Arraignment Today / Reporter Also Charged
24.03.09
BRANSTON, MO - In the wake of a surprising string of events surrounding the re-entry of an American spy satellite, a Missouri man, Mr. Eldon Thurmond, has been charged with animal cruelty by local officials.
Thurmond, a neighbor of Mrs. Esther Hensley, whose cat Sniffles was struck and buried by the 7-ton satellite while scratching in a sandbox, faces multiple criminal charges after authorities found he had been maintaining a highly charged electronic fence around his property to ward off Mrs. Hensley's 117 cats.
“'Scare tactic,' my ass. He had 50,000 volts running through that thing,” said Deputy County Sheriff, Thomas Pierson. “Several of the personnel involved in the satellite investigation and cat round up received substantial burns and electrical shocking from the fencing, and requested hospitalization.”
“Do you mean, ‘required hospitalization’? a reporter suggested.
“Well, that, too,” said Pierson, “but they specifically asked, ‘Can you take me to the hospital?’”
Lawyers for Mr. Thurmond claim their client has every right to defend his property, while city attorneys seek to enforce a local ordinance stating homeowners cannot possess a public hazard, or harbor anything that constitutes a danger to the public. The Thurmonds were removed from their home and placed in custody.
Mr. Thurmond was incensed at his arrest, claiming, “If you were the one stepping in cat shit every time you turned around, you’d do something, too. I’m an electrician. It’s the only thing I could come up with.”
“Let’s use some common sense here,” said Mayor James Hardly. “First a cat gets hit from space, out of the blue, then Mrs. Hensley gets evicted, then we had that cat chase fiasco with all those people going to the hospital that made us the laughingstock of Missouri, and now this. I say it’s (this story has) gone too far.”
In a related development, police responded to a call from the town’s newspaper, the Branston Dispatch, after a reporter covering the story attacked her editor with a large meat cleaver. The reporter, whose name is being withheld, was subdued by law enforcement officers and taken into custody.
The editor, Preston Sargent, was treated for cuts to his forearms and face, and released.
-end
.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Get This Thing Turned Around
Brovic Floats Toxic Asset Plan
24.03.09
KHUK KHAK, Thailand – In an effort to ease the nation’s financial woes, Brother Vic (Brovic) has submitted a bailout plan for US after being requested by Obama administration officials to ‘come up with something, fast.’
“They asked me to help ‘get this thing turned around’, said BV, speaking on the condition of anonymity. “I only want to be associated with this plan if it succeeds,” he said, “otherwise, leave my name out of it.”
Hailed as ‘brilliant’ within the BV inner advisory circle, the TATSTATDEPS (‘Toxic
Asset To Space Station Then Deep Space’) plan could serve as an alternative, or adjunct measure to current efforts to address the world’s financial crisis.
The plan envisions two phases, what he calls, ‘Dump & Recovery’; the initial dump stage of the plan would require loading all current toxic assets aboard the next scheduled shuttle flights and transporting them to the ISS International Space Station. From there, an international team of astronauts would then dispense the toxins into deep space.
“That would be the second step of the ‘dump’ phase,” he said, “getting rid of it. Until then, for the first phase, it could be temporarily stored in the Badlands National Park, located on Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota.”
That idea met with strong resistance from Oglala Sioux Tribe (OST) tribal leaders. Spokesperson Donetta Hard Face Today said, “We don’t need no more toxins dumped in our environment, inna? First it was a bombing range, then a uranium dump, and now this half-baked idea. Our kids play out there,” she said. “And we don’t want no more glow-in-the-dark kids.”
Dismissing those fears, Brovic said, “They need to see the big picture. It’s only going to be temporary. Pine Ridge is best positioned to deal with this kind of thing. Of all people, The People have a long history of a nation in distress, and recovery, so that will be the second phase.”
In an emergency meeting of tribal council, Wakpamni district representative and tribal elder Emma Holier Than Thou asked, ‘What is this half-baked nonsense? Who is this guy? Is he getting paid for this?’
OST Tribal Council member, Wilber Dont Sleep At Night, said, “I know it calls for another sacrifice by our people, and there are under the table cuts in it for some of us. But we have to think of our children, for seven generations. How can we ever explain this to them?” he asked. “I can’t even make sense of it, and I’m alive, now.”
“If adopted, this plan should serve a secondary benefit in helping our nation see how grim it can get,” said BV. “People think things are grim. We live like this ALL the time.”
Although he admitted to not understanding derivatives, BV pointed out, “Who does?”
Brovic had prior advisory experience in Vietnam and the Cuban Bay of Pigs invasion. Both countries have since had communist rule. He was also involved in the Iranian hostage rescue plan during the Carter administration, which he concedes ‘some people’ see as an utter fiasco.
In defense of his checkered history, he said, “For the record, I’m not the only one to preside over what you so cavalierly call a fiasco. Look at just a few big fish we wish would just go away, Oliver North, Albert Gonzales, Sarah Palin and Dick Cheney, just to name a few,” he said. “Toss in Bashir, Robert Mugabe, and Kim Jong II. Put ‘em on the first flight. You can’t call a duck a chicken when everybody else says it’s a chicken, but you can try.”
“That don’t make no sense,” said a small Indian kid, standing nearby.
If accepted by the administration, the plan will still require passage by both houses of a widely divided congress, and expected stiff opposition in the U.S. Senate. By then, analysts say the plan ‘will mostly likely not remotely resemble’ the proposal in its current form.
