauce, ginger, flaky dried onions, leafy lettuce and heads of lettuce, celery, tumbled and tossed and sprinkled with garlic.

Am I twisted and insane with these insidious visions of GREEN, GREEN, GREEN?

Temptation on Day 11 as my company is bringing in lunch from Einstein's, one of my favorite places. Oh a cranberry bagel with sprouts, bean sprouts, and lettuce, and a tomato. Can I resist such a succulent temptation? Can I survive? Do I want to survive? How can I resist a bagel sandwich? The humanity! The HUMANITY!

Wed., 07/16/2008; 8:24 a.m.

When you are taught something, and you accept it as true, you want to believe it, you want it to be true. If you are taught when you are a child that the color "orange" is matoobie,  and every time you color in your coloring books you use matoobie, and it is not necessarily your favorite color, just a color you use often and then you go to first grade and the teacher tells the class that this is orange as she points to your matoobie, you become upset. You were told that what the teacher is calling orange is really matoobie and it upsets you that the teacher is lying to the children. You know that it is true.

You feel reality bend back like a snake and bite you, and that is not pleasant. 

It will be difficult for you to accept the truth of orange over your favored matoobie. True, you might start calling the color by its right name, but there will always be a secret sore, a tender spot, deep inside you, and you will probably still think of orange as matoobie. And whenever you hear anyone call it by its right name, you will feel a little twinge of unreasonable anger. You know it is unreasonable, because you the authentic truth, even if you were taught wrong in the beginning. But still. Why don't they just shut up about ORANGE, what's so good about orange anyway, are they stuck on orange? Are they obsessed with orange?

You scowl as you drink your matoobie juice, hardly able to enjoy it, despite the boost of Vitamin C.

When someone says to you: "Knock Knock."

And you say: "Who's there?"

And they say: "Banana!"

And you reply: "Banana Who?"

And they repeat it again, KNOCK KNOCK, who's there, Banana, Banana who. And then without completing it they begin AGAIN, pretty much driving you nuts, you are just about done with this stupid ritual of childhood when suddenly they hit your key nerve:

"Knock knock."

Sigh. "Who's there?"

"Orange."

You pause. There it is, they just said that word. That word. The bitterness wells in you. THAT word. It angers you. They said ORANGE. Okay, you've learned that your granny was a tad touched (or a touch tadded?), that she wasn't all there, and besides, she wasn't wearing her dentures when she told you that this crayon color is matoobie. You've accepted all that. You've dealt with it. You've moved on.

But still, orange will always cause a twinge of irritation.

After the pregnant pause you say: "Orange...WHO?"

And they reply: "Orange you glad I didn't say banana?"

For some reason you don't want to laugh, even though you do offer a small courtesy chuckle. Because it seems almost profane, using that word that way. Orange. Matoobie. Orange.

But you have to admit to yourself, it just wouldn't work if your friend said: "Matoobie you glad I didn't say banana?"

If you ever get beyond it, it will be because you finally accept that you want truth over tradition. Regardless of how beloved that tradition is. You prefer the truth. Tradition is something people do, and make, and keep.

Truth is.

Sabbath, 07/12/2008; 10:50 a.m. 

Okay, it is probably premature, but today I'm going public with The Little Papa Stories.  They are just little vignettes from Papa's memory. Little stories about me when I was little. That's it. Nothing spectacular. My father always told us stories of when he was little (and the funny thing was, every time he told the stories the details would change a little bit -- we never though he was lying, just that he was forgetful, although the truth is it is more likely the creative mind at work, always wanting to tell the same old thing in a totally new way). So anyway, before my memories are vanished along with my mind, I though I ought to set them down for my children, especially my two oldest (Alicia probably hasn't heard anything from my childhood, and probably believes that I never had a childhood). I've told all these stories to Harrison, mostly, and to my wee ones, but I thought I better set them down, and Google is so awesome in providing free space. I hardly have an excuse NOT to set them down.

