The Polyphosphate Filter

Earth Air Fire and Salt

2012-01-25T08:00:00.000-08:00

Salt firing dates back to 15th century Germany, where potters discovered that throwing quantities of common salt in the kiln when it reached high temperatures caused a chemical reaction with the clay, forming an attractive natural glaze.
At Webfoot Farm Pottery, the firing process is a two-stage event. The first step is the bisque (or biscuit) firing, in which leather-hard stoneware items —a variety of wheel-thrown and hand-built vases, bottles, plates, lidded jars, bowls, teapots, tea caddies, mugs, sake sets, planters, lamps, and others—are placed in an electric kiln and brought to a temperature of 1800 degrees F. When cooled, slips (coatings of liquified clay) are applied, along with brushwork or other decorations. Then the pots are fired again in the salt kiln, to a temperature of over 2350 degrees. The salt kiln is heated with two powerful propane burners, each rated at 250,000 BTUs per hour. Salting begins when the temperature reaches approximately 2100 degrees. About two pounds of dampened salt is put into the kiln at a time. The salt immediately vaporizes. The damper is closed down for several minutes to keep the sodium vapors inside the kiln, forcing them to react with the silica in the clay, thus forming the glaze.
Then the damper is opened for several minutes while the kiln atmosphere clears. The cycle is repeated eight to ten times over roughly a two-hour period, until the quality of the glaze is right. During the procedure, small clay test rings—about the size and shape of napkin rings—are withdrawn from three spy ports, revealing the amount of glaze build-up. After salting, the kiln is brought to a temperature of over 2350 degrees. The whole firing lasts 14 to 15 hours and consumes about 80 gallons of propane gas. It takes three days for the kiln to cool down enough to be opened.
Salt firing can be extremely unpredictable, and failures occur in every kilnload. However, it is this very unpredictability that potters find so rewarding (though the process is relatively expensive in terms of materials and labor), resulting in one-of-a-kind pieces. Aside from the natural warm browns that firing with salt produces, unexpected colors and marks often appear on pots as if by magic, sometimes with striking results. It is these and other effects—gifts from the kiln gods—that make salt firing so endlessly compelling.

WebFoot Mausoleum

2012-01-09T07:39:00.001-08:00

I rode the F.B. Trail with a small group of friends yesterday. We worked our way to the Hornbeck Trail and then out the Upper Ditch Trail to the Chemise Peak overpass. As we rode we talked about our most beloved form of recreation, riding bicycles. We decided that something as special, to the lives of ourselves, our friends and our families, really should be memorialized, but how. Then, one of our most devoted members hit upon an idea. We will build a mausoleum out at the graveyard at Whiskeytown. So we are beginning a fund raiser to explore the possibility of building such a monument. We are thinking of a building made of local stone that will accommodate 30 souls. At $10,000 a piece, we'll make a lasting impression! Are we high? What do you think?

Comes A Time

2012-01-07T08:40:00.000-08:00

Finally the fierceness of the flames diminished enough to allow the spume cap to settle and a gentle, simmering action could then ensue. We had not slept for at least 36 hours but we did then and dreaming of the lovely porridge that awaited us come morning, we smiled.

