Birthday Post, for fun

The Emperor of Ice Cream

Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers in last month's newspapers.
Let be be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Take from the dresser of deal.
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which she embroidered fantails once
And spread it so as to cover her face.
If her horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold she is, and dumb.
Let the lamp affix its beam.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Wallace Stevens

Also, I'm listening to Midlake today. Balloon maker!

Also, a classic.

A remake of a classic?

A Russian classic...

Article Etiquette

According to little old me.

I am writing this because recently someone I care deeply about received an article that rather upset them. The only explanation for why it was sent to them was "I thought you might be interested". And I am realizing that this is no longer enough when we send an article.

Here is the article, that quite frankly makes my blood boil.

Information has changed, or the availability of it has at least. And the rules, therefore, for what articles to send have also changed. Most of us have enough information being thrown at us every day. And if we don't, we know where to find it. So if information is being sent to us by a friend or loved one, many of us are going to assume that the article is specifically being aimed at us.

1) The information pertains to a clearly established discussion that we have entertained in the past. Or can be readily seen to be connected to something we are openly interested in.

2) The audience the article is aimed at is one that the recipient of the article obviously falls into. If it is an opinion piece aimed at "you" the "you" should be the recipient.

3) Otherwise it is acceptable to