Wed., 07/09/2008; 7:18 a.m. 

In the grind, ground about, through the filter, into the pot, bubbled and stewed and doubled and troubled. Stop complaining.

Ah Doody Clay Yuh! It is almost impossible to see the plan, even short-term twists and terms which lay just ahead. As pathetic humans, we groan and moan about the HERE, and we immerse ourselves in what went before, even when we KNOW there is a plan, even when we understand that there is a very real purpose. Like a thread whining that it is twisted in with all the yellows and browns, off-color greens and drab ochers and bizarre maroons, endlessly going in and out and twining about, is there no end to this endless dreary drabness, this quintessence of dust, the thread is just a thread, even when the whispers relate that a grand picture is evolving, that a masterful tapestry is spreading out grandly across the walls, the thread worries about the spool. What if it breaks. The thread worries about the needle. It is painful. The thread worries about the pattern. What if it is off, even just slightly? Even when the thread catches glimpses of the majesty, observes massive landscapes unfolding, portraits smiling benignly, the thread has a short-term memory stumbling block, not enough bandwidth. The thread is just a thread and it often wishes to be a dazzlingly bright high-tech sewing machine. Ah Doody Clay Yuh.

Thu., 06/19/2008; 12:23 p.m.

 Wed., 06/18/2008; 2:50 p.m.

On a weekend watch the movies Hamlet on Saturday night and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead on Sunday morning. On Sunday night you will find yourself saying: "Oh, okay, so THAT's what in the world..." and "Do you think Shakespeare actually meant..." and on Monday morning you will be saying: "I need to watch them both AGAIN." After your second and third viewings, well, maybe things will never be the same again.

Tue., 06/17/2008; 11:43 a.m.

 You remind yourself that you have some choice in the matter, that you must not necessarily sink beneath the lapping of the blues, but then again sometimes the madness of the world is not the easiest thing to laugh off, and sometimes you must wonder how in the world you can keep from going mad, or even better, if you are not completely insane, right now, at this very moment. But then you remember that if you are questioning your sanity, you are probably not insane (or, possibly but not necessarily probably, you are sane). But you cannot hide, and hiding does not good save for welling thick the anxiety. There is One you can call upon, and you cannot tire this One out, but the thing of the blues, the sucking, drowning, sinking thing of the blues is sometimes you want to be left alone, even from the One, even though you know this isn't you, and you are not hiding. But this is life, you realize, you have always known -- only ding dongs run around giggily and happy, drooling every moment of the day, and somehow, just that realization dissipates the blues, and sometimes you must just crawl your way through the muck, and it was never promised to be easy.

Laugh off the madness, the insanity of the world, and the somewhat unbearable heaviness of thinking, constantly thinking.

Fri., 06/13/2008; 11:13 a.m. 

Ancient today; if I get four more, that'll be fifty, if you can believe THAT.

Okay, here's the book you need to start reading today if you want to figure out what is happening right now:  The Coming Economic Collapse, and on Audible.

 I have a friend who was telling me just a few days ago that we could solve all the world's problems if those pink commie liberals would only allow us to dig up Yosemite, Sequoia, Yellowstone and other fluffy airhead campgrounds that we don't really need anyway. I mean, come on, what's more important, a whole bunch of old trees, and dirt, and rocks, and mountains -- or our big cars? Come on, our cars go vroom and vroom and even VROOM, and we need to get to work, and to the store so we can buy things, and what in the world would trees do with cars anyway? Trees don't need cars, and they certainly don't need OIL, so why should we allow these carless old plants to keep all the oil to themselves, the big greedy grabbers! The oil is there, it just has to be, and it is endless, and it is good, God made it for our cars, didn't you know that? God loves us and God loves big cars, and if you don't subscribe to THAT you are a heretic and maybe, just maybe God might have to do something very, very, VERY bad to you (and if God slips up, and doesn't do it, um, just maybe, just perhaps, one of God's chosen must then do the DOing).