“Even if it takes multiple launches, it won’t cost the tax payer but a fraction of what they’ve got in the hopper now,” said BV, adding, “It’s not the first time I’ve been asked to serve my country, nor the first time they’ve asked me to help get this thing turned around.”
-end
.
24.03.09
KHUK KHAK, Thailand – In an effort to ease the nation’s financial woes, Brother Vic (Brovic) has submitted a bailout plan for US after being requested by Obama administration officials to ‘come up with something, fast.’
“They asked me to help ‘get this thing turned around’, said BV, speaking on the condition of anonymity. “I only want to be associated with this plan if it succeeds,” he said, “otherwise, leave my name out of it.”
Hailed as ‘brilliant’ within the BV inner advisory circle, the TATSTATDEPS (‘Toxic
Asset To Space Station Then Deep Space’) plan could serve as an alternative, or adjunct measure to current efforts to address the world’s financial crisis.
The plan envisions two phases, what he calls, ‘Dump & Recovery’; the initial dump stage of the plan would require loading all current toxic assets aboard the next scheduled shuttle flights and transporting them to the ISS International Space Station. From there, an international team of astronauts would then dispense the toxins into deep space.
“That would be the second step of the ‘dump’ phase,” he said, “getting rid of it. Until then, for the first phase, it could be temporarily stored in the Badlands National Park, located on Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota.”
That idea met with strong resistance from Oglala Sioux Tribe (OST) tribal leaders. Spokesperson Donetta Hard Face Today said, “We don’t need no more toxins dumped in our environment, inna? First it was a bombing range, then a uranium dump, and now this half-baked idea. Our kids play out there,” she said. “And we don’t want no more glow-in-the-dark kids.”
Dismissing those fears, Brovic said, “They need to see the big picture. It’s only going to be temporary. Pine Ridge is best positioned to deal with this kind of thing. Of all people, The People have a long history of a nation in distress, and recovery, so that will be the second phase.”
In an emergency meeting of tribal council, Wakpamni district representative and tribal elder Emma Holier Than Thou asked, ‘What is this half-baked nonsense? Who is this guy? Is he getting paid for this?’
OST Tribal Council member, Wilber Dont Sleep At Night, said, “I know it calls for another sacrifice by our people, and there are under the table cuts in it for some of us. But we have to think of our children, for seven generations. How can we ever explain this to them?” he asked. “I can’t even make sense of it, and I’m alive, now.”
“If adopted, this plan should serve a secondary benefit in helping our nation see how grim it can get,” said BV. “People think things are grim. We live like this ALL the time.”
Although he admitted to not understanding derivatives, BV pointed out, “Who does?”
Brovic had prior advisory experience in Vietnam and the Cuban Bay of Pigs invasion. Both countries have since had communist rule. He was also involved in the Iranian hostage rescue plan during the Carter administration, which he concedes ‘some people’ see as an utter fiasco.
In defense of his checkered history, he said, “For the record, I’m not the only one to preside over what you so cavalierly call a fiasco. Look at just a few big fish we wish would just go away, Oliver North, Albert Gonzales, Sarah Palin and Dick Cheney, just to name a few,” he said. “Toss in Bashir, Robert Mugabe, and Kim Jong II. Put ‘em on the first flight. You can’t call a duck a chicken when everybody else says it’s a chicken, but you can try.”
“That don’t make no sense,” said a small Indian kid, standing nearby.
If accepted by the administration, the plan will still require passage by both houses of a widely divided congress, and expected stiff opposition in the U.S. Senate. By then, analysts say the plan ‘will mostly likely not remotely resemble’ the proposal in its current form.
“Even if it takes multiple launches, it won’t cost the tax payer but a fraction of what they’ve got in the hopper now,” said BV, adding, “It’s not the first time I’ve been asked to serve my country, nor the first time they’ve asked me to help get this thing turned around.”
-end
.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Haven't The Time
Haven’t The Time
21.03.09
Khuk Khak, Thailand – For story ideas, I usually pull material out of my head, relying on life experience, input from the net and several print copy magazines.
However, depending on the time of day and my state of mind, sometimes I’m thinking, ‘I haven’t got time for this shit right now.’ And it occurred to me that could be precisely what you think when you see another blogpost message from me in your inbox.
-end
.
21.03.09
Khuk Khak, Thailand – For story ideas, I usually pull material out of my head, relying on life experience, input from the net and several print copy magazines.
However, depending on the time of day and my state of mind, sometimes I’m thinking, ‘I haven’t got time for this shit right now.’ And it occurred to me that could be precisely what you think when you see another blogpost message from me in your inbox.
-end
.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
It's All Your Fault
It’s All Your Fault
21.03.09
Khuk Khak, Thailand – I’ve been trying to make sense of this financial mess the whole wide world is in, except who? Canada and Turkey and a handful of other ok countries, looking up and asking, ‘What’s the problem?’
(In a poker game, they’d be standing pat while everyone else was either folding or taking cards, just paying attention).
People in the ok countries still have a job, a house, and a bank on solid footing. Tokyo, England, everywhere else, another story. I’ve concluded it’s your fault, you poor working stiff sucker.
Yes. You. If you had kept that job, you could have made the payments, easy. You WERE making the payments. But see, losing the job spawned a whole interconnected web of things into action, and now the whole business has boomeranged back around to kick you in the ass.
