Hey hey hey hey….Alley’s the roughest place I’ve ever been
All the people down there….Livin’ for their whisky, wine, and gin
7 billion light years away
Felt more like 6 million
How do you exonerate a feeling?
OH to be fooled
is not to play the fool
Be kind heartened
Learn how to hunt your attacker
How can you possibly get enough time
Then another day
Finally make their play
Cher Baker plays
These foolish things
It’s as if he’s the only one who knows
in her own debris
Calibrated to degree
take it easy
Black eyed peas and rice
XDF is the deepest image of the sky ever obtained and reveals the faintest and most distant galaxies ever seen.
An eXtreme Deep Field of Dreams
“XDF allows us to explore further back in time than ever before”, said Garth Illingworth of the University of California at Santa Cruz, principal investigator of the Hubble Ultra Deep Field 2009 (HUDF09) program.
explore further back in
The universe is 13.7 billion years old.
the XDF reveals galaxies that span back 13.2 billion years in time
So, .5 billion years, just unaccounted for (・・?
The early universe was a time of dramatic birth for galaxies containing brilliant blue stars extraordinarily brighter than our sun.
Yet 4,000 jobs will be lost in the industrial North. 4,000 people who aren’t yourfather, or brother, or otherwise denuded tree of life, stripped of industry by the forces at work at this particular time in this particular place, called Britain, a former greatpower, whose claim to fame in 2019 is all the fish and watery creatures (eels, loch Ness or Nessie, are filled with coke. Saturated in cocaine. High as Top Gun.
(Free Willyfollowed Jaws, the Cuba Gooding, Jr. Ididerod movie was made after Old Yeller, White Fang, Benji and light years away from Benji: the Cold War Years and Benji: before the opioid crisis, and other tails…
Mike McGyver arrested as a girl, for drug residue on his overlord plane.
B-b-b-b-buh-buh-buh-benji and the Feds
The light from those past events is just arriving at Earth now, and so the XDF is a “time tunnel into the distant past.”
The youngest galaxy found in the XDF existed just 450 million years after the universe’s birth in the big bang.
The light from those past events is just arriving at Earth now, and so the XDF is a “time tunnel into the distant past.”
just 450 million years after the universe’s birth in the big bang, baby Galaxy was born in a morgue
1-light is a slug;
3-how distant past?
Life = get addicted, go to detox tough love
When I’m rushing on my run
And I feel just like
How is it this way we’ve become
to set ‘er down
Lie to disguise
Gave the blues
Safehouse for the Muses,
Bring a disruptor
Take a micro dose
of the American dream
and check your notifications in the morning
reality is nothing more than our dreams turned into banalities.
Jamake Hightower, Primal Mind
of munch house
Bunch of em showed up
All two of Em
Including nine multiplepersonalities
Didn’t he allegedly burn up in a car
A pacer in fact
Completely in tact
Larger than life
King boy georgette
Of long lines
Everything was escaping
From what now is a
Held up high
As long as there’s a
Chimmm chin charooo
So scary hewas
growing up right by
the women’s state “farm” and
My motherwould drive through ” these aren’ttheviolentcriminals” hills while my brother and I took thatshortcut more than we should. And drivingrecklesslyhe was, always in that 74 dasher we drove into the ground between Henrico and the independent city of Charlottesville.
for the other duties in our lives, and this might lead to other more important tasks or even vital projects being forgotten or avoided with abandon,
Set an intention
There’s a reason your yoga teacher asks you to set an intention for your practice that day. Whether you do it in your morning journal or before important activities, setting an intention can help you focus and remind you why you are doing something. If something gives you anxiety — like giving a big speech at work — set an intention for it.
For example, you can set an intention to take care of your body before heading to the gym or to treat your body with kindness before eating.
2. Do a guided meditation or mindfulness practice
Meditation can be as easy as finding a sliver of space and opening an app. Apps and online programs are a great way to dip your toe into a practice without committing to an expensive class or taking up much time.
There are countless free, guided meditations
These meditation apps are a great place to start.