At one time wood was a very important economical resource. But when the demand got too great, we switched over to coal (and a lot of people thought that was just plain ole silly). Pretty soon the whole industrial revolution was based on coal. Then we switched over to oil and the ancestors of those that didn't want to make the switch to coal spoke up again and said: "Oil? Who needs oil? Coal is just fine." Now we need to switch over to something else, and the same line of great thinkers are speaking up, and they are saying: "Switch over from oil? Why no, sir, that would be discombobulated, and it has always been oil, and so shall it ever be, amen." Yet, the tricky thing is, we ain't got nuffin to switch over to. Nuffin and Nuffink.

Wind? Sunlight? Come on, why did you knee-jerk reaction even THINK that? Tell the truth, have you EVER heard an SUV powered by electricity or wind go VROOM? No you haven't, and you never shall, and so let it be written, so let it be done.

Can I get an AMEN?

Thu., 06/12/2008; 3:09 p.m.

Don't you think it would be SILLY for people to purposefully attempt to crash their own country? I mean, what would be the reason? It couldn't be any fun, could it?

But then again, if you could cause your country to crash, and you had a network of "workers" ready to "jump into the gap," and you had a plan to "improve" your country, then you very well might attempt to crash your own country, wouldn't you? I mean, that at least would make sense. If you felt you were in the right, and everyone else was in the wrong, you might want to take them down, crashing yourself at the same time, in order that you could rebuild from the ashes. You know, a new order, a new world, and perhaps, a new world order.

Freemasons are Christian, right? They have to believe in God, don't they? You might even say: "The god of this Earth." And we can fully believe that they fully believe in their right, in their cause, in their "god," because he has convinced them that his enemy is insane, is wrong.

Evil is subjective, correct? As is good. In Hitler's eyes, he was a very good man, he was doing a good thing.

Perhaps they are right, those that believe that the "light bringer" or the "light bearer" is in reality the hero of the story, perhaps they are right that good is evil and evil is good.

But then again, maybe not. 

Wed., 06/11/2008; 1:34 p.m.

 One of the best things, for me anyway, about going to a new job is in finding out where the best "walk" is -- every place I've ever worked, I have more vivid memories of my break-time walks than of the jobs themselves. I love to listen to recorded books while I walk (usually with the ear piece in one ear, so I can listen to nature, as well), or music, and while I walk I attempt to gain impressions about the landscape (and in Colorado Springs, the mountain ranges are especially good), in a multi-task way exercising the lungs, brain, legs, while absorbing some sun and filling the lungs with air (the air is pretty good here, although the spirits are not).

Mon., 06/09/2008; 7:47 a.m. 

Just stumbled across an old blog entry I made in 2005 (writing about an occurrence in the Year 1999) and although it is already growing dim in my mind, the experience certainly impressed my mind, and it is yet vivid in some aspects (from the very beginning it seemed somewhat dreamlike, or sensory heightened, and I can honestly say I've never met anyone like him before or since). I include the story here as many of the things are only now coming to light (such as the proliferation of man-made chemicals parading as "healthy artificial sweeteners" popping up in such things as Wrigley chewing gum, as well as most gums and mints sold as freshening the breath) (and the fact that cell phone waves disturb and confuse bees, and scientists are scratching their heads as beehives across the world are abandoned). and vivid is my recollection of the strange man's twinkling eyes and glowing red skin. 

Sabbath 06/07/2008; 7:42 a.m.

You have gifts deep inside of you, many of which you don't even know about. You are not familiar with what you are capable of, the talents you have not yet drawn upon. The sad thing about the world is that we are encouraged to do everything the way everyone else does things. When a nail sticks up above the rest of the nails, we are taught to bring the hammer down and slam that offender back deep into the wood, bring it in line, make it flush, service in the collective, like bees in a hive -- no gender, no personality, no other purpose than the greater good of the little waxy hexagons (yes, that is a mixed metaphor, but even mixing metaphors is a skill, a talent). All the little bees with all their little hammers, slamming down flush the irregularities (see, now it is not a mixed metaphor, but a humorous image, bees with hammers).