Lost the job, lost the payment, lost the house, lost the wife, lost the kids, lost the car and the cat, lost your self-esteem, lost your razor, toothpaste and shampoo, next you’re sleeping under a bridge with all your belongings in a shopping cart. Cardboard sign declares your state and pleads your case. Don’t say it don’t happen. How close did you come?
One night under the bridge with a few other desperados - sun came up the next morning, knocking the frost off the cardboard, and I was thinking, “I can do better than THIS shit!”
Guy at the Main Street bank said, ‘What?’
Guy at Lehman Brothers said, ‘What?’
People over at Fannie May, Freddie Mac said, ‘What?’
Royal Bank of Scotland, “Whaddaya saying, Lad?”
I’m tellin’ ye I’ve lost my job, Patty. All I’ve got is all these notes, and all these toxic assets.*
Whole house a cards come a tumblin’ down, wouldn’tchaknowit, right when your dreams were reaching maturity. All that stuff in your shopping cart.
And you were thinking all that stuff must be worth something, same thing the Chinese are thinking…I mean, how could all that cash you put into somewhere, and just all of a sudden, pftttttttt? Gone.
Manny used to say when things get too complex, that’s the time to back off and let somebody else do the thinking.
It’s hard to pinpoint who to be mad at, with the bubble house, the lazy credit, the AIGEEs, the Americans, the Wall street, the Fed, the bankers, Mr. Made Off, that Other Guy, the toxic ass, the bailout, the hedge fund, those other guys, the plan, the one-armed man, the Chinese, Reagan, Clinton, Bush, the second gunman on the grassy knoll, or all that shit in your shopping cart.
You could go out back and get mad at…at…at your lawn. You know, rrrrealllly let it out. Give it hell. Get even!
It’s all your fault.
You say all this shit happened before you lost your job? You didn’t lose your job? Well, holy smokes, that makes it even more complex.
It's still all your fault.
Ok, it’s gone. I’m over the shock, disbelief, acceptance, and grief. Now I just want to know, if it’s going to take trillions to get everything back on track, then where did all that money go?
The guy was looking around, in his desk, under his desk, all over, then he tells the other guy, “I don’t know. It was just here. It was here yesterday. It was just here a minute ago. Now it’s gone.”
-end
*you know what ‘asset’ stands for, don’t you?
.
21.03.09
Khuk Khak, Thailand – I’ve been trying to make sense of this financial mess the whole wide world is in, except who? Canada and Turkey and a handful of other ok countries, looking up and asking, ‘What’s the problem?’
(In a poker game, they’d be standing pat while everyone else was either folding or taking cards, just paying attention).
People in the ok countries still have a job, a house, and a bank on solid footing. Tokyo, England, everywhere else, another story. I’ve concluded it’s your fault, you poor working stiff sucker.
Yes. You. If you had kept that job, you could have made the payments, easy. You WERE making the payments. But see, losing the job spawned a whole interconnected web of things into action, and now the whole business has boomeranged back around to kick you in the ass.
Lost the job, lost the payment, lost the house, lost the wife, lost the kids, lost the car and the cat, lost your self-esteem, lost your razor, toothpaste and shampoo, next you’re sleeping under a bridge with all your belongings in a shopping cart. Cardboard sign declares your state and pleads your case. Don’t say it don’t happen. How close did you come?
One night under the bridge with a few other desperados - sun came up the next morning, knocking the frost off the cardboard, and I was thinking, “I can do better than THIS shit!”
Guy at the Main Street bank said, ‘What?’
Guy at Lehman Brothers said, ‘What?’
People over at Fannie May, Freddie Mac said, ‘What?’
Royal Bank of Scotland, “Whaddaya saying, Lad?”
I’m tellin’ ye I’ve lost my job, Patty. All I’ve got is all these notes, and all these toxic assets.*
Whole house a cards come a tumblin’ down, wouldn’tchaknowit, right when your dreams were reaching maturity. All that stuff in your shopping cart.
And you were thinking all that stuff must be worth something, same thing the Chinese are thinking…I mean, how could all that cash you put into somewhere, and just all of a sudden, pftttttttt? Gone.
Manny used to say when things get too complex, that’s the time to back off and let somebody else do the thinking.
It’s hard to pinpoint who to be mad at, with the bubble house, the lazy credit, the AIGEEs, the Americans, the Wall street, the Fed, the bankers, Mr. Made Off, that Other Guy, the toxic ass, the bailout, the hedge fund, those other guys, the plan, the one-armed man, the Chinese, Reagan, Clinton, Bush, the second gunman on the grassy knoll, or all that shit in your shopping cart.
You could go out back and get mad at…at…at your lawn. You know, rrrrealllly let it out. Give it hell. Get even!
It’s all your fault.
You say all this shit happened before you lost your job? You didn’t lose your job? Well, holy smokes, that makes it even more complex.
It's still all your fault.
Ok, it’s gone. I’m over the shock, disbelief, acceptance, and grief. Now I just want to know, if it’s going to take trillions to get everything back on track, then where did all that money go?
The guy was looking around, in his desk, under his desk, all over, then he tells the other guy, “I don’t know. It was just here. It was here yesterday. It was just here a minute ago. Now it’s gone.”
-end
*you know what ‘asset’ stands for, don’t you?
.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
From The Isthmus of Kra
From The Isthmus of Kra
05.03.09
Hi,
I hope you're doing well, and managing through the winter.
vic
--- On Fri, 2/27/09wrote:
Subject: Re:
To: "victor glover"
Date: Friday, February 27, 200
9, 6:16 PM
I'm doing quite well, thanks. I decided not to turn on my heat this winter. Even with a pretty harsh (not SD harsh mind you) the apartment has stayed rather warm. How are you doing?