BTC, BCH, ETH, LSK, LTC, XMR, XEM, DASH, BCC, CLOAK, EMC, NEO, TIME, SHIFT, STRAT, & 146+ more
a friend says he was likely tortured for information, a relative by marriage and an ex-senior aide to the crown prince.
filled weekend getaway for hipster Swedish fish pocket protector bifurcated beast / you can tell because they say we are hundreds we have baseball bats we desecrate the grounds of Thomas Jefferson’s one defensible achievement
Of course no one was teaching the truth
Tracking the moves from Berkeley to Berkowitz’s meaningless form of terror
The one that produced Roy Cohn closeted dying of AIDS stealing the AZT for himself, staunchly loyal to the man who killed him – but that’s nothing new.
1001 Arabian Nights where a naive but brazen bluffer takes on a psychopath ox in control of the biggest con of all time. Mecca.
nanu nanu nanotechnological pariah
they said 2018 a different way every day
All she ever thinks about
Micah foils Fool’s gold
like a mirage to heroine Scherezade
Much apocalyptic fiction does not deal with the “end of time” but rather with the end of a certain period, the end of life as it is now, and the beginning of a new period.
No frozen meal boot camps
Clinical study clinically studied
Kill me now
Metaphorically speaking (how annoying can you be?)
Mephistopheles is here, hon!
Advent calendar Wednesday before Thanksgiving, formerly celebrating the Harvest, now just another Clusterfuck of Contradictions.
Somewhere between the Seventh Seal and Life in Hell (Simpsons precursor), Coen Brothers & The Bell Jar, Cheever’s morning and Chong for Congress.
May you find your path to do your part to send us forth into humanity’s finest hour. Namaste, Art of War, Golden Rule.
This week is a busy week for people whose birthday is or was February 22, starting with Zookie, who has known me since I was born or before I was born if it is possible to know collective consciousness then well yes, Zookie would be on that list. I never called her because I couldn’t find her number which I thought I had but have not yet located.
The years of disarray, the illness, the betrayal, the infinite anguish I endured just saddens me. the thought haunts me that the ‘therapist’ i turned to to help me sort out my fucked-uped-ness so i could have a chance of surviving til my 75th birthday god-willing, another 1/3 is about right I think i have about that much in me to contribute — if I am lucky i will be like Barry, my dad, who was still alive a year ago.
The pit of my stomach drops a bit, my throat is sore — I smoke too much, which is funny, I never was a smoker, I was so healthy, my life has run the gamut, I have embraced it all. Now I just wish to lift the senseless anxiety – I no longer want to compete for what should be mine – or yours – or whose better at what? Kissing ass is the name of the game and the politics usurped the skill. I don’t honestly know what was wrong with me and I can only assume there must have been something because I finally can acknowledge that my intelligence and talent should have placed me in a much higher ‘category’ of whatever realm I was in by now instead of the constant insecurity.
I just can’t take the misunderstanding anymore. The clearly spoken and precisely said words being heard/translated/believed to be other than their meaning and somehow my emotional fortitude has gotten me only to the spot I most believed in – only because it was the bottom. The aloneness. Caring for mountain goats up somewhere that by now will be more of a sad thing than anything I could have imagined at 15.
I wanted nothing of this — the badness I have seen and known. I could have been one of those professors in the country, had a family and raised horses and been very happy. Instead how the fuck did I get here? I don’t even want to talk about it anymore. It all bores me. All I ever seem to feel is overwhelmed at how much I have to pull together — and somehow find a way to find a way to be someone someone wants to hire – because I honestly don’t know and that’s the scary part, at 50. I guess before I embraced the chaos but now it just feels well not that interesting and I just want meager ability to count on if I show up and do something that is of service–and I’m pretty sure I can contribute. I just can’t pitch myself to anyone.
Too tired. Too much to sort and mail and get birthday cards to my uncle in the mail – I think it’s too heavy for regular stamps so god-forbid I have to go to the Burlington Post Office tomorrow. Plus my mom’s card, she’s his twin. My brother’s twins’ birthday is today – their cards are late. I also stupidly suggested a telescope to which my usually no thanks brother said great idea which obligates me – in my own mind – to follow through.
What would I like to do?
Immerse myself in some very complicated literary and history study; cultural anthropology; teach 56-75 some decent college; next 5 years, get these projects off the ground, their marketable i just can’t do it alone so I guess that’s the thing and I’m not sure how to really go about that so instead I am just going to stick with chores, errands and things like this http://kadavy.net/blog/posts/the-10-minute-hack/
Since I can’t find the meditation that I downloaded and then got barraged about doing my healing reading which wasn’t exactly the only thing in front of my brain – the whole thing is mish mash that I’m not sure can ever be clear enough for a person who was so paint-by-numbers, I could do anything I set my mind to at one point in my life. I know that.