Personal Reminiscences of Father Seraphim Rose

2011-12-19T18:59:00.000-08:00

Personal Reminiscences of Father Seraphim Rose

Christmas Letter To Home 2011

2011-12-06T08:11:00.000-08:00

Hole 3, The Big Par 5

Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m Bob Dobalina. We are proud to announce a new, major sponsor to our Wonderful World of Golf Family, the Sandoz Pharmaceutical Company. Now, with their help, instead of having to rely on the player’s telling us what thought processes, strategies, emotional interplay (with regards to performance as influenced by their physical prowess, psychological brio, and/or intellectual zest), we will actually be able to “ride along” with the player, from deep inside his mind.
Each player, prior to his round of golf, will ingest a small pill which will allow everything that He experiences to be transmitted (in real time) to the Sandoz Telecommunications Nerve Center, where it will be filtered for appropriate content and then broadcast on our fabulous 16,000 square meter Mega-Tron monitor.
Now, let’s send it over to Tom Stanklewitz for more about this fascinating new twist on the world’s greatest sport, golf. Tom? Thank you Bob! Yes indeed folks, well I am out here on the course, at the magnificent tee area for hole number 3, the big par 5, where I see the young Jimbeau Eseely preparing to tee-off. Let’s now go live, inside his head, for our first glimpse into this latest interpretive system from The Sandoz Family of Pharmaceuticals. Without further adieu, we now send you directly into Jimbeau’s head… mind… brain? I don’t know, this is all so new for all of us!
Over the massive P.A. system, electronic static crackles and hums and on the Mega-Tron, faint images begin to appear. The impression of a golf ball tee’d high up off the immaculately prepared tee surface comes into focus. We see the ball from above, looking straight down upon it, my God; we are experiencing it directly through Jimbeau’s very eyes! Suddenly, without warning, a voice is heard upon the P.A. system. A familiar voice, not that of one of golf’s most beloved players, not that of young Jimbeau, but that of the sinister Vincent Price, long dead but robust and rife with words of some as yet discernable agenda. It begins to gather momentum, building into a mighty soliloquy. “…on the trumpets of ambush they shall write, The Mysteries of God for the Destruction of Wickedness; on the trumpets of pursuit they shall write, God’s Smiting All the Sons of Darkness—His Anger Will Not Turn Back until They are Destroyed.”
Meanwhile, back at the tee, much to the horror of the crowd, when the cameras pan over to Tee Box 3, we see Jimbeau locked into a sort of trance, perfectly mouthing the words of the megalomaniac Vincent Price. Jimbeau stares off upon some unseen distant vision. He has raised the metal head of his driver to his mouth and is screaming into it as though it was a microphone--
Tom? Tom, this is Bob up in the booth! Can you tell us what is happening down there?
Now, from the tee, we see images on the Mega-Tron of Jimbeau rolling around on the ground, clutching his golf club as if the shaft of the driver was the neck of some kind of attacking animal, the head of the club hitting Jimbeau in the neck and throat repeatedly.
Alrighty then, let’s now go live to the phones where we have one of the Sandoz Labs psycho-biologists standing by to try to help us all understand what is going on here. Doctor Werneroff? Are you there Doctor?
Ya ya, I can hear you.
Doctor, what exactly is going on here? Is Jimbeau in any danger? Who is in control here? Is that voice really Vincent Price? I thought he died!
Vell Bob, vee haff several tearies as to da nature of deez seetuation, rangink from computor hawkers to some zort of previously undeezcovered universal subconscious mind control, to zee elaborate Hollyvood propaganda champagne uzzink old Veencint Prize zound bytes ya.
Suddenly, over the P.A. system, a voice rings out aggressively, I AM NOT FRIGGIN’ VINCENT PRICE YOU IMBECILES! I AM NOMAR! SPIRIT OF ACIENT EGYPT! I am here to take possession of my cat’s mummified remains, which the man you call Jimbeau bought while on tour to Saudi Arabia last Fall! Meanwhile, back at the tee, young Jimbeau snaps abruptly to his feet. This time he has a 7 iron in his right hand and some sort of little five-woody looking affair in his left. He begins alternately holding one or both out at arms length. Apparently he is trying to send a message semaphore-style to some distant, unseen ship.
Luckily, I happen to know the semaphore alphabet, so I can tell you what he is saying. But first, who exactly am “I” you may ask. I am Jay Fawkes, son of the infamous Guy Fawkes. I was born a Queer* White Boy* of Irish* Catholic* descent.
*It is critical to note here that in the twenty first century in American society, the use of these sorts of terms must be restricted exclusively to those who might fit the category, i.e. I, the author, a white male, possibly of Irish descent, definitely white, probably not queer but often mistaken as such, I am an aspiring Catholic; so all of these terms, when used by me, to describe me, are all perfectly acceptable. HOWEVER, it is vital that one never uses terms that have nothing to do with his race, color, creed or sexual orientation even in reference to oneself. I am someone, a bit like Jay Fawkes I suppose, but where were we, oh yes, now, let’s send it back to Jay Fawkes, to learn more about the fascinating world of communicating through means of the semaphore language. Jay?!
Thank you Vincent, I mean Jimbeau, I mean, who the hell was that? You know folks; really, it’s this sort of insensitivity, bred through generations of depravity that just frosts my cake. I mean really, where is the love, the compassion, and the gratitude? So here he goes again, trying to pawn off another hackneyed, Vonnegut-esque, Gonzo-style (or so he imagines) Christmas story. Is he really going to try, yet again, to just fill up page after page with insensitive, impertinent scribblings that might, if we are lucky, assay out to one, perhaps two semi-clever, possibly plagiarized sentences? Again I ask, where is the heartfelt, vulnerability that typically characterizes an annual, Letter-to-home sort of correspondence? Yes folks that’s right! I am calling out the man at the keyboard for a sort of character reference, background check, track-record evaluation, to determine if indeed anyone really is there in the first place.
O.K. so he was born in the summer of 1956, we’ll give him 5 years to become semi-human. 1961, he enters public school where he begins learning the tricks of the trade to just floating along, barely doing anything but eating and watching Captain Kangaroo.
1971, he smokes pot for the first time and discovers a world of unimagined magic that dovetails perfectly with the kind of lackadaisical existence he already knows so well, but this time with the added benefit of food tasting better than it ever has before. 1981, he has smoked himself into a hole of fear and paranoia; alcohol becomes his bulletproof vest. He fancies himself to be a kind of Alan Alda as Hawkeye Pierce from MASH, sort of character. His motto becomes, If You Had the Kind Of Insight into Humanity That I Have, You’d Drink Too! 1991, alcohol has taken him from celebration to desperation. Coffee becomes his new drug-of-choice. And so it was, with that cup o’ Joe the size of a barrel o’ pickles, he began down a road of…
Warning! Warning! We have an oil light! I need you to pull this rig safely over to the shoulder of the road and shut down that engine, NOW! Let’s get a look at what’s going on here. Right then, I can have that engine out of the vehicle and on the bench in less than an hour if needed, but I’ll be damned if I haven’t neglected to bring even a pint of oil. What was I thinking? Let’s send it up to Central Control while we wait for further instructions.
Mysteriously, our story now resumes several trillion years later, after one complete Universal Cycle. We now rejoin Dr. Jeff Cieleague mid-sentence in a large lecture hall. …actually, I don’t know, but I presume that somehow, they’ve manager to put a time signature in the electricity grid so that when you plug a device in the wall, there you go, perfect clocks everywhere! That’s a very good question! Well yes, of course I understand the implications; it’s just that I… Oh. Hello! And welcome to our Christmas Letter for the year of our Governor 2011. Well here I am, home for the holidays, 6 years after the ”Event” and for those of you who still don’t know what I’m referring to, well, just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip, that started from my old back porch, upon this tiny so-on-and-so-forth… My intention this year is to finally lay to rest all the rumors, half-truths and outright lies about the semi-miraculous circumstances that all came together in a “perfect storm” if you will, to produce what I call the…
Suddenly, a voice rings out like that of a disembodied spirit on a non-existent P.A. system, a voice from my childhood… Wait a minute… are you getting this?!
Hey Kid! Why don’t ya’s make with the disappearing act and drop this whole “Event” gobbledygook? I’VE GOT IT! That voice! So theatrical, so vaudevillian, so slapstick… so, JEWISH!? By gaw ladies and gentleman, won’t you all give a warm welcome to Mr. Groucho Marx!
Vut are ya, some kinda vise guy? I am certainly not Groucho Marx, but thanks for the compliment! I am Ono Marx; I haunt the graveyards out to the west of your fair city. I am here to tell you to immediately drop this whole “Event” thing. What did you expect to happen when you went out into the wilderness, alone, fasting, praying for a vision? Chopped Livah from heaven maybe?
No! Wait! It was more! I am special! Stop! Listen! I was the chief bean-counter and bottle-washer of one of this country’s Biggest Barbequed/Baked Bean producers. Oh, we had it all! We had a company that employed some of the greatest folks you could ever meet. My own Great-Grandmother, bless her heart, was the founding matriarch of that fabulous company. She and her seven sisters, all of that lovely McCarthy lineage, all orphaned by a war that was to end all wars, all immigrants to a strange new land, not to that of some east coast anchorage, but around “The Horn” and into that lovely west coast bay to finish out their collective fledgling-ships in a convent in the Mendocino area of this fine state of Californey! All of them stayed close to their Irish Catholic roots for the rest of their lives. The last of the sisters passed away in 1969 when I was but a lad of 13 years age. I never really understood women all that much, although I did marry. Eventually, I realized that somehow, I had really hit the Bonanza Jackpot with my dearly beloved especially considering that it was virtually an arranged marriage, replete with dowry paid to my father, the famous Sci-Fi writer, that entertainer to countless teenage nerds throughout the High-Tech world, Dr. E. Leese Eli. But I digress.
Anyway! In 1972, I adopted a kitten. I named him Twigs. That cat went everywhere with me, including my years at college dormitories, my trips by car (1974 Datsun B210) to the Southwest for springtime peyote ceremonies and even to a small town jail in Nevada for a vagrancy charge that was cleared up by my Grandpa and Western Union. Twigs was a wonderful cat of whom many people to this day still inquire about and who’s grave-site has become a sort of right of passage/destination for homeless teenagers searching for some kind of meaning for their lives. Why ME? Why Me? they always ask. Why not you, I reply. Twigs finally bought the proverbial farm in 1996 at the ripe old age of 24 as the result of a fight he got into with a skunk while we lived over on South Street. My son, Donald B. Seely, 1974-2001 (probably gay but never fully “out-ed”) had Twigs stuffed and mounted by a taxidermist who disclosed to me later that Twigs was actually mummified, but that, as the guy told me, was strictly between he and I. It is ironic that my son would also end up mummified, as the result of a climbing accident in Nepal while on holiday with his long time roommate Raul. My son’s body is still up there, high upon an 8,000-meter peak known as Annapurna and he will probably remain there until the proverbial sacred cows come home, aka FOREVER. But again I’ve gone adrift into some trivial, jumble-jungle of nonessential info, straying away from the real story we are trying to convey here, namely, that of the semi-miraculous event, I like to call “The Event” and the circumstances that lead up to it and of course, the repercussions from it that I’m/We’re still dealing with today.
Finally after the better part of a decade, after countless tears shed by my friends and loved ones, after lock-ups, evaluations, misdiagnosis, disappearances, emergence's, and divergences, I am back and ready to tell all! But wait! What’s that? What’s that? The lecture hall is empty? Everyone has left the building? There, far across the room, a piece of paper, pinned to a blue door, there is writing on it. I start to walk toward it, to read what is written upon it, but in the dimly lit hall my progress is slow. I know that if I am not careful I risk falling or smashing through the floor, which has become oddly uneven. I reach down with my hand to try to determine what I am walking upon. It’s muddy clay; a fine dusting of snow has fallen. I trudge on, determined to read the note, which seems to grow further away with each step I take. At times I think I can almost make out the writing. It seems to be written in Japanese calligraphy, but then I think it may be written in ancient Sumerian Cuneiform. Out of nowhere, I see a man behind a previously unnoticed counter, selling ice cream. He yells at me, hoping to entice me to sample is wares, but now, it is so cold that the thought of ice cream seems ludicrous. No, what I need is information and strong hot tea. He yells at me, Well I can tell you this! You’re late! There must be at least 10,000 people ahead of you, all trying to catch a glimpse of that silly note pinned to that blue door. Funny thing is though, when they do get close enough to read it, then they realize they simply must see what’s behind the door. Let me save you a lot of time and struggle my son by telling you a little secret, behind that door, is another door and behind it, another door, and behind it, well, the last I heard, someone is in there 64,000 doors deep and still going! Wait a minute! How big is this place? Well the latest estimates put it at something like two hundred and ten thousand light years across. O.K. I said, but what does the note say. Oh that’s the real kicker Son, it says, For Madmen Only—Price Of Admission—Your Mind. I mulled it over for a moment and then said, I reckon I’ll have one o’ them Ice Cream Sandwiches. Say, aren’t you George Burns?