Sent from my iPhone
________________________________________
From: victor glover
To:
Sent: Saturday, February 28, 2009 1:43:01 PM
Subject: Re:
On Feb 27, 2009, at 11:45 AM, victor glover wrote:
Hi,
Not turning on the heat this winter? Me, either. Where to you live??? I'm doing pretty well. Sent you stuff from Luang Prabang and Vientiane, a half a book's worth. Now back in south of Thailand, trying to decide whether to buy a bike for these last three months here.
Swimming often. Yoga, too. Thanks for asking. How about you?
vic
Subject: Re:
To: "victor glover"
Date: Saturday, February 28, 2009, 6:46 PM
Hi Vic,
Do you even have heat to turn on in the winter there? It has been getting cold here. We’ve had lots of snow…more scheduled for tomorrow morning (just flurries), but then Monday morning looks like 10 inches. Last winter was really mild…I should have had it off all winter last year. But I’m rather a weennie when it comes to cold, so I had it on. The apartment, however, is wonderfully insulated and I have neighbors on four sides who tend to keep the heat up…like my Dad did. The lowest the temperature has dropped inside is 66°…it’s been down to 0° outside.
Your book is coming along. Sweet, touching, and sometimes raw…good stuff. Nice surprises too. Do you think your former publisher will publish this as well? Was the picture you found in the temple really close enough to be you? Or was this a bit of day dreaming?
I have been really busy lately, so I don’t get to read every installment. Sometimes I will read two or three at a time.
Sometimes I really miss swimming. I don’t like to swim in a pool though, so I shy away from doing that. The beaches around here are shallow and cold, so I don’t go in there either. Maybe I’m just getting old. I’ve been getting back to the yoga more lately…after I realized the flexibility was going. It sucks getting old. Also 20-30 minute walks a couple of times a week. Probably doing nothing but assuaging my conscience.
Sent from my iPhone
~
Hi,
(this was the 'lost' piece, that got blipped over into the drafts folder when the machine blipped off. Yes, some of it is repetitive, but as you can see, much of the second draft content and creativity was lost to memory blip and frustration. However, this is what I meant to say, if I would have meant to say it.).
I swam one kilometer today in the Andaman Sea, just off the Isthmus of Kra.
Hi,
Ever notice how people with a life never write back during the weekends? It's when they return to work on Monday that you hear back from them. Uhhh...I'm not saying you don't have a life. Maybe it's just me with all this time on my hands.
There is no home heating here, but for the sun and the jungle. No hot water heaters, either. A shower at 2 p.m. is so hot you can't stand it. Shower four or five times a day, easy. Once in the morning, again at 11 a.m., again at 2 p.m., again before dinner, and once more at bedtime. Otherwise you feel sticky.
Come out of the shower, shake a bit, and drip dry. Put your clothes right on wet body, or stand naked in front of the fan for that air conditioned feeling.
That's what it's like here on the Isthmus of Kra. And I just LOVE saying that. I'm going to use it as much as possible, whenever fitting.
You said; 'Your book is coming along. Sweet, touching, and sometimes raw…good stuff. Nice surprises too.'
Could you elaborate on this, please? Not much, but I'd like to know if I'm connecting with the reader where I should be. What surprised you? Thanks for your interest, and furthermore, since you're the fourth smartest person I know, maybe third, I value your perspective.
Ok. Third.
Swimming, smiling, yoga sporadically, really really trying to dissolve motorbike knots. UNnnnbelievable. Tension storage, or terminus, in the shoulders. Five Thai massages, and one of them sort of had the idea. For the others, just a routine customer, a story idea.
Who are the first two? You wouldn’t know them. Well, there’s three. You’re the fourth, the fourth smartest. It's a toss-up for third, because this person does some pretty stupid stuff from time to time.
Yes, the picture in the temple was indeed me. Without a doubt. Shocking. Arresting, time bending, mind bending...like, 60 years ago I was imprinted to visit a remote, jungle-covered and abandoned temple in northern Laos to see the illustration on that column, and make sense of the four relief images.
And we wondered when we were kids why grandma and grandpa always had their heat turned all the way up to 'stuffy'. I don't like cold, either. That's why a decade ago I sought to make a winter home here. I feel blessed, although sometimes feel terribly lonely, and desirous of American friends and their company. The kids, too, of course.
Writing a book was never an objective for Keeping Heart, nor the writing I produce now. Sure, the material is there, the volume. Finding a...like Manny said, you've got to have the right promotion. I never intended publication, but rather, communication. The publisher found me, thus eliminating a major step for first time, unknown authors.
I think if I think about it, and desire it, it will fall into my lap, just like anything else.
But yeah, I'd like to see a second book, another check, and maybe a major motion picture. I seeee...a sailboat.
I'm glad you're walking. Could you relate to the 'Walking' essays from Vientiane and Luang Praba
blip
-end
05.03.09
Hi,
I hope you're doing well, and managing through the winter.
vic
--- On Fri, 2/27/09wrote:
Subject: Re:
To: "victor glover"
Date: Friday, February 27, 200
9, 6:16 PM
I'm doing quite well, thanks. I decided not to turn on my heat this winter. Even with a pretty harsh (not SD harsh mind you) the apartment has stayed rather warm. How are you doing?
