Month: March 2007
There is That
Posted on March 11, 2007 in Disasters Hiking
The blaze signs itself on the horizon like the plume of Old Faithful Geyser.
Insert a Trite Metaphor About a Corral #67
Posted on March 9, 2007 in Roundup
How do you write about child porn without looking at the pictures?
Friday Anteater Blogging – Sloths #2
Posted on March 9, 2007 in Xenartha
There are an amazing number of pictures of sloths out there.
Heat Wave
Posted on March 9, 2007 in Weather
We may not need snow shovels, but a few spare buckets of water could mean the difference between a home and a blackened foundation.
Insert a Trite Metaphor for a Corral #66
Posted on March 6, 2007 in Roundup
The fires burn only to the fringes of the human grassland and then suddenly meet ice.
Out and About Again
Posted on March 6, 2007 in Hiking
I hadn’t gone on a solitary hike in a long time, at first because of my lithium and then because of the long summer’s heat.
Insert a Trite Metaphor for a Corral #65
Posted on March 5, 2007 in Roundup
It sounds like the greatest cliche but we cannot afford to push the country into a new nuclear arms race. I wish it were just common sense.
Lowbagging
Posted on March 4, 2007 in Attitudes Reflections
Found a term that fits. Provided you pick out the right one of these three definitions:
Now, what exactly is a Lowbagger? The definition varies, and has yet to be specifically pinned down. Some people contend a lowbagger belongs to a loosely-knit alternative community that shares resources when living/traveling. Ah, so these lowbaggers are modern-day gypsies, bucking capitalism and living light on the land. Well, no, others say, a Lowbagger is more like a monk, in so much as he or she performs civic duty without pay and needs only food and shelter to maintain this work. Yet, others will proclaim that Lowbaggers live only to ski, float, and play in the out-of-doors, and cluster together in this pursuit, for safety and to save gas money.
See me?
Memories of Mania
Posted on March 3, 2007 in Mania
Memories of manias come in shards for me. Cracked fragments. While they persist, they bring back the full force of the event that I connect them with. But then I dispatch them with a hard word and they go because the moment is not about mania, just boredom.
To have moments like this says to some that I am uncontrollably sick. It’s one thing to do a catalogue for oneself and another for others is my only response to that.
Dreams
Posted on March 2, 2007 in Dreams
1. I am enrolled in some sort of school or center. Maybe I am a child. My big project is a city with streets and a railroad. Kids start dismantling it and stealing the pieces. Most notably missing is a Matchbox bus which went over the edge. When I go for help from the counselor, she laughs and sprays water in my face.
2. I am one in a cadre of Spanish Communists. We’ve been taking slides of each town we intend to attack or occupy. I realize how exquisite the pictures are — there are three of each town — and steal them from the commander just before we go through a checkpoint. The Fascist officer takes pity on me because I am an old man and because of the value of the slides. “You must find someone to hold onto these until the war is over,” he says. So I find a woman who runs a roadside gift shop and give them to her.