Season's Greetings From J Fox

2011-11-28T08:04:00.000-08:00

Don't you Remember,
The Fifth of November,
'Twas Gunpowder Treason Day,
I let off my gun,
And made'em all run.
And Stole all their Bonfire away. (1742)

The fifth of November, since I can remember,
Was Guy Faux, Poke him in the eye,
Shove him up the chimney-pot, and there let him die.
A stick and a stake, for King George's sake,
If you don't give me one, I'll take two,
The better for me, and the worse for you,
Ricket-a-racket your hedges shall go. (1903)

Annual letter to be posted soon, please stay toon'd!

Excerpt From Upcoming Christmas Letter

2011-11-10T09:29:00.000-08:00

The sun is actually double-faced; one face, of fire, is directed toward the earth, and one of hail, toward heaven, to cool off the prodigious heat that streams from the other face, else the earth would catch afire. In winter the sun turns his fiery face upward, and thus the cold is produced. When the sun descends in the west in the evening, he dips down into the ocean and takes a bath, his fire is extinguished, and therefore he dispenses neither light nor warmth during the night. But as soon as he reaches the east in the morning, he laves himself in a stream of flame, which imparts warmth and light to him, and these he sheds over the earth. In the same way the moon and the stars take a bath in a stream of hail before they enter upon their service for the night.

2011-10-21T09:37:00.000-07:00

Building the Perfect Snowman

2011-10-13T19:45:00.000-07:00

Inspired by the writings of Hunter S. Thompson

Prologue
As a matter of fact, someone is home, he simply chooses not to open the hidden
chamber doors of his heart cave for the masses to stand and stare into, proclaiming their certainty of the inevitable failure and foolishness, that journeys down roads less traveled always seem to illicit.
Hole One -- Par 4
Then (as you may recall) he was 54 years old. He stood at the threshold of yet another beginning of his life, but the magic caravan had sunk deep into a quagmire. All the goods were still on board but, if they could not be delivered on time, well, the elements and the thieves were only a day or two behind him. Smoke from his fires worked a twofold function, one of sustaining his hearth, the other belied his whereabouts. For you see, normally, by the time the smoke from his campfire became visible by the light of dawn, he was well away from his evening harbor.
Being thus stuck in the mud, he began devising ways to free the van from it’s earthly stronghold so that it might once again roll on upon it’s loftier mission, that of providing not only for the base requirements of body, but the continued development of matters of the heart and soul. Matters he knew he could not keep merely simmering on the back burner of some mortal stove indefinitely. One cannot help but feel a bit lowly when, as the result one of life’s corkscrewed twists of fate or,when one is inconvenienced by some nuisance that starts steering one off course, matters of true importance, start to slip. Slowly, a hand-to-mouth sort of mentality starts to prevail as it were. Tee shot, a wicked slice into an unplayable lie.
Being thus stuck in the mud, he found far too much time for introspection. Matters of quality of operations, at a personal level, regularly surfaced from a bottomless lake of of unconsciousness. The re-living of situations he felt he might have handled in a higher quality manner begin to drag him down, at times so low he wondered if the effort to resurface again was even worth the effort. Drop ball, penalty stroke, hitting three.
We all tend to operate under unwritten laws of human nature. Behavior outside of these loosely defined parameters, is tantamount to pulling rugs out from under people’s feet. Rugs that they tend to think of as bedrock. “They found your manuscript you crazy son of a bitch! Now all the cops in the North-state will be lookin’ fer ye!” Here it is in a nutshell folks! When a boy goes into the desert with a head full o’ magic, you can expect some of the pieces of the boy to be lost and some to be found. This does not, however, necessarily always result in a better boy. Third shot, bounces and hops down the fairway straight for the green, then plows into a steep walled sand trap. Buried! We may be here for awhile folks.
He had hoped to be in Zion National Park by now, but there he sat, stuck in the mud of a river bank that for all intents and purposes, may as well have been the Euphrates of Babylon. At night he dreamed of enormous hammers acrimoniously pounding on solid iron blocks the size of boxcars. Steel wheels sliced down an endless rail, lined with the faces of his ancestors stretching back to the cave painters of Altamira, their voices echoing down the corridors of all human existence. In the morning he awoke to an overcast dawn that fired red and orange across an eastern backdrop of mountains, still black with night. Water is started to boil, a stick is poked under the wire handle to lift the small pail from the fire. Fourth shot, he knows that the way the ball is laying, buried in the face of a bunker, he is going to have to really hit the sand hard, well behind the ball, to hopefully fluff it up and out.
Unfortunately, although the ball did pop up into the air, it had no forward momentum and his follow through resulted in a second ball strike. It sounded like this. First the muted THUMP of the club hitting the sand, then a distinctive little Click that, while it did get the ball moving forward and on to the green, is scored as Two strokes. His ball was 20 feet from the hole, laying Five.

King Of The World

2011-09-15T08:14:00.000-07:00

Chess is sometimes referred to as the game of kings, but has an amazingly wide and enduring appeal, it cuts across so much that can divide us: age, class, nationality, race. It's a logical game often played in an abstract, notated form, and yet the fact that the pieces have characters and distinct roles somehow catches our imagination. This personification causes the game to be of interest even to those who don't play and it has often been depicted in art and fiction, many times as a metaphor. How does chess mirror life? Well, in a recent twist of fate, my life has resembled that of a game of chess that has been picked up from the table (board and all) the pieces slid indiscriminately back into the box and then put up on the shelf. I am in a dimly lit box with many others who's rank and title I cannot readily discern. Even my own social station is uncertain at this time. But I'm pretty sure I was a Knight.

Turtles All The Way Down

2011-08-17T08:07:00.000-07:00

I first read the phrase "Turtles All the Way Down" in a book by Stephen Hawking. According to the story, a big name scientist was giving a lecture on astronomy. After the lecture, an elderly lady came up and told the scientist that he had it all wrong. 'The world is really a flat plate supported on the back of a giant tortoise." The scientist asked "And what is the turtle standing on?" The lady triumphantly replied: "You're very clever, young man, but it's no use -- it's turtles all the way down."
I've asked several people what they think this story means, and everyone seems to have a slightly different take on it. To me, it is a reminder that most scientific fact is really hypothesis that has not been disproved, and there is always the possibility that maybe the old lady is right. Kind of like a perfect sand castle being whipped up from a sand dune by the wind. There is nothing in the second law of thermodynamics that says order cannot come out of chaos.

Roll The Bones

2011-08-09T09:58:00.000-07:00

Loaded up and rode touring bike out to Platina with David Blevins. Bike and gear weighed 50 pounds. The road unwinds toward me, what was there is gone. The road unwinds before me, and I go riding on. It's my turn to drive. Driven. 1996.
Mild, 90 degree weather helped a lot, but still cramped with 10 miles to go. Walked the last monster hill. From first to last, the peak is never past. Something always fires the light that gets in your eyes. Marathon 1985.
Arrived in Platina and lunched on Turkey Sandwiches and Iced Tea around 2 P.M. I let my skin get too thin, I'd like to pause, no matter how I pretend-- like some pilgrim, who learns to transcend, learns to live as if each step was the end. Time Stand Still. 1989.
Rode four miles further out highway 36 West to Basin Gulch Campground. Beautiful deep shade and cool flowing creek. I turn my back to the wind, to catch my breath. Before I start off again, driven on without a moment to spend, to pass an evening with a drink and a friend. Time Stand Still 1987.
Saw Mountain King Snake along the water's edge(Middle Fork Cottonwood Creek) Slept like a baby in my tent with Thermo-rest mattress and space blanket. Play of light-- a photograph, the way I used to be, some half-forgotten stranger, doesn't mean that much to me. Trick of light-- moving picture, moments caught in flight, make the shadows darker or the colors shine too bright. Available Light. 1990.
Made it home from Platina in four hours. Bike was brilliant, 1985 Specialized Expedition. Scars of pleasure, scars of pain. Atmospheric changes make them sensitive again. Scars. 1990.
My partner David was a great companion and inspired conversationalist. Normal and completely predictable little bothers and annoyances occurred out there, but nothing beyond expected. Too many hands on my time, too many feelings. Too many things on my mind. When I leave I don't know what I'm hoping to find, when I leave I don't know what I'm leaving behind. The Analog Kid. 1982.