Sent from my iPhone
________________________________________
From: victor glover
To:
Sent: Saturday, February 28, 2009 1:43:01 PM
Subject: Re:
On Feb 27, 2009, at 11:45 AM, victor glover
Hi,
Not turning on the heat this winter? Me, either. Where to you live??? I'm doing pretty well. Sent you stuff from Luang Prabang and Vientiane, a half a book's worth. Now back in south of Thailand, trying to decide whether to buy a bike for these last three months here.
Swimming often. Yoga, too. Thanks for asking. How about you?
vic
Subject: Re:
To: "victor glover"
Date: Saturday, February 28, 2009, 6:46 PM
Hi Vic,
Do you even have heat to turn on in the winter there? It has been getting cold here. We’ve had lots of snow…more scheduled for tomorrow morning (just flurries), but then Monday morning looks like 10 inches. Last winter was really mild…I should have had it off all winter last year. But I’m rather a weennie when it comes to cold, so I had it on. The apartment, however, is wonderfully insulated and I have neighbors on four sides who tend to keep the heat up…like my Dad did. The lowest the temperature has dropped inside is 66°…it’s been down to 0° outside.
Your book is coming along. Sweet, touching, and sometimes raw…good stuff. Nice surprises too. Do you think your former publisher will publish this as well? Was the picture you found in the temple really close enough to be you? Or was this a bit of day dreaming?
I have been really busy lately, so I don’t get to read every installment. Sometimes I will read two or three at a time.
Sometimes I really miss swimming. I don’t like to swim in a pool though, so I shy away from doing that. The beaches around here are shallow and cold, so I don’t go in there either. Maybe I’m just getting old. I’ve been getting back to the yoga more lately…after I realized the flexibility was going. It sucks getting old. Also 20-30 minute walks a couple of times a week. Probably doing nothing but assuaging my conscience.
Sent from my iPhone
~
Hi,
(this was the 'lost' piece, that got blipped over into the drafts folder when the machine blipped off. Yes, some of it is repetitive, but as you can see, much of the second draft content and creativity was lost to memory blip and frustration. However, this is what I meant to say, if I would have meant to say it.).
I swam one kilometer today in the Andaman Sea, just off the Isthmus of Kra.
Hi,
Ever notice how people with a life never write back during the weekends? It's when they return to work on Monday that you hear back from them. Uhhh...I'm not saying you don't have a life. Maybe it's just me with all this time on my hands.
There is no home heating here, but for the sun and the jungle. No hot water heaters, either. A shower at 2 p.m. is so hot you can't stand it. Shower four or five times a day, easy. Once in the morning, again at 11 a.m., again at 2 p.m., again before dinner, and once more at bedtime. Otherwise you feel sticky.
Come out of the shower, shake a bit, and drip dry. Put your clothes right on wet body, or stand naked in front of the fan for that air conditioned feeling.
That's what it's like here on the Isthmus of Kra. And I just LOVE saying that. I'm going to use it as much as possible, whenever fitting.
You said; 'Your book is coming along. Sweet, touching, and sometimes raw…good stuff. Nice surprises too.'
Could you elaborate on this, please? Not much, but I'd like to know if I'm connecting with the reader where I should be. What surprised you? Thanks for your interest, and furthermore, since you're the fourth smartest person I know, maybe third, I value your perspective.
Ok. Third.
Swimming, smiling, yoga sporadically, really really trying to dissolve motorbike knots. UNnnnbelievable. Tension storage, or terminus, in the shoulders. Five Thai massages, and one of them sort of had the idea. For the others, just a routine customer, a story idea.
Who are the first two? You wouldn’t know them. Well, there’s three. You’re the fourth, the fourth smartest. It's a toss-up for third, because this person does some pretty stupid stuff from time to time.
Yes, the picture in the temple was indeed me. Without a doubt. Shocking. Arresting, time bending, mind bending...like, 60 years ago I was imprinted to visit a remote, jungle-covered and abandoned temple in northern Laos to see the illustration on that column, and make sense of the four relief images.
And we wondered when we were kids why grandma and grandpa always had their heat turned all the way up to 'stuffy'. I don't like cold, either. That's why a decade ago I sought to make a winter home here. I feel blessed, although sometimes feel terribly lonely, and desirous of American friends and their company. The kids, too, of course.
Writing a book was never an objective for Keeping Heart, nor the writing I produce now. Sure, the material is there, the volume. Finding a...like Manny said, you've got to have the right promotion. I never intended publication, but rather, communication. The publisher found me, thus eliminating a major step for first time, unknown authors.
I think if I think about it, and desire it, it will fall into my lap, just like anything else.
But yeah, I'd like to see a second book, another check, and maybe a major motion picture. I seeee...a sailboat.
I'm glad you're walking. Could you relate to the 'Walking' essays from Vientiane and Luang Praba
blip
-end
Friday, March 20, 2009
All Those Things We Wanted
All Those Things We Wanted
20.03.09
We wanted it all.
We wanted tv with more than three stations, color, and public access and no snow in the picture. Big screen. We wanted racial equality and peace in Vietnam, a lunar lander, and to see what acid tasted like.
We wanted to know what lingo a porpoise talks, the answer to the 64,000 Dollar Question, the lyrics to ‘Louie Louie’, what a quark is, the backside of the moon, and how long it takes a sunspot to register in bacteria in a laboratory petri dish.*
We wanted super size, better gas mileage and a better game than Pong.
We wanted to get rid of pesticides, public smoking, old stereotypes, old thinking, old cars, all those wires behind our electronic equipment, loads of old possessions in June garage sales, and some of those things we thought we wanted earlier, but didn’t want, after all.