Most of us took tests in school, little patterned questionnaires that attempted to marshal our interests and couple those with our abilities. It is not a bad idea. But for most people, I know, it was ridiculous, as so many people fit themselves into that bee mode of test taking, providing the answers they are certain the testers want to receive. If you take a test like this, smashing down all the nails, then you negate the purpose of the test.

My tests always displayed the same boring results. That I should be a journalist, that I should be an artist; and always the weird ones were slipped in (I should be a farmer, I should be a pilot, I should be a hot dog salesman). But I allowed my life to shake me and stir me, mix me and blur me. What did they know? Those test takers. I had to be me, I had to do what I had to do. So life decided. And I pretty much ended up writing, arting, and dreaming about selling hotdogs, port to port, via airplane (surrounded by little home-grown bonzai trees). Maybe I better wake up.

I'm still dreaming.

Fri. 06/06/2008; 11:57 a.m.

Develop the skill of seeing things in many ways. Imagine what it would be like to be THAT person (you know the one). Call to mind the memory of emotion, how you felt, way back when, when that thing happened to you (I'm not suggesting dredging up catastrophic or depressing events, just something, perhaps when you were eight years old, and you felt so strongly about this thing, and you knew, deep in your heart, that when you grew up you would REMEMBER, and now, remembering that day, you realize you have not remembered, perhaps not until NOW, what you were so certain was indelibly imprinted upon your heart, your soul). We tend to see things in one way, while all along we knew deep down that it is far more complicated than that. To think that Republicans are righteous and Democrats are evil...?

We might think in such terms, whereas pulling back and viewing the question with a tad objectivity, we will instantly discern that Republicans and Democrats are both evil, with perhaps Republicans being the slightly lesser of two evils (and more probably, in time, the lesser evil will become more evil than anything Hitler ever hoped for).

This is a very common image. Instantly you see what you see. But look a little longer, cant your head slightly to the right, draw back from it. First you might see a young figure further away, and then, perhaps you'll see a closer character, or caricature. The big dipper on the right, is it a youthful jawline? Or is it in fact a bulbous nose? Both realities are there, if we will only see them. And on perhaps a deeper level, these are two views of the same person, the young beauty vain and fashionable, and the aged, wizened old woman huddled against the cold of the world and how it views as valueless the ancient.

The funny thing about it is, when you feel that SHIFT in your brain, where first you see a damsel, then suddenly a crone, there is an actual none-too-subtle switch thrown in the brain, and we move from this mode, to this mode. Shift back and forth. Do it slowly at first. Then faster. Make the switch. Attempt to see both views at once. Feel it. Think it.

Switch back and forth and then see them both at once.

We can practice that skill.

For truth, we MUST practice this skill, seeing things in a new way, from a slightly different angle. Don't just accept what you are told the picture represents, don't accept the truth you are handed from someone else -- you might even see a ladybug in the picture. 

The reality is in both views, not in one or the other. We might not see the truth at first, and we might not like it when we finally recognize it, but the truth is always and ever the truth.

Fri. 05/30/2008; 8:28 p.m. 

Was extremely saddened to hear that Lorenzo Michael Murphy Odone died today, at the age of 30. He was the boy featured in the movie Lorenzo's Oil, and had been predicted by his doctors to die at the age of 8. Lorenzo was one of the first boys to outlive the horrendous childhood death of adrenoleukodystrophy (ALD), thought the myelin (the insulating fatty tissues around the nerves) had deteriorated to the point where most people would determine him to be in an unresponsive coma. Probably the best film representation of incredibly brave parents who refuse to give up, regardless of the opposition, even when told that they should give in and allow their precious son to "die with dignity" is the movie Lorenzo's Oil, which I would highly recommend to anyone (Nick Nolte is especially superb, with Susan Sarandon at her usual brilliance). I remember first watching the movie and wondering out loud: "Why in the WORLD am I watching this...?" As it had me so upset throughout. But it is worth it. You want motivation for never giving up? Watch Lorenzo's Oil.