Seely Today, Hot Tamale*

2011-08-04T11:09:00.000-07:00

I awoke in a hospital bed with a staff of nurses and doctors all staring wide eyed at me. "What the hell happened" I grumbled. "Well Son, let me just start by telling you that this is a mental hospital, not a general hospital." One of the older doctors replied.

*The semi-autobiographical account of one Mr. Jim Seely, based loosely on semi-reliable rumors.

Hemispheres

2011-07-27T08:32:00.000-07:00

When we get into arguments that focus and fully engage our attention, we become avid seekers of relevant information. Otherwise, we take in information passively--if we take it in at all.
Christopher Lasch

TERRITORIES

2011-06-26T20:17:00.000-07:00

I see the Middle Kingdom between Heaven and Earth
Like the Chinese call the country of their birth
We all figure that our homes are set above
Other people than the ones we know and love
In every place with a name
They play the same territorial game
Hiding behind the lines
Sending up warning signs
The whole wide world
An endless universe
Yet we keep looking through
The eyeglass in reverse
Don't feed the people
But we feed the machines
Can't really feel
What international means
In different circles, we keep holding our ground
In different circles, we keep spinning round and round
We see so many tribes -- overrun and undermined
While their invaders dream of lands they've left behind
Better people -- better food -- and better beer
Why move around the world when Eden was so near?
The bosses get talking so tough
And if that wasn't evil enough
We get the drunken and passionate pride
Of the citizens along for the ride
They shoot without shame
In the name of a piece of dirt
For a change of accent
Or the colour of your shirt
Better the pride that resides
In a citizen of the world
Than the pride that divides
When a colourful rag is unfurled
Neil Peart

Afterword: The Whole Human Race by Mark Twain (1907)

2011-04-27T08:05:00.000-07:00

I have not read Nietzsche or Ibsen, nor any other philosopher, and have not needed to do it, and have not desired to do it; I have gone to the fountainhead for information -- that is to say, to the human race. Every man is in his own person the whole human race, with not a detail lacking. I am the whole human race without a detail lacking; I have studied the human race with diligence and strong interest all these years in my own person; in myself I find in big or little proportion every quality and every defect that is findable in the mass of the race. I knew I should not find in any philosophy a single thought which had not passed through my own head, nor a single thought which had not passed through the heads of millions and millions of men before I was born; I knew I should not find a single original thought in any philosophy, and I knew I could not furnish one to the world myself, if I had five centuries to invent it in. Nietzsche published his book and was at once pronounced crazy by the world -- by a world which included tens of thousands of bright, sane men who believed exactly as Nietzsche believed, but concealed the fact, and scoffed at Nietzsche. What a coward every man is! and how surely he will find it out if he will just let other people alone and sit down and examine himself. The human race is a race of cowards; and I am not only marching in that procession but carrying a banner.

My friend Little Jim?

2011-04-22T11:05:00.000-07:00

What Can I Do? from Rayyiu Radzi on Vimeo.

Turn the Page

2011-04-07T09:03:00.000-07:00

Every day we're standing in a time capsule
Racing down a river from the past
Every day we're standing in a wind tunnel
Facing down the future coming fast RUSH

Lock and Key - Rush (Official Video)

2011-04-02T11:46:00.000-07:00

SEELY'S CELERY

2011-03-30T11:07:00.000-07:00

My dream is to someday own a small business. A place where bread is baking, Bikes are making and books are... trading. "To attain this experience," writes Merton, " is to penetrate the reality of all that is, to grasp the meaning of one's own existence, to find one's true place in the scheme of things, to relate perfectly to all that is in a relation of identity and love."

That's your Grandmother!

2011-03-24T12:06:00.000-07:00

"My Grandmother can go to HELL for all I care!" "That's not the way you're really gonna leave this funeral are you?!" "You Bastard! She loved you boys very much! I suspect that that's not at all the way you really feel... I think it's the
Whiskey talkin'!"

I Love This Creature

2011-03-12T06:22:00.000-08:00

Black Teas

2011-03-07T08:13:00.000-08:00

Black Teas

Fickle February

2011-02-17T15:11:00.000-08:00

Chili Today Hot Tamale

2011-02-15T09:34:00.000-08:00

Shot Down In Flames!

2011-02-07T14:51:00.000-08:00

I went out with a fairly large group from Gazzigli's yesterday and commenced to lead out a one-man breakaway that had disaster written all over it. I got a big gap on the group and with the help of my little spy mirror, I was certain that I could hold them off at least until Swasey. But, much to my horror, I saw an elite group of five making in-roads on me and those bad asses caught me at the Centerville Fire station. I am pleased to report though that once they made the capture, they immediately shut it down and I was able to get on the last wheel and stop the projectile vomiting!

It was windy so perhaps that came into play. The group of five was working together, cheating the wind. I am a fat February poser pretending that I am ready for Summer!

Aboard The Whale (In-Board)

2011-02-04T10:17:00.000-08:00

Anemone Within.

2011-02-02T19:10:00.000-08:00

Seems To Me, It's Heredity

2011-01-28T15:45:00.000-08:00

January Riding

2011-01-21T16:07:00.000-08:00

Frozen mud in shaded sections, slop ball muck in the bright sunshine. Brake pad and chain maintenance after every ride. Clifbars hard to eat, too cold. Water from bottle, instant ice cream headache. Too many clothes, not enough clothes. Soaked by rain, wetsuit mentality. Glasses too dark, glasses to light, fogging up while climbing. Don't miss it, 'cause it won't last!

Who are the "Real Webfoots?"

2011-01-14T14:59:00.000-08:00

The nickname for Oregon's first sports teams was "Webfoots," coined by longtime Oregonian sports editor L. H. Gregory. The name originated from a group of fishermen from the coast of Massachusetts whose descendants settled in Oregon's Willamette Valley. When the University of Oregon was founded in 1876, Webfoots was the natural choice for the school's nickname, because of Oregon's reputation for wet weather.

The Emerging Fate Of The Neandertals

2011-01-07T15:51:00.000-08:00

"When you look at all of the well dated and diagnostic early modern European fossils, there is a persistent presence of anatomical features that were present among the Neandertals but absent from the earlier African modern humans," Trinkaus said. "Early modern Europeans reflect both their predominant African early modern human ancestry and a substantial degree of admixture between those early modern humans and the indigenous Neandertals."

This analysis, along with a number of considerations of human genetics, argues that the fate of the Neandertals was to be absorbed into modern human groups. Just as importantly, it also says that the behavioral difference between the groups were small. They saw each other as social equals.

Ill-Conceived

2010-12-31T06:51:00.001-08:00

2 years at Shasta College and 15 Units short of an AA, my Grandpa asked if I would like to move back to L.A. to finish up and then move on to a Bachelors degree, Master's and Graduate work at Occidental College in Eagle Rock, 6 blocks from my childhood home. It only took about 3 months to flush my Charlatan ass out as the no-good, free-loading, pothead I really was. Looking back I have no real regrets. After all, that's where I was first able to get some really good, pure LSD and move on to my real life's work as a weather maker.

Mastodon - "Sleeping Giant" (Official Video)

2010-12-29T18:47:00.000-08:00

This one goes out my friend SanFranCup!