Along the way, we shed bell-bottoms, false beliefs, phony friends, a few pounds, long hair, masks, karmic debt, relationships, and our third skin. Some made new relationships, new masks, new debt, new skin.
Don’t we know who we USED to be?
We became. We were always becoming, a work-in-progress. We became teachers. We came gluttonous, we became free, we became unruly, we became abrasive, we became criminal, we became the guy down the street’s notion of who we might have been, we became larger than a dream.
We became respectable. We became someBODY. We became that which we feared, resented, longed for, resigned to, ran from, saw in others.
We wanted that handheld device that delivered what it promised but compromised our creative thinking. Who, What box did we need to think outside of? We wanted every thing that got us here.
How did you get here?
‘You mean, here, to your house…or here, to this point in time…or here, like, earth?’
*you might be thinking, ‘Eight minutes’, right?...the time for light to travel the 93 million miles from our sun to here, us. No. Instantaneously.
-end
20.03.09
We wanted it all.
We wanted tv with more than three stations, color, and public access and no snow in the picture. Big screen. We wanted racial equality and peace in Vietnam, a lunar lander, and to see what acid tasted like.
We wanted to know what lingo a porpoise talks, the answer to the 64,000 Dollar Question, the lyrics to ‘Louie Louie’, what a quark is, the backside of the moon, and how long it takes a sunspot to register in bacteria in a laboratory petri dish.*
We wanted super size, better gas mileage and a better game than Pong.
We wanted to get rid of pesticides, public smoking, old stereotypes, old thinking, old cars, all those wires behind our electronic equipment, loads of old possessions in June garage sales, and some of those things we thought we wanted earlier, but didn’t want, after all.
Along the way, we shed bell-bottoms, false beliefs, phony friends, a few pounds, long hair, masks, karmic debt, relationships, and our third skin. Some made new relationships, new masks, new debt, new skin.
Don’t we know who we USED to be?
We became. We were always becoming, a work-in-progress. We became teachers. We came gluttonous, we became free, we became unruly, we became abrasive, we became criminal, we became the guy down the street’s notion of who we might have been, we became larger than a dream.
We became respectable. We became someBODY. We became that which we feared, resented, longed for, resigned to, ran from, saw in others.
We wanted that handheld device that delivered what it promised but compromised our creative thinking. Who, What box did we need to think outside of? We wanted every thing that got us here.
How did you get here?
‘You mean, here, to your house…or here, to this point in time…or here, like, earth?’
*you might be thinking, ‘Eight minutes’, right?...the time for light to travel the 93 million miles from our sun to here, us. No. Instantaneously.
-end
Addictive Personality
Addictive Personality
19.03.09
Guy told me I had an ‘addictive personality’.
"The reason you always tossing shit into your mouth, is because you've got an addictive personality," he said.
“Addictive personality? What’s that? Like, ‘charisma’?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “That’s ‘magnetic personality'. You got addictive personality, the kind where you lean toward all kinds of addictions. What can you not live without?” he asked. "What do you just gotta have?"
Made me think. Air. Water. Food. Place to stay. People to talk to. Art. Told him that.
No, he said. He said he was talking about cigarettes, and coffee, and booze, and women, and drugs, and coffee, and red meat, and coke and Pepsi, and Coffee, and tv, and computers, and video games, and certain wines, and things like that, and as he named them off, I was thinking, tick-tock, tick-tock, ‘yeaaaaaaah…’
“Do you mean,” I asked, “like, the first time I ever tried fry bread, I looked up and asked, ‘You can get me more of this, can’t you?’”
“Yes,” he said. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
-end
.
19.03.09
Guy told me I had an ‘addictive personality’.
"The reason you always tossing shit into your mouth, is because you've got an addictive personality," he said.
“Addictive personality? What’s that? Like, ‘charisma’?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “That’s ‘magnetic personality'. You got addictive personality, the kind where you lean toward all kinds of addictions. What can you not live without?” he asked. "What do you just gotta have?"
Made me think. Air. Water. Food. Place to stay. People to talk to. Art. Told him that.
No, he said. He said he was talking about cigarettes, and coffee, and booze, and women, and drugs, and coffee, and red meat, and coke and Pepsi, and Coffee, and tv, and computers, and video games, and certain wines, and things like that, and as he named them off, I was thinking, tick-tock, tick-tock, ‘yeaaaaaaah…’
“Do you mean,” I asked, “like, the first time I ever tried fry bread, I looked up and asked, ‘You can get me more of this, can’t you?’”
“Yes,” he said. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
-end
.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Holy Shit, Fritz
18.03.09
KHUK KHAK, Thailand - Am I the only one who has questions about this Fritzl guy in Austria who kept his daughter in a cellar for 24 years and fathered her seven children, and kept everything a secret until….?
Ok. You’ve heard about it, right? A story so bizarre, it caught the world’s attention. The Associated Press story provided one sentence explaining Fritzl’s wife Rosemarie thinking three of the children ‘brought upstairs’ had ‘apparently believed they had been abandoned.’
The kids are now all grown, the daughter, the principle witness for the prosecution, is 42.
The story was riveting, but geeez, they left some major gaps.
Do you have any questions about this story, or do you care what sick twisted shit happens in Austria? I don’t either, but I’ve got a couple of questions.