Thu. 05/29/2008; 12:12 p.m.

GoodEarth Original Sweet & Spicy Tea - love the stuff. It is almost good enough to induce me to completely give up coffee, ah but then there is Starbucks and my own Kryptonite, are you ready for this? My "Venti Soy Coffee Miso with One Honey and a Sprinkle of Cinnamon" -- I just might be able to live off them. I mean, come on, it is hardly coffee anymore, it is more a hot milkshake, and it is ALMOST healthy! The coffee and the soy and the honey and the cinnamon, all of them rich in antioxidants -- hey forget the antioxidants, I'm talking about the TASTE, I can hardly stand it, it is almost killing me it is so good. I'm going to have to invest in a new high-powered high-tech espresso machine for like $300 to actually SAVE money in that buying a Venti-Soy-Coffee-Miso-with- One-Honey- and-a-Sprinkle-of-Cinnamon (the cost, I think about $2.84 per Venti cup) just might kill me before the caffeine gets its shot! My particular coffee health (is that a misnomer?) drink could even lead you to reading "How Starbucks Saved My Life" by Michael Gates Gill, which is a pretty good read, although as a "really truly REAL" story it can read somewhat preposterous with the protagonist bumping into everyone from Frank Sinatra and having a meaningful moment, to a pugnacious Ernest Hemingway and practically having a chest-hair-pulling contest -- but if taken as fiction, it is precocious, savvy, sweet, a little silly, and points a somewhat shaky finger at some of the things that are most important in life, chiefly, relationships, and hard work, and listening, and seeing beyond color or age or gender. Some good stuff, Maynard. Not quite as goos as my Venti-Soy-Coffee-Miso-With-One- Honey-And-A-Sprinkle-of-Cinnamon (youch, that sounds almost as bad as Kelsey Grammar ordering his coffee on an episode of Frasier!).

But, oh yeah, back to the GoodEarth Original Sweet & Spicy Tea. Great stuff, very spicy without having a grotesque licorice taste, or orange peel, and it is strong (my trouble with most teas is that they prove a trifle wimpy, like snorting delicate flowers) (me he man, must guzzle potent dark brew -- hey, you could probably capture and squeeze a 100 roaches into a coffee pot, warm it up, and I'd say: "Yeah! Great coffee!) (I'm easy, as far as coffee goes)...

...but to date, there just might not be anything in the world that causes me to roll my eyes as much as a Venti-Soy-Coffee-Miso-With-One-Honey-And-A-Sprinkle-of-Cinnamon.

Tue. 05/27/2008; 9:02 a.m.

And THAT was supposed to be a LONG weekend? That's the problem with getting older: time keeps gaining speed. Those four days went by about as fast as a day used to go when I was a kid.

Reading Randy Pausch's "The Last Lecture" and really very much enjoying his perspective, all the more poignant because he is involved in the ultimate personal struggle (and yes, so are we all, only his doctors have set a timer ticking on his struggle).

Thu. 05/22/2008; 1:19 p.m.

What's the prob, slob? What's the news, Bobby Blues? No tengo tiempo para ti! Psyche. Let's make like Joan, and Jett. Let's make like jelly, and jam! Let's make like a banana and peel! Buh-duh-dump BUMP! (that's my version of a rimshot) Just finishing off a hard-fought first week back in the rat race, and boy are my ratty little legs pooped. Actually, not such a bad egg for a week, as my exhaustion is more from being a new father (well, an OLD father have a new-father experience). So now I have a long weekend and hopefully I'll catch up on a few lost zzzs.

Wed. 05/21/2008; 3:13 p.m.