I guess I know that.
Because even as I say that I think – wait a minute – no – because you would not be here, so out of sorts, no novel, no autobiography, prolific in a messy sort of a way. A focus, an aesthetic, no problem. The whole women whining thing a set back perhaps, being gen-x, being a nomad, as my father called me, all those wrapped into one. Being doggedly loyal, very slow to learn that you should quit while you’re ahead with some people, I bleed dry and then somehow am resurrected.
i used to think i was the chosen one.
this was supposed to be about the 7 birthdays (following several last week too) this week – i know a lot of Pisces. they are so emotional compared to my leo sun fired virgo cool scorpio restless gaze upon the universe only to know more than i can articulate and in a method of delivery outside the pre-set categories, which has always been the problem which is why i think i could go away from society and live out my days. this is why i am struggling so hard to take care of business — the unraveling of my life started so long ago, but most directly associated with becoming ‘freelance’ that I feel compelled to write my cautionary tale for the millennials to avoid the pitfalls that elizabeth warren just outlined to a tee–my life. I fall in line with those in Detroit — except this Flint massacre is a new low and that is where my heart wants to go – can I find a way to make a living a way to support myself humbly follow? Oh please god that would be all i ask to tell the stories the way they aren’t being told and just be able to not have to be fucking running scared in the same way as i was over the past 5 years of hellish bosses and people who used me up big time.
tomorrow i have to mail the other twins’ cards.
and here I am emoting
hoping no one reads this, really
but this is where i tell the story of my emotional coming together
my mind is not the enemy
nor is my heart
everyone is trying to help
i broke down today again badly i went there there is no point to me – it’s easy to argue from a purely empirical data way
no one depends on my
my existence is genetically null
that is hard to take sometimes
when I am not leaving behind
any tome to
the depth of the existence
i have actually lead
i feel – overwhelmed
without the ability to really focus
i guess without that balance
on the other side
and I am just divided
and I am tired of that
and I don’t even know how much of this is actually true–and what that even means. I know I mean everyword I say right now but it’s like the truth serum of various substances, pain in my wrists (from writing on the laptop versus the planet of the apes opposable thumb callous i had going on the iphone ipad writing combo – and just the press of time always time time time running out)
Well it already ran out on me for having kids, then my career just went poof, I shit you not, I really didn’t do anything wrong, it was so weirdly political and out of control I had no other option than to take a look at why I was constantly being abused in an industry where to speak up was sure sudden death – but what happened anyway? I got fucked over by bit players and for some reason an editor thought he could slander me and make me lose a job which is illegal by the way by actually recounting a rumor that was a lie. This saddens me.
And so I remind myself of the mantras Progress not perfection
Try not to remember that I cried for 45 minutes and was so distraught
that everything seemed to backtrack
no matter what I do I am a mess
and I was so not a mess…was that just because I was so tightly wound to cover up the wounds of all the secret scars being imposed for too many years? is it to late to unravel and re-bandage up to heal? should it just become some other form of numb?
I don’t know.
I doubt I’ll do the 10 min hack tomorrow in a few hours (I am either constantly anxious like right now with a mix of creative inspiration and dread) or I’m very focused on cleaning or cooking or trying to organize all the paperwork when I feel like Robert DeNiro in Brazil. So that’s a struggle and avoidance piles up.
The lack of focus is not my style either but I’m pretty sure I have cultural ADD.
And worst of all how am I to get over this “poverty consciousness” thing when I KNOW ALL too well that it’s a real thing. Not manifestation. I’m not doing enough — enough of what I don’t know because I’d gladly do it! I submit resumes, I look for jobs — but you have to filter the infinite listings to key words and nothing fits and you waste time and get older and then find yourself developing an anxiety disorder you never had before and that alternates with paralyzing depression, the effects of 46 of repeated emotional trauma, the therapist said.
I guess I will try not to feel like a loser when I can’t do that super-dude’s ten minute life hack when I wake up a few hours from now (I don’t sleep much when I am worried like this –but then I will crash and sleep for a long time when I can relax) – i did sleep in until 1030 am to day and it’s hot in that room – i don’t like feeling scattered and that’s exactly what it feels like and I don’t know really how to fix it – am i just being impatient? Am I that stuck on some aspect of nothingness?