1. What was going on with Mrs. Fritzl that she was clueless for 24 years? Did she ever ask, ‘Josef, why…?
2. Who was doing all the cooking, for instance? And where was all that food going?
I’m going to cut it off at four questions. Oh, but there’d be a lot of questions. Somebody’s already on the book, and the movie, no doubt. No. Wait. I’ve got another one. Who did the deliveries?
???
My God.
I mean, the wife has GOT TO BE an accomplice, or completely 100% daft, too.
Whole family is locked away, again. None of ‘em are on the loose.
.
KHUK KHAK, Thailand - Am I the only one who has questions about this Fritzl guy in Austria who kept his daughter in a cellar for 24 years and fathered her seven children, and kept everything a secret until….?
Ok. You’ve heard about it, right? A story so bizarre, it caught the world’s attention. The Associated Press story provided one sentence explaining Fritzl’s wife Rosemarie thinking three of the children ‘brought upstairs’ had ‘apparently believed they had been abandoned.’
The kids are now all grown, the daughter, the principle witness for the prosecution, is 42.
The story was riveting, but geeez, they left some major gaps.
Do you have any questions about this story, or do you care what sick twisted shit happens in Austria? I don’t either, but I’ve got a couple of questions.
1. What was going on with Mrs. Fritzl that she was clueless for 24 years? Did she ever ask, ‘Josef, why…?
2. Who was doing all the cooking, for instance? And where was all that food going?
I’m going to cut it off at four questions. Oh, but there’d be a lot of questions. Somebody’s already on the book, and the movie, no doubt. No. Wait. I’ve got another one. Who did the deliveries?
???
My God.
I mean, the wife has GOT TO BE an accomplice, or completely 100% daft, too.
Whole family is locked away, again. None of ‘em are on the loose.
.
Multi-tasking At The Wheel
Multi-Tasking At The Wheel
17.03.09
KHUK KHAK, Thailand – You might be thinking this is probably some story about being run off the road on your motorbike, into the jungle, by some half-alert, semi-conscious Thai driver, cruising leisurely along ten mph under the speed limit, attuned only to his cell phone conversation, never looking into the rear-view mirror, drifting, drifting, drifting over into the bike lane as a passing attempt is made, and off you go into the jungle.
You may know of some early returns on multi-tasking research. If you’re doing more than one thing at a time, your capacity to produce top performance efficiency in each of those efforts is diminished. In other words, half-assed.
Does that mean you can’t read a magazine and have a smoke while on the toilet? I don’t know for sure. Can a person intake, digest, and eliminate all at the same time? It’s different than peyote, and also unlike feverish illness or drug-induced state when you puke and eliminate at the same time.
‘Had it comin’ out both ends,’ we would tell someone close, indicating the severity of our discomfort and approach to death. Sure, that’s multi-tasking, technically speaking. It’s your body’s way of…multi-tasking, while you’re doing something else.
And all the time you’ve got to keep that heart going and monitor things like blood sugar level and potassium and brain chemistry and respiration and blood pressure and that mosquito on the back of your upper arm and the cars backed up on the exit ramp and your speed and the radio, glance at the mirror and take note of whatever else is bouncing around in your head.
Now, that’s multi-tasking. We do it all the time, and yet, people talk about it like it was something special; “IIIIIIIIIIIII can do many things at once…half-assed.”
It’s a skill, like coming home and running into the house, tossing the keys on the couch, unloading whatever it was in your hands, answering the call, going to the fridge, let the cat out, shower, change, grab your gear, head out the door, take a few steps, turn around, go back for your water, leave the house, go back in and hunt for the keys.
Ever do anything remotely like that?
Ever go from the car, back to the house, three times?
Study said you start forgetting shit at 27. From there on, it’s downhill, even if you’re doing the mental gymnastics.
Yeah, you peak out at 27, study said.
Damn.
Well, I can do ONE thing at a time, half-assed, really good. So, there.
-end
17.03.09
KHUK KHAK, Thailand – You might be thinking this is probably some story about being run off the road on your motorbike, into the jungle, by some half-alert, semi-conscious Thai driver, cruising leisurely along ten mph under the speed limit, attuned only to his cell phone conversation, never looking into the rear-view mirror, drifting, drifting, drifting over into the bike lane as a passing attempt is made, and off you go into the jungle.
You may know of some early returns on multi-tasking research. If you’re doing more than one thing at a time, your capacity to produce top performance efficiency in each of those efforts is diminished. In other words, half-assed.
Does that mean you can’t read a magazine and have a smoke while on the toilet? I don’t know for sure. Can a person intake, digest, and eliminate all at the same time? It’s different than peyote, and also unlike feverish illness or drug-induced state when you puke and eliminate at the same time.
‘Had it comin’ out both ends,’ we would tell someone close, indicating the severity of our discomfort and approach to death. Sure, that’s multi-tasking, technically speaking. It’s your body’s way of…multi-tasking, while you’re doing something else.
And all the time you’ve got to keep that heart going and monitor things like blood sugar level and potassium and brain chemistry and respiration and blood pressure and that mosquito on the back of your upper arm and the cars backed up on the exit ramp and your speed and the radio, glance at the mirror and take note of whatever else is bouncing around in your head.
Now, that’s multi-tasking. We do it all the time, and yet, people talk about it like it was something special; “IIIIIIIIIIIII can do many things at once…half-assed.”
It’s a skill, like coming home and running into the house, tossing the keys on the couch, unloading whatever it was in your hands, answering the call, going to the fridge, let the cat out, shower, change, grab your gear, head out the door, take a few steps, turn around, go back for your water, leave the house, go back in and hunt for the keys.