Hobro Not Hobo

2010-12-22T16:21:00.001-08:00

Happy Holidays 2010

2010-12-16T11:22:00.000-08:00

Warmest wishes for a happy and healthy holiday season to you and your’n! Please allow me to quickly brief y’alls as to the nature of this year’s Christmas letter. As many of you know, I have been trying (for years now) to construct a mighty literary edifice, one that will finally announce to the world the undeniable genius and skill, the ultimate embodiment of the craft, the pure unadulterated horse-sense of... me! Unfortunately, this year’s attempt contains no perceptible improvement over my previous years’ offerings. In fact, it might be even worse. I am sorry to say that, at only two stories off the ground, it was red-flagged and shut down by the journalism foremen, citing a lack of structural integrity at even the most fundamental levels. A review of the blueprints resulted in much eye-rolling, shaking of heads and general moaning and groaning. The consensus is this: my designs are so ill-conceived that it is almost as if I have no formal literary foundation whatsoever from which to draw upon and that even at only two stories high, my eloquent vision is naught but a house of cards. Now, with time running out, the thought of a complete re-build is out of the question. And so it is with darting eyes and a weaselly little half-smile that I give you perhaps one of the most ludicrous stories ever written. I apologize for ruining many a family’s cherished fireside tradition--the reading aloud of my Christmas Chronicle. It is, alas, impossible.
At this time, I am also sorry to announce that since I simply cannot foresee any way that these shoddy, jerry-built offerings will make any marked improvement in the future, I am considering an early retirement from all written story-telling. Instead, I hope to pursue my lifelong dream of ventriloquism. That way, at least, the lunacy of my dialogues can be blamed on the freakin’ puppet. I also hope to grow some organic oats someday.

Big Numbers

2010-12-15T07:52:00.000-08:00

Think of it this way. Forty thousand years is nine hundred and sixty thousand years short of one million.

Preparing For The Apocalypse

2010-11-23T12:07:00.000-08:00

Headgear
Baseball Cap or other Sun Hat. One with a good visor to shade the
nose and eyes. Include a bandanna to shade the neck.
Wool or pile ski hat. Make sure ears are covered.
Balaclava (1) Heavy weight, (1) Lightweight.
Suggested: North Face. Heavyweight must fit over lightweight.
Neoprene face mask. Optional
Head lamp (Plenty of extra bulbs & batteries).
Suggested: Petzl Zoom or Artic.
2 Pairs of Glacier glasses. 100% UV, high quality optical lenses
designed for mountain use, must have full side covers. We highly recommend a
removable nose guard. Suggested: Bolle, RayBan, Julbo Round "Arc". If you
wear contact lenses we recommend packing a spare pair of glasses-it is a
good idea to have these with "photo-gray" or equivalent light-sensitive
material so they can double as emergency sunglasses. If you wear glasses we
recommend prescription glacier glasses (dark gray or green). No more than
6% light transmission.
Ski Goggles, 1 pair. 100% UV & IR. Bolle's Chrono work well.
Climbers with glasses try X-700, they fit over glasses.

Cycling

2010-11-18T16:31:00.000-08:00

EPILOGUE

2010-10-26T10:23:00.000-07:00

Ride your bicycles!

Keep It Simple

2010-10-21T10:52:00.000-07:00

Not this.

This!

Windmills my ASS!

2010-10-19T12:10:00.001-07:00

Sancho Panza was, of course, the prototypical sidekick, who traveled around at the side of Don Quixote in Miguel de Cervantes’ historic novel of the same name. Sancho was overweight and dim, riding atop a donkey, yet lovable for his unshakable loyalty to his master, Quixote. Lately, I've been realizing my foolishness in matters academic and would like to retract much of what has been stated of late, here on my tiny blog. Basically, I am trying to set aside many of these preconceived ideas and just move on. Will someone please get word to don Juan that, HE IS FIRED!

Such Fragile Threads

2010-10-16T17:27:00.000-07:00

Bildad discourses well of hypocrites and evil-doers, and the fatal end of all their hopes and joys. He proves this truth of the destruction of the hopes and joys of hypocrites, by an appeal to former times. Bildad refers to the testimony of the ancients. Those teach best that utter words out of their heart, that speak from an experience of spiritual and divine things. A rush growing in fenny ground, looking very green, but withering in dry weather, represents the hypocrite's profession, which is maintained only in times of prosperity. The spider's web, spun with great skill, but easily swept away, represents a man's pretensions to religion when without the grace of God in his heart. A formal professor flatters himself in his own eyes, doubts not of his salvation, is secure, and cheats the world with his vain confidences. The flourishing of the tree, planted in the garden, striking root to the rock, yet after a time cut down and thrown aside, represents wicked men, when most firmly established, suddenly thrown down and forgotten. This doctrine of the vanity of a hypocrite's confidence, or the prosperity of a wicked man, is sound; but it was not applicable to the case of Job, if confined to the present world.

Columbus Day Dining

2010-10-12T10:19:00.000-07:00

A whirlwind tour of the west coast this last 3 days as we swept up the Tour of California course, looking for my talisman. In antiquity and the Middle Ages, most Jews, Christians and Muslims in the Orient believed in the protective and healing power of amulets or blessed objects. Talismans used by these peoples can be broken down into three main categories. The first are the types carried or worn on the body. The second version of a talisman is one which is hung upon or above the bed of an infirm person. The third is attached to an individual's bicycle, usually in the form of a medal commemorating a saint. And now you know, the rest of the story!

Open The Pod Bay Door Hal

2010-10-09T08:12:00.000-07:00

1. persistent and pervasive feelings of tension and apprehension;
2. belief that one is socially inept, personally unappealing, or inferior to others;
3. excessive preoccupation with being criticized or rejected in social situations;
4. unwillingness to become involved with people unless certain of being liked;
5. restrictions in lifestyle because of need to have physical security;
6. avoidance of social or occupational activities that involve significant interpersonal contact because of fear of criticism, disapproval, or rejection.
Associated features may include hypersensitivity to rejection and criticism. Name that Toon!

WebFoot Potluck

2010-10-05T09:10:00.000-07:00

In a tradition of keepin' it new and fresh, we the members of the Seely's Cyclery Collective are swithin' things up a bit this Fall. Instead of a, "So-Last-Year's" bicycle swap, we're having a Potluck Lunch! Noon-??? Sunday October 24, Carpet Mart, California. Drop in for details or just drop in. P.S. You may shake your Groove Thang, yeah!

"Chain Lightning"

2010-10-01T13:17:00.000-07:00

Energy is contagious
Enthusiasm spreads
Tides respond to lunar gravitation
Everything turns in synchronous relation
Laughter is infectious
Excitement goes to my head
Winds are stirred by planets in rotation
Sparks ignite and spread new information
Respond, vibrate, feed back, resonate
Sun dogs fire on the horizon
Meteor rain stars across the night
This moment may be brief
But it can be so bright
Hope is epidemic
Optimism spreads
Bitterness breeds irritation
Ignorance breeds imitation

Where Have All The Flowers Gone?

2010-09-30T07:28:00.000-07:00

I picked up an old hippy yesterday hitchhiking down the old highway to Anderson. He jumped in the bus and then immediately went into his 40 year long running diatribe. "America says that people work only for money. But check it out: those who don’t have money work the hardest, and those who have money take very long lunch hours.
When I was born I had food on my table and a roof over my head. Most babies born in the world face hunger and cold. What is the difference between them and me?
Every well-off white American better ask himself that question or he will never understand why people hate America.
The enemy is this dollar bill right here in my hand.
Now if I get a match, I’ll show you what I think of it.
This burning gets some political radicals very uptight. I don’t know exactly why. They burn a lot of money putting out leaflets nobody reads." Wow! That guy was real different.

A Wolf In Sheep's Clothing

2010-09-24T11:45:00.001-07:00

....Dame Van Winkle ceaselessly browbeat Rip for his failings, saying he was bringing the family to ruin. Rip would shrug and go outside, out of range of her scolding tongue. She treated his dog, Wolf, the same way, and Wolf began to resemble Rip in submissiveness. Rip often sought refuge with a village group that convened on a bench in front of an inn to gossip, tell stories, and on one occasion discuss events reported in a newspaper left behind by a traveler.

Missing Persons

2010-09-23T12:40:00.000-07:00

Where do we go from here?
It seems so all too near
Just as far beyond as i can see
I still don't know what this all means to me

I don't know where to go
I don't know what to do
And i don't even know the time of day
I guess it doesn't matter anyway

life is so strange
Destination unknown
When you don't know
your destination
Something could change
It's unknown
and then you won't know
Destination Unknown

Why include Ants in rapid biodiversity assessment?