I have been making progress — I have. I just can’t believe how extreme the pain must have been for me to pull a 180 from responsible about everything to can’t keep up with taxes and all the other financial vampire tactics once i lost that first job after 9-11. Never really recovered. But I never really had the mentor a woman with my talent and temperament (I’m not the most politically-minding when in comes to internal games–I find that to be a waste, however I am finely attuned to the forces of the outer enemy, of which I’ve come to find are the majority of the people I’ve worked with.
This is raw, uncensored, needs an edit, but I had to say I am disappointed in myself that I cried so hard to day and it was for long enough to go the the dark place i don’t want to go but honestly i need some help here. i just need some work to do some one must know of something i can offer of i will end up not well because i’m the kind of person who needs a purpose
and checking my email isn’t it
and trying to find the mediation mp4 file i paid for but can’t remember where it downloaded
or the fact that i bought a sketchbookbut i’m a sucky artist
that i have notes all over the place
and it all just represents wasted time to me and that makes me very very sad
We talk too much, Miranda, her feverish sister Sasha said, in her low voice, no secrets come out without silence.
I do. Somehow I’ve come to believe that the last thing a writer or any artist thinks about is to make himself comfortable while he’s working. Perhaps the discomfort is a bit of an aid or stimulus. Men who can afford to work under better conditions often choose to work under miserable conditions.
He had cited his favorite writer, well at least for now, Sampson was irresistible and he knew it and felt guilty and ashamed of his unabashed pheremones and good breeding (his mother was an angel with a pixie wit and his father was some sort of apostle hero who was actually his uncle because his father turns out was some sort of wandering bipolar didn’t know it cad…and hence, this is how I revisit Perseus, Medusa (the new Molly) and the myths of a new generation based on the hidden meanings in the ancient revolving door myths:
In 1939 he went to Greece to visit Lawrence Durrell; his sojourn there provides the narrative basis of The Colossus of Maroussi. Cut off by the war and forced to return to America, he made the yearlong odyssey recorded in The Air-Conditioned Nightmare. Then in 1944 he settled on a magnificent empty stretch of California coast, leading the life described in Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch.Now that his name has made Big Sur a center for pilgrimage, he has been driven out and is once again on the move.
I think these questions are meaningless. What does it matter how long it takes to write a book?
From the meaningless questions to the imagination of the future:
Imagine if sixty years ago, at the start of my writing career, I had thought to write a story about a woman who swallowed a pill and destroyed the Catholic Church, causing the advent of women’s liberation. That story probably would have been laughed at, but it was within the realm of the possible and would have made great science fiction. If I’d lived in the late eighteen hundreds I might have written a story predicting that strange vehicles would soon move across the landscape of the United States and would kill two million people in a period of seventy years. Science fiction is not just the art of the possible, but of the obvious. Once the automobile appeared you could have predicted that it would destroy as many people as it did.
I read everything by Robert Heinlein and Arthur Clarke, and the early writings of Theodore Sturgeon and Van Vogt—all the people who appeared inAstounding Science Fiction—but my big science-fiction influences are H. G. Wells and Jules Verne. I’ve found that I’m a lot like Verne—a writer of moral fables, an instructor in the humanities. He believes the human being is in a strange situation in a very strange world, and he believes that we can triumph by behaving morally. His hero Nemo—who in a way is the flip side of Melville’s madman, Ahab—goes about the world taking weapons away from people to instruct them toward peace.
I often use the metaphor of Perseus and the head of Medusa when I speak of science fiction. Instead of looking into the face of truth, you look over your shoulder into the bronze surface of a reflecting shield. Then you reach back with your sword and cut off the head of Medusa. Science fiction pretends to look into the future but it’s really looking at a reflection of what is already in front of us. So you have a ricochet vision, a ricochet that enables you to have fun with it, instead of being self-conscious and superintellectual.
The experience of great loss appears frequently in his work.
He recently told me he still lives by his lifelong credo, “Jump off the cliff and build your wings on the way down.”
Francesca’s knees are bruised, from bashing into the car door-steering wheel combo as the Jehovah’s Witness chased her to her father’s Honda, a stoic vehicle in the Ohio snow. The other from the Icelandic Vodka, two brands, his girlfriend supplied in happier times.
She wondered if she was technically a drunk if it was only vodka and only on designated new moons in certain time zones. Who was she kidding? She was a wreck. A train wreck, in a minor key.