Ever do anything remotely like that?
Ever go from the car, back to the house, three times?
Study said you start forgetting shit at 27. From there on, it’s downhill, even if you’re doing the mental gymnastics.
Yeah, you peak out at 27, study said.
Damn.
Well, I can do ONE thing at a time, half-assed, really good. So, there.
-end
Big Fight In Newsroom
Big Fight In Newsroom
18.03.09
BENTON, MO - Oh shit, you guys should’ve been here. BIGGGG fucking fight in the newsroom. Between a reporter and the copy editor. You could hear them way outside. Everything came to a standstill.
The editor ran two stories with two inaccurate leads, technically. The reporter stuck to her guns, the one who covered that satellite coming down and striking the cat, screaming at the editor, “HIS FUCKING NAME WAS SNIFFLES!”
The editor, who always has the final say, no matter what, ran the first story as, ‘Sniffle Memorial on Monday’ 9.03.09, with the obituaries, which irritated the hell out of the repor…can I say her name?...Marianne, who thought it should have run as local news.
Then, on 14.03.09 he ran a follow-up story as, ‘Hensley Home Closed Following Sniffle Hit’, which REALLY pissed her off, because she wasn’t completed settled from the first time, and she let everyone know.
“First you chop the hell out of my Sniffles hit story, ran it as an obituary, and now this misleading title, twice.”
“Did you just say Sniffle shit?” asked the editor.
She was spouting about journalistic integrity, and the editor, can I say his name?...the editor, crusty old cynical bastard that he is, said it didn’t sound right. “Read it both ways,” he said. “With the ‘S’, and without it. I’ve been doing headlines a long time, Sweetheart, and I’m telling you what works and what doesn’t.”
She erupted, “I’M NOT YOUR SWEETHEART. MY NAME IS MARIANNE, AND THE FUCKING CAT’S NAME WAS SNIFFLES!”
Glover responded with, “And I’m Sergeant Fucking Preston, of the Royal Canadian Mounted Fucking Police. Take a hike, Sniffles.”
Awwww shit, why’d he say that? I mean, he could have said practically anything else, but they’d been working together long enough for him to know just how to get under her skin. She didn’t even know who Sergeant Preston was.
Well, one thing led to another, and before you knew, the authorities were called in. Yeah. No shit. They had to break it up. Someone downstairs dialed up 911 and said a murder was about to take place. Six cops showed up. They had the call on tape. All the calls are on tape.
No. Nothing changed. Vic sent her back out to talk to Mrs. Hensley…she’s in a nursing home now…and down to the animal shelter to investigate the killing of those 117 cats. Lethal injection. They used to just bash their heads in, saying it saved time, until people got wind of it. Animal rights people are in a hysteria about not trying to find them homes. Off’d ‘em right after they caught ‘em.
They cremate. Then the remains go to the community garden. People over there said they’d take all the ashes for their tomato plants.
-end
.
18.03.09
BENTON, MO - Oh shit, you guys should’ve been here. BIGGGG fucking fight in the newsroom. Between a reporter and the copy editor. You could hear them way outside. Everything came to a standstill.
The editor ran two stories with two inaccurate leads, technically. The reporter stuck to her guns, the one who covered that satellite coming down and striking the cat, screaming at the editor, “HIS FUCKING NAME WAS SNIFFLES!”
The editor, who always has the final say, no matter what, ran the first story as, ‘Sniffle Memorial on Monday’ 9.03.09, with the obituaries, which irritated the hell out of the repor…can I say her name?...Marianne, who thought it should have run as local news.
Then, on 14.03.09 he ran a follow-up story as, ‘Hensley Home Closed Following Sniffle Hit’, which REALLY pissed her off, because she wasn’t completed settled from the first time, and she let everyone know.
“First you chop the hell out of my Sniffles hit story, ran it as an obituary, and now this misleading title, twice.”
“Did you just say Sniffle shit?” asked the editor.
She was spouting about journalistic integrity, and the editor, can I say his name?...the editor, crusty old cynical bastard that he is, said it didn’t sound right. “Read it both ways,” he said. “With the ‘S’, and without it. I’ve been doing headlines a long time, Sweetheart, and I’m telling you what works and what doesn’t.”
She erupted, “I’M NOT YOUR SWEETHEART. MY NAME IS MARIANNE, AND THE FUCKING CAT’S NAME WAS SNIFFLES!”
Glover responded with, “And I’m Sergeant Fucking Preston, of the Royal Canadian Mounted Fucking Police. Take a hike, Sniffles.”
Awwww shit, why’d he say that? I mean, he could have said practically anything else, but they’d been working together long enough for him to know just how to get under her skin. She didn’t even know who Sergeant Preston was.
Well, one thing led to another, and before you knew, the authorities were called in. Yeah. No shit. They had to break it up. Someone downstairs dialed up 911 and said a murder was about to take place. Six cops showed up. They had the call on tape. All the calls are on tape.
No. Nothing changed. Vic sent her back out to talk to Mrs. Hensley…she’s in a nursing home now…and down to the animal shelter to investigate the killing of those 117 cats. Lethal injection. They used to just bash their heads in, saying it saved time, until people got wind of it. Animal rights people are in a hysteria about not trying to find them homes. Off’d ‘em right after they caught ‘em.
They cremate. Then the remains go to the community garden. People over there said they’d take all the ashes for their tomato plants.
-end
.
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