2010-09-20T07:43:00.000-07:00

Ants have numerous attributes that make them ideal
for biodiversity studies. These attributes include high
diversity, numerical and biomass dominance in
almost every habitat throughout the world, a fairly
good taxonomic knowledge base, ease of collection,
stationary nesting habits that allow them to be
resampled and monitored over time, sensitivity to
environmental change, and important functions in
ecosystems, including interactions with other
organisms at every trophic level.
Ants have numerous attributes that make them ideal
for biodiversity studies. These attributes include high
diversity, numerical and biomass dominance in
almost every habitat throughout the world, a fairly
good taxonomic knowledge base, ease of collection,
stationary nesting habits that allow them to be
resampled and monitored over time, sensitivity to
environmental change, and important functions in
ecosystems, including interactions with other
organisms at every trophic level.

Ant Convention

2010-09-19T08:52:00.000-07:00

We are starting day 2 of the annual Ant Survey, out here by Motion Creek. Got some good rain out here in the night. Everyone thinks we may have extra good ant viewing opportunity today thanks to it. Come on out if Ya get a chance. Bring your own magnifying glass!

Store Window Dummies

2010-09-17T15:13:00.000-07:00

As a boy growing up in Hollywood, I was (innocently) subjected to a lot of (incidental) fashion boutique manikin viewing. One particularly disturbing Store window dummy was actually an animatronic, little shoe cobbler. I hated the sight of that retched little guy so much I would throw a tantrum if my folks even started to drive down the street he was on. My little poodle-shitzu dog is particularly terrified of the image of this one. I am not Rod Serling. You however have just entered, The Twilight Zone.

IT'S HARD FOR SOME MEN TO FINISH SENTENCES

2010-09-16T15:13:00.000-07:00

Sometimes a man can't say
What he . . . A wind comes
And his doors don't rattle. Rain
Comes and his hair is dry.

There's a lot to keep inside
And a lot to . . . Sometimes shame
Means we. . . Children are cruel,
He's six and his hands. . .

Even Hamlet kept passing
The king praying
And the king said,
"There was something. . . ." Robert Bly.

Existential Reckoning

2010-09-15T11:02:00.001-07:00

In the words of Neil Peart, I've been doing some serious existential reckoning of late. As many of you know, I cannot and will not, allow stock, over-the-counter thinking, writing, acting, or living into my tiny-little, flying-fortress-Of mystery. Every bit of information is thoroughly masticated and then, triple-filtered through the poly-phosphoric membrane. I have recently learned of an analogue transmitter on top of the mighty Shasta Bally that will allow us to once again receive a signal via rabbit-ear antennae. I, for one, am mildly delighted. That is all. OVER!

DOING HARD TIME IN A ZEN MONASTERY

2010-09-13T15:11:00.000-07:00

Almost everybody that reads a little about Zen starts thinking that NOTHING exists because everything is inherently empty, so what we perceive as reality must be delusion. But emptiness is the absence of independent existence. What that means is SOMETHING must exist and one of the qualifications of that existence is emptiness...the absence of independent existence is only possible because there is SOMETHING that exists...otherwise there would be no 'need' for the absence of independent existence, and if there was no absence of independent existence, then everything would not be empty.

Self Portrait Completed!

2010-09-10T20:06:00.000-07:00

As an art major of the 70's, my ramblings took me to far off lands, in search of artistic expression. Although mainly limited to the West coast, I did do a bit running around in the South-West (New Mexico) and North to Denver. I tended to fancy art of a decidedly psychedelic form. San Francisco as you might well imagine, was a regular destination of mine. Of course, that was all before the "EVENT" that rendered most of "Me" either dead, diseased or dumb. Now three decades later, I have finally completed my thesis. I give you, my self-portrait.

It's Almost TIME!

2010-09-09T16:21:00.000-07:00

The hourglass uses the flow of sand to measure the flow of time. They were used in navigation. Ferdinand Magellan used 18 glasses on each ship for his circumnavigation of the globe (1522). Incense sticks and candles were, and are, commonly used to measure time in temples and churches across the globe. Waterclocks, and later, mechanical clocks, were used to mark the events of the abbeys and monasteries of the Middle Ages. Richard of Wallingford (1292–1336), abbot of St. Alban's abbey, famously built a mechanical clock as an astronomical orrery about 1330. Great advances in accurate time-keeping were made by Galileo Galilei and especially Christiaan Huygens with the invention of pendulum driven clocks.

Layin' down The Law... in my opinion.

2010-09-08T07:42:00.000-07:00

I find it extremely important that my message be heard. It is perhaps simple, yet manifold. I would like to start with Helmet wearing while riding bicycles. I believe that it is important to do so. Second, I cannot overstate the importance of trail etiquette while riding where pedestrians are walking. Last but not least I would like to state my belief in the Holy Trinity, as I understand it today. Revelation tells us that there is in God a true fatherhood that belongs to the First Person alone. From all eternity, the First Person has been generating the Son, who is not a mere attribute of God, but a distinct Person. This is clear from the opening words of the Fourth Gospel: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God” (John 1:1). Proceeding from the Father and the Son is the Holy Spirit.

Ridin' with the Good Ol' boys

2010-09-06T06:57:00.000-07:00

This past Saturday brought some strange chemistry to our morning bike ride in the form of a couple of crazy old, California-Oakie, Good-Ol-Boy, bicycle riders joining us. The endless, conversations, yelled at the top of their lungs back and forth in that decidedly Bakersfield-twang about Big-Block vs. Small-block and 4-11 Posi-traction vs. IRS with 373 ratio... well finally I just decided that if you can't beat 'em, join 'em! Cheers!

Diet For A Madman

2010-09-03T07:39:00.001-07:00

Eat more, loose weight! 8am; 2 pieces wheat berry bread, toasted, pat o' butter Tbsp. o' jam. 9am; 1 Banana, 10 raw almonds. 10am; 1 Oz. cheese, 10 whole-grain chips. Noon; 2 pieces Nut and grain bread, fresh basil leaves, homegrown tomato, mayo sandwich. 1pm; 1 celery, 1 carrot. 2:30pm; 1 apple, 1 Tbsp. cashew butter. 4pm; 1 Oz. cheese, 10 whole-grain chips. 6pm; Homemade Burrito- Flour tortilla, basmati rice refried black beans, pepper-jack cheese, shredded cabbage, green onion, sour cream. 8pm; Dessert- small bowl o' Natures Path Organic Hemp Plus Granola, 1/2 cup 2% milk. Drink Green tea and water all day

September Morn...

2010-09-01T13:33:00.000-07:00

Stay for just a while

Stay, and let me look at you

It's been so long, I hardly knew you

Standing in the door

Stay with me a while

I only want to talk to you

We've traveled halfway 'round the world

To find ourselves again

September morn

We danced until the night became a brand new day

Two lovers playing scenes from some romantic play

September morning still can make me feel that way

Look at what you've done

Why, you've become a grown-up girl

I still can hear you cryin'

In the corner of your room

And look how far we've come

So far from where we used to be

But not so far that we've forgotten

How it was before

September morn

Do you remember how we danced that night away

Two lovers playing scenes from some romantic play

September morning still can make me feel that way

1984 Rajneeshee Bioterror Attack

2010-08-30T12:54:00.000-07:00

Life is complex and multilayered and my naive illusions about the phenomena of perfect enlightenment have faded through the years. It has become clear to me that enlightened people are as fallible as anyone. They are expanded human beings, not perfect human beings, and they live and breathe with many of the same faults and vulnerabilities we ordinary humans must endure. During the "Missing Years" of my life, I did a fair amount o' wanderin'. My boot heels kicked along, down many a tree lined by-way. In the Fall of 1984, I found myself in the quiet little town of The Dalles, Oregon. If "The Bhagwan" had been as clever as he claimed to be, he would have realized that I was going to order a burger and fries and completely side-step the salad bar. Otherwise, he'd a had me too! Bonehead!

Submitted For Your Dismissal

2010-08-28T14:41:00.000-07:00

I could a laughed like HADES! I was out riding around in the beautiful drizzly countryside, watching (and narrating) "The movies in my head!" When I got to the part where a lady described her dead husband as, "that Son-of-a-bitch who made my life a living HELL for 20 years"... well, I just fell about the place! Someone in a costume, that made him appear to be my friend, said something about, "that sounds like Me in the mirror." "Oh yeah?" I laughed. "Well what about animals in heaven?" "Go get another cuppa tea you moron!" He yelled, as he rode off.