The whole point of "metaphor" and "simile" is to bring clarity to a subject by making a comparison to something else entirely, and by attaining understanding of the "other" thing (generally in smaller sense) we may apply that understanding to the greater thing. In a figurative sense I might describe my baby crying as an over-the-top opera singer greedily bellowing for attention (metaphor), or I might say she sings like a goose (simile). These are usually small, common figures of speech, and can be humorous or exaggerative (hyperbole), but then again neither of those things (you might just stumble around and try explaining something by throwing all manner of comparative descriptions that don't necessarily exaggerate or employ humor).

 In a larger sense a parable is used (and often metaphors and similes might play a part in the telling of the parable), which is a story with figurative elements, only to be told for purposes of greater understanding. A parable is never equal to the reality it seeks to explain or shine greater light upon, because if it were equal, it would be the exact same story (or it would be like making a lifesize map, which sounds handy, except why do you need a map that is lifesize when you are actually IN lifesize all the time? probably the next great invention will involve wearing glasses which present a virtual map overlaid upon the reality you are looking upon, sort of "Tom Tom glasses," or GPS specs, so when you look at the street it is labeled, and/or arrows appear before you indicating which direction you should take).

The problem is when someone tells a parable and people forget that it is a parable, that the parable is symbolic and has minute pieces, each of those pieces with meaning (e.g., allegory, or allegorical), all for the purpose of shining light on the greater reality. This happens all the time with the Bible, where people will take a parable like "The Rich Man and Lazarus" and forget the whole point behind it (that love of money is going to get you into trouble, that you can't serve both God AND money, that rich men are not necessarily blessed of God and poor men are not necessarily cursed, and that if people will not harken to the teachings of the Bible, including what is called the "Old Testament," that they are in serious, serious trouble, and very well might end up in a place that is a far cry from Abaham's bosom, and of course, that even if someone rose from the dead people will still not hear the truth! all of that) and take the pieces of the parable and assemble them in new and incredibly stupid ways, to arrive at whole new and "improved" versions of the "Truth." You should hear the nonsense that people "preach" about "Abraham's Bosom" without any understanding that it is an expression similar to and meaning the same thing as "to sleep with one's fathers" or "to join the forefathers" (i.e., in other words, simply: to DIE).

Some people actually believe that some people go into Abraham's chest when they die, or at least they used to go into his chest. I don't know how large Abraham was, but it had to be pretty crowded after a few dozen or so people showed up, imagine the people crammed between ribs, nestled under Abe's big heart, bouncing on his tummy.

It all ends up being more karma running over dogma.

Tue. 05/20/2008; 4:58 p.m.

hey diddle diddle

the cat and the fiddle

the cow jumped

over the moon

the little dog laughed

to see such sport

and the dish

ran away

with the spoon

People think the fork got the shaft, that it was the fork who deserved to enjoy connubial bliss with the spoon, but in fact the fork and the spoon have always been competitors for the affections of the dish, and often the dish just doesn't desire the point of the fork, and remember, it was the dish that seized the spoon and bodily carried her away. The dish pretending she is a bowl, and the spoon pretending not to know the difference. I don't know if I appreciate the cat, who serenades the spectacle, but we must all commend the bovine in her track shoes and pole vault, yet the canine is almost useless in his glee, this sports afficianado. Perpetually, at least since I was a tiny tot with player piano musicbox which scrolled through the scenes, in 3-D mind you, that dish has absconded with the spoon, and the little musical notes have wafted in the breeze like the eyes of God, searching out the world, running to and fro.

And now I perpetuate this perpetuation, in chortling this travesty in rasping baritone utterances, to my newborn daughter (of all people!). She doesn't seem to care. She just stares at me. But when she falls asleep, her subconscious takes over, and she proves that she does indeed know how to dance to the revelations of the musical cat. And she smiles, my Genny, barking with the laughing dog. Is she dreaming of me, or of the dish absconding with her treasured spoon, or that cow swinging her ponderous breasts up over the horned moon, or does she take sides with the fork, that miniature pitcher, always weeping on the sidelines for that faithless dish, the traitorous spoon, and their time-honored menage et trois.

