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Showing posts from October, 2008

At Night

I love clouds at night.
White bounded by dark, flattened
texture, flowing through trees.
Calm, wakefullness wanes,
embraced by peace.
Via BlackBerry

Porn and the Media

I stumbled upon this, “What the journalism industry can learn from porn”. Perhaps the post’s most compelling idea is that journalism should get on the ball and embrace the mobile platform. Porn’s already there. Journalism; not so much. Here is a huge opportunity that MSM is just sitting on. “The journalism industry is often reactive instead of proactive when it comes to new technology platforms” sums this problem well. I do understand the reluctance to invest in these channels. Incurring costs can be terrifying, especially untested ones. Yet, failure to innovate also brings a cost. Adopting the hottest technology is always quite expensive (supply and demand).

Also, “very few online news sites are providing large amounts of video content produced exclusively for the web that is not derivative of a print or broadcast story.” Journalism has the potential to greatly expand their offerings via digital content. The column inches limitations are non-existant. Thus, the web offers some incredi…
This seems frightfully fitting right now...

Disturbing old ads

Perhaps I'm just a wuss, but I find this a bit disturbing. Ah, those good ol' days!

The many variations of flute

One of my fellow Backwashers, Uncouth Heathen, posted this fun piece about one of my favorite bands, Jethro Tull. This is their piece, "My God", which combines flute (how many rock-n-roll flautists can YOU name) with 70's Acid Rock. Yep, it's as weird as you think. As a juxtaposition, I've included the video of another well known flautist.

Welcome to the "surreal life".


My mind, being what it is, loves to race. I try to consume Snyder's work, but this over-active mind hurries, much like gulping down a 5 star meal. It is a crime, truly, to cram this down my mind’s “gullet”, like a ravenous seagull, obsessed, racing to consume the “next“. There is always some new nonsense demanding my limited focus.

Perfection demands attention! True perfection, that is, not the abused notion of over accomplishment nor the doom of overwork. For this mindset, time is god. Measuring one's worth in the length of a to-do list. How much have I done? Quality? No time for that.

Noticing the leaves move, a gentle, wandering dance; lost. Is it any wonder, then, that we are engorged? We can not consume enough. Our bellies expand, trying to capture that empty place where our souls should be. As our legs give out from our engorged bulk, we have forgotten everything. We have, and are, lost.

Now, a glimpse of a moment. These leaves move; myriad trees, maples, fir, pine, ceda…