Cult of Personality

2010-08-25T14:48:00.000-07:00

A cult of personality arises when an individual uses mass media to create an idealized and heroic public image, often through unquestioning flattery and praise. Cults of personality are often found in dictatorships. The sociologist Max Weber developed a tripartite classification of authority; the cult of personality holds parallels with what Weber defined as 'charismatic authority'.
A cult of personality is similar to hero worship, except that it is propagated by mass media (facebook). However, the term may be applied by analogy to refer to adulation of religious or non-political leaders.

Gas Pipe Frames

2010-08-23T14:22:00.000-07:00

I have been hearing the expression, "Gas Pipe Frame" rather often lately. I find it interesting that... WHAT? Who goes there? It is I, the creator of the entity you dare call, I. It's a perspective, far outside of your work-a-day PAUPER-dom! For you see, the real I, (Me) have created that as well. Turns out that REAL PEOPLE, have been expressing a growing sense of BORE-dom with regards to "your" OPINIONS! Damn you man behind the keyboard! It's a 1958 Bianchi 3-speed, somebody does give a rip about my Milano in the yard. You and your silly Kingdom of Castile!

Come Fry With me...

2010-08-20T16:33:00.000-07:00

...come fry, let's fry an egg! Oh Man, the tea-man was just here! I am going home to brew me up a cuppa "Pride O' The Port" tea and I am gonna ride that cup to the moon and beyond! Thank you SanFranTeaMan!
There aint no mountain I cannot climb, long as I got me a proppa-cuppa!

IF SWING GOES, I GO TOO (Fred Astaire / Harry Warren)

2010-08-19T11:52:00.001-07:00

They can take away my breakfast!
They can take away my lunch!
But there’s just one thing
That they can’t take,
That’s the rhythm of the swing band bunch.
I like my music
And I like it high
If I try to shake it down
Then I just wanna die.
What’s this talk about waltzes
Taking the place of swing?
I don’t like waltzes
If they cancel my soap operas
I’ll make it through.
They can take away most anything,
But if swing goes I go too!

Slow Boat To China

2010-08-18T09:46:00.000-07:00

Trapped! It's a big boat, but not big enough to escape that big mouth that just goes on yappin' and rappin' about my miserable failure, my life. Now that bastard is on the P.A. yelling something about my whole existence being nothing more than a series of token efforts, just enough to get things patched up and marginally functioning, so that I can get my fat ass back in that recliner, a bag of chips and a cold beverage by my side. One of these days I swear to God, I am going to throw that SOB overboard!@#*!

I am Sorry Richard!

2010-08-17T16:02:00.000-07:00

Yeah, so I was out riding when suddenly, out of nowhere, it occurs to me that I have some 'splainin' to do. If I refer to myself as you, it is because He is not listening. For you see, He is Me and You are He and We are all together. Occasionally the whole system goes a bit awry and We begin trying to make fun of others in an effort to get the focus off Us. So FRUITCAKE becomes a very bad choice made no doubt by very bad chemicals in Our brain. "I" hope this helps clear things up a bit and that "I" have not offended anyone. LIAR!

FRUIT CAKE !

2010-08-16T16:15:00.000-07:00

Ya know, some day they probably will end up throwing a net over my head and haulin' me off to a padded cell. Out of nowhere I had a thought that went like this. If I go to google and type in the words, Fruit Cake, and then check images, I'll bet there will be a picture of Richard Simmons somewhere amongst them. Well folks, I was wrong. There were over 30 pages of images (of fruit cakes) but no Richard Simmons to be found. This chap was the closest thing I could find. Sorry.

Zen Saying...

2010-08-12T15:10:00.000-07:00

"When you get to the bottom of the stack-- Keep shoveling."

Everything is Dharmatically Illuminated When You Are Climbing Up Cold mountain With The Man From La Mancha!

2010-08-11T12:02:00.000-07:00

We were suddenly arrested by the thought of that old, semi-crippled man, essentially just sitting up there in the clouds, writing poetry. I thought to myself, I'll bet he would love a good vegetarian sausage. And so our journey began. Climbing up Cold mountain with a pack o' Smart Sausages.

Han-shan

2010-08-10T14:23:00.001-07:00

My heart is like the autumn moon
perfectly bright in the deep green pool
nothing can compare with it
you tell me how it can be explained

Everything Is Illuminated (2005) Sort of...

2010-08-09T07:24:00.000-07:00

Everything Is Illuminated (2005): "- Sent using Google Toolbar" Well after years of waiting for just the right moment, I finally felt that it was time to watch. I (of course) was joined with by my counter-part, Yevette. We had a lot of fun and it was just a lot of fun! If you want to have some fun, we both recommend that you watch this film.

I'm Good, Thank You.: Officious seeing eye bitch

2010-08-09T07:23:00.000-07:00

I'm Good, Thank You.: Officious seeing eye bitch: "Click me to see what I am looking at Just got back from watching a sneak preview of 'Everything is Illuminated' and it is an awesome movi..."

Han-shan

2010-08-06T11:04:00.000-07:00

(Cold Mountain)
(730? - 850?)

English version by
Red Pine

Original Language
Chinese

Buddhist : Zen / Chan
Taoist
8th Century

Someone lives in a mountain gorge
cloud robe and sunset tassels
holding sweet plants he would share
but the road is long and hard
burdened by regrets and doubts
old and unaccomplished
called by others crippled
he stands alone steadfast

Han-shan (Cold Mountain)

2010-08-05T13:29:00.001-07:00

Clambering up the Cold Mountain path,
The Cold Mountain trail goes on and on:
The long gorge choked with scree and boulders,
The wide creek, the mist-blurred grass.
The moss is slippery, though there's been no rain
The pine sings, but there's no wind.
Who can leap the world's ties
And sit with me among the white clouds?

English version by Gary Snyder.

Desolation Peak

2010-08-04T14:09:00.000-07:00

"And suddenly I saw the Northwest was a great deal more than the little vision I had of it of Japhy in my mind. It was miles and miles of unbelievable mountains grooking on all horizons in the wild broken clouds, Mount Olympus and Mount Baker, a giant orange sash in the gloom over the Pacific-ward skies that led I knew toward the Hokkaido Siberian desolations of the world. I huddled against the bridge-house hearing the Mark Twain talk of the skipper and the wheel-man inside. In the deepened dusk fog ahead the big red neons saying: PORT OF SEATTLE."

Shuffling Along The Road Of Life

2010-08-02T13:28:00.000-07:00

Saw old man shuffling out of Costco yesterdee. Very old, leather moccasin footed. Audible shuffle, scuffing scruffily out into the hot bustling parking lot. Idiot brained, perhaps. Blank face stare, he's driving I wonder? Eve mentions that he's probably the perfect human lighting rod. Start to ask her what she means, then I burst out laughing.

The Short Reign of Pippin IV

2010-07-29T09:54:00.000-07:00

The story is quite simple. Pippin is pressured by French political leaders in the year of 19-- to accept the crown of France because of his birthright. The poor fellow just wants to record cosmic showers and dwell in the peace of his family. Yet it is not so easy to reject the notion since he is told that France needs him, and who can ignore that? It seems a coincidence that all 42 political sections decide to support monarchy "for different reasons beneficial to" themselves. So Pippin and his family move into Versailles along with 200 penniless aristocrats. And that is where Pippin takes his role seriously as king much to the chagrin of the delegates (and his wife who feels left out and goes to Sister Hyacinthe for advice). In the few months of his rule, the king tries desperately to understand his subjects' conditions and to discern the relationships among power, corruption, and fear. Exactly how Pippin's reign ends in France is a worldly lesson to all on what "the good life" is. As Uncle Charlie warns Pippin,"When a pawn tries to do the work of the government--then the pawn is a fool."