Frid. 05/16/2008; 3:28 p.m.

Well, it's back to the rat race after 1.5 years (but at least I have the weekend). I keep trying to get out, and they keep DRAGGING me back in...

Thu. 05/15/2008; 10:30 a.m.

The world is set up to represent the rat race, and generally the most vicious rats find their way to the lead positions, and rats running in the maze that are certified to have found the cheese are usually the rats given the edge even before the pistol fires and the gates open. The most competitive rats are rewarded the most, because this is a competition, after all.

Many rats do whatever possible to get out of the race. These rats are not cowards, or non-competitive. These rats have just realized that the rat race is a complete fabrication set up by other rats, the fattest rats in the pack. The fattest rats will do whatever possible to contain the rebellious rats, keep them in the race, because if these rats escape, then the vast population of rats running in the race might obtain a similar rebelliousness and also want out of the race, and if enough rats escape the race the very fattest rats will begin to lose weight, and this cannot be allowed.

Tue. 05/13/2008; 2:17 p.m.

Yisrael Hawkins, founder of the "House of Yahweh," has been busted for a number of minor crimes, and the deeper you look into him the more grotesque is the stuff that turns up (not quite at a Ted Haggard level, although I don't think it is really possible for anyone to actually achieve Haggard's accomplishments, you have to give him that; well, okay, you can't give him much else, except maybe an arrest warrant, or a subpoena, maybe a restraining order). And the sad thing is, I think ole Buffalo Bill (his actual real name, which ain't all that bad as far as names go, I mean I like it better than what he changed it to, and why cult leader feel they should change their names is beyond me) started out with the right idea. Theology-wise, he was pretty right on in a number of areas, but then again you generally do start to fall down a hill gradually, at least at first. But bigamy, child abuse, forcing a woman in delivery to bleed to death, raking in huge chunks of each of the cult members' incomes, it just keeps getting worse and worse. And the worst of it, they (the cult leaders) do it all in the name of God. To me, it is a much worse sign that an earthquake in China, and probably more damaging, or a typhoon in Burma, or tornadoes in the Midwest, or even, really, a massive volcano in South America.

Much more gross, too, don't forget that.

But it just goes to show that the road to hell really is paved with good intentions (or possibly the intention were good, but only a the beginning, but that is just a guess), and nobody is above the Law of God (and when you start feeling like God has given the big thumbs up to your sins, then you definitely have fallen from grace, and you're in big trouble -- why not release all your poor followers, so that they don't share in your punishment and ridicule?). But cult leader seem to feel called to take down as many with them as possible, all the way down, to the very abyss. 

You almost have to hand it to the charlatans such as the Hinns, Meyers, Copelands, Stones, Wommacks as like foxes they dance their little feet just ahead of the jaws of the media and the courts of law (but judgment is coming, that is for certain). 

Mon. 05/12/2008; 11:48 a.m.

Earthquake in China, typhoon in Burma, super series of tornadoes in the midwest of the U.S., and you don't think something is up? 

Sun. 05/11/2008; 11:33 a.m. 

Much is written about friendship, and I feel no compunction to add to the volumes, other than stating that it ain't about Hallmark cards or cell phone calls or playing poker or pool or foosball. It is knowing that someone, somewhere loves you, and will always love you. And it is that someone knowing that someone, somewhere loves them truly. That's friendship, and it is a slice of real love, and invaluable.

 Fri. 05/09/2008; 8:40 a.m.

Life was never promised to be easy. There has never been a guarantee made about happiness, or fulfillment, not even two hands or two eyes.

It does seem that some people get it easier than others, or that some get slammed with more problems, that disaster falls upon some people and misses others, regardless of their views about God or applied morality or their ability or willingness to pray. Bad happens, as well as good.

If you mention the word "Luck" some oddballs go bananas. "Don't say THAT! There ain't such a thing as LUCK!" Personally, I don't know why they get so upset. Probably because there is so obviously such a thing called "luck" but that it bucks their own world-view of how things are supposed to go, how things are supposed to be.

"It ain't LUCK!" they thunder, "it is GOD!"

Really? So if some loser plunks themselves down at the Blackjack table and gets ten 21s in a row -- that's . . . God...?

"No!" the squeal, "That there, sir,  is the devil!"

So what most people think of as luck -- either a combination of statistics and odds, that sometimes things fall this way, that sometimes things fall that way, and sometimes things just pile up and fall all one way or another -- that thing thought of as luck is actually either the devil or God.

If a bird flies over your head and plants a big white splat down your shoulder, that must be the devil.

If you find a dollar bill blown up against your mailbox, that must be God.

But the fact of the matter is, God created a big, beautiful self-sustained, self-supporting  ecosystem where the ground supports the sky and the sky supports the ground and everything in between, and it works (and people can't seem to figure out if you start abusing that ecosystem, you will begin to reap the harvest, and it will be a very bitter reaping), and God does not run around squeezing birds so that they get their aim right, and He didn't set up the devil to aid drunks in winning or losing at blackjack (or to be lord of hell, for that matter), or the occasional "good Christian" who sits down and wins ten straight hands of 21 and then immediately loses it all on one big bet at the roulette table.

You pick up the dice. You toss them. Numbers show on the upper surface of the cubes. Did God decide the fall and tumble. Did the devil breathe on the toss? Is it all mathematical probabilities? Is it often that some people can toss seven straight sevens, while another person is more apt to toss seven straight snake eyes? And if you change the game and the 1's are winners and the 7's are losers, will the two players begin to toss opposite hands from which they usually toss?

You can't see gravity, but it is there. And so is luck, and sometimes luck runs hot, and sometimes cold, and everyone thinks they can get a handle on it, they can bend the system, move things in their favor, and yet even the luckiest get flubbed, and even the unluckiest get their little golden rays of sunshine. It is an aspect of life that can't be blamed on God or the devil. Jesus brought up the point that when a tower fell on a bunch of people, it wasn't because they were bad, or good, it just happened, that's just life, it happens, good and bad.

 We have a little choice in how we choose to deal with this thing called life, as it falls upon us like a tower. We can shake our fist at God or we can blame it all on the devil. Or we can choose to deal with it in as positive a way as possible, and get on with it, this thing called life, with all its bad and good.

And we can hope. Work hard, hope, laugh, and soldier on.

Thu. 05/08/2008; 9:05 a.m.

 If your beliefs cause you to feel superior to others; that you are good because of your beliefs and they are bad because of their lack of your beliefs -- then you have a pretty good indicator that you are in a bad place, spiritually speaking.

If you have arrived at your beliefs without a struggle, an immense internal struggle, then the beliefs you carry were probably garnished second-hand (or third or fourth-hand), and you have not fulfilled your mission of thinking for yourself, of making up your own mind, of doing what you were set here to do. 

Wed. 05/07/2008; 3:26 p.m.

If people, especially over-the-top religious people, suddenly discovered that everything that they ever believed was absolutely wrong (oh, let's say that God struck them deaf and dumb and then told them that everything they ever believed was WRONG, breaking through the deafness He had imposed, until the message was finished, and then restoring their senses), most people, after they picked themselves off the floor, would continue doing whatever it was they were doing, carrying around the same old beliefs, regardless of what they now know.

Possibly a few, a very few, would wonder at their beliefs, and how they arrived at them, and they would embrace the newness of what God had just revealed to them, and they would follow Him, God, instead of the old traditions.

 But that is the general complacency of things, that people who believe themselves Christian follow very unBiblical beliefs, cherishing them, shouting them out, all the while angrily denouncing what God has revealed in His Word.

Tradition is almost always far more important than what the Bible actually teaches.

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