Over Drive - Group Crash Scene

2010-07-27T09:18:00.000-07:00

And Now, A Zen Moment

2010-07-26T16:41:00.000-07:00

Master; "What is the meaning of bird?"
Student; "What bird?"
Master; "The bird of one's mind."
Student; "Go to Hell!"
Master; "Gosh!"
Student; "Yeah that's what I thought! You think anyone wants a round-house kick to the head while I'm wearin' these Bad Boys? I don't think so!"

Working Our Way Through France

2010-07-22T08:28:00.000-07:00

Day 19; After narrowly escaping the clutches of an overly exuberant Saxon woman, we are back safely in the saddle working our way through France. Rocinante, my trusty steed, is holding up to the rigors of the long journey marvelously! All previous oaths of mine with regards to sending him to the Glue Factory, shall now be proclaimed null and void!

Through Thhe Wormhole

2010-07-21T09:04:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure where my fear of German women stems from, but I know one thing, it is not getting any better. Just the other day I was telling a friend about the wonderful new mini-series on the Science Channel called, Through The Wormhole, with Morgan Freeman, when suddenly an older, Teutonic woman who over heard our conversation screamed out, "Tru Da Vermholen!" I began down that decades long inner path of fear and trembling as my friend started up an animated conversation with the lady. Soon, I simply could stand it no longer and had to abruptly excuse myself because as I said, "Somewhere, there is a kettle at full boil, I need a strong cuppa English Breakfast Tea!"

If I Were A Rich Man!

2010-07-17T16:56:00.000-07:00

Meanwhile... Back at The Ranch

2010-07-14T09:42:00.000-07:00

Lately, a discouragaing word has descended over the blue skies that blanket the Ponderosa. Some letter-writers, like the football players who administered the shears on him 15 years ago are distressed by Mike Landon, or Little Joe's, long hair. "There are people who write in, forgetting that 'Bonanza' is set in the Old West in the 1870's, and they ask is Little Joe some kind of hippie." Landon shakes his full-thatched head in wonderment. "They've got to be kidding--Ben Cartwright's son a hippie?"

Shadow Biosphere

2010-07-09T14:47:00.000-07:00

A shadow biosphere is a postulated microbial biosphere of Earth that uses radically different biochemical and molecular processes than currently known life. While life on Earth is relatively well-studied, the shadow biosphere may still remain unnoticed because our exploration targets our biochemistry primarily.

Benner, Ricardo and Carrigan argue that, if organisms based on RNA have once existed, they may still be alive today, unnoticed because they don't contain ribosomes, which are usually used to detect living organisms. They suggest searching for them in environments that are low in sulphur, that are spatially constrained (for example, minerals with pores smaller than one micrometre), or that cycle between extreme hot and cold.

Other proposed denizens of the shadow biosphere include organisms with chirality opposite of ours, that use some of the non-standard amino acids, or that use arsenic instead of phosphorus.

That Seventy's Look

2010-07-07T15:01:00.000-07:00

Hello and welcome back! We are sincerely excited about our latest project, one that we are not entirely able to share the details of, yet. Stay tuned all Summer long as our new program director has many new ideas and of course, lots of giveaways!

So Long and Thanks for all the Fish

2010-07-02T07:23:00.000-07:00

Underground Doings

2010-06-30T12:30:00.000-07:00

You, dear reader, may occasionally feel that there is something afoot (within this big old world you live in) that you are just missing, by a razor's width. You get the news of great events or happenings, one day late. You catch a fleeting glimpse of a bicycle that may or may not have been an Iver Johnson hand-built. You hear stories of pro teams stopping by a local tavern, handing out swag and goodies. You my friend are not paranoid, these things are out there. Stay thirsty my friends!

The Wolf

2010-06-29T08:18:00.000-07:00

Some are born to move the world
To live their fantasies
But most of us just dream about
The things we'd like to be
Sadder still to watch it die
Than never to have known it
For you, the blind who once could see
The bell tolls for thee... RUSH

A Wolf In Sheep's Clothing

2010-06-28T10:35:00.000-07:00

Last winter while attending one of our local Ride-On cyclocross races, I was talking with a couple of my old Red Bluff buddies.We were discussing something we dubbed "The Funky Factor" in the sport. We agreed that although any form of participation in the race is fantastic, a certain little flair for the retro is always extremely cool. Especially when a steel-framed, army-booted, wool-clad individual actually ends up, high in the finishing order. I mentioned that I have witnessed instances where a retro steel, road bike guy shows up to a group ride of carbon fiber, spandex-clad, shaved-down elitists and ends up handing out some serious hurt to the group.
Well one thing led to another, we decided to embark on a project we called, The Wolf. We would build a bike that for all intents and purposes looked like an old fender-ed and chain guarded 3-speed, but with a few little tricks. Titanium frame and fork (Desalvo), Nexus 7-speed internal gear hub, 700c wheels with Continental 28c Ultrasport tires, three piece crank, aluminum mustache bars, plastic fenders and chain guard.

Deep Purple - Highway Star

2010-06-25T12:52:00.000-07:00

Comment Moderation

2010-06-24T15:02:00.001-07:00

Captain Lookout’s Wrecking Crew

presents:

BICYCLE
SWAP & SELL

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Noon - 4:00 (or later?)

Carpet Mart, 905 Locust Street, Redding

NO ADMISSION OR COMMISSION FEES!

for more information, please call Jim

246-0203 (days)
221-2028 (eves)

The Search For the Ivory-Billed Woodpecker

2010-06-23T13:23:00.000-07:00

SanFranCup recalled, "On the second day of our trip, at approximately 1:15 in the afternoon, a large black-and-white woodpecker with the characteristic color pattern of an Ivory-billed Woodpecker flew across the bayou at close range in front of Bojangels and me. We cried out simultaneously, 'Ivory-bill!' and paddled frantically toward shore. As soon as we landed, we took off through the boot-sucking muck and mire of the swamp, climbing up and over fallen trees and through branches, with camcorder in hand and running. Although the bird landed on tree trunks briefly a couple of times, we weren't able to catch up with it or take video."

Jim Swift and His Electic Gun

2010-06-22T09:11:00.000-07:00

The story opens with Jim daydreaming of African Safaris while test-firing his new Electric Rifle. It works too well and toasts a hole in his neighbor's dining room wall, prompting an outraged visit from the toastee-in-question. A quick application of cash settles ruffled feathers, and some unspecified safety features are added to the weapon, to prevent a recurrence of the accident. As luck would have it, a famous African Safari Master is in town, shopping for a new big game rifle. He hooks up with Jim and a new custom-built airship, the Black Hawk, is designed & constructed. Jim, Noel, Mr. SanFranCup and the hunter, Mr. Bojangles, are off to the Dark Continent via steamship, in search of ivory and adventure.

Snuffy Smith

2010-06-21T09:09:00.001-07:00

When Barney Google's adventures took him deep into the Kentucky hills to escape the law, he met Snuffy Smith, a bodacious hillbilly who soon eclipsed him in popularity. At one time the premier moonshiner of Hootin' Holler mountain, this card-playin', hammock-swayin', shotgun-sprayin' varmint made the headlines when he vowed to give up his still forever. We'll just see about that.

You say Manpris, I say Shants

2010-06-18T14:29:00.000-07:00

That's right folks! What ever you call 'em, they're Hip, they're Slick and they're COOL! But did you ever stop to think about the practical aspect of them as well? Just imagine what would happen if your pant cuff were to ever get tangled up in a fixed-gear drive train. Too horrible to even think of. But we won't let that keep us from tellin' y'all a little story. From, Once upon a mattress. Dauntless: …Stop, look and listen.
…Boy …Flower …Girl …Flower Boy flower, girl flower.
Oh, tell me more, I want to know what getting married is for.
…Seed …fall …from girl flower.
…And by and by …baby flower …grow.
Ah, but why?
Oh, tell me why.
Oh tell me, tell me, father, father don't be shy.
…Boy flower, …girl flower …love each other.
…Boy flower father
…Girl flower mother.
Yes, yes, but how?
It's very interesting, but how?
Oh tell me now.

Booker T & the M G 's - Green Onions (Original / HQ audio)

2010-06-17T12:33:00.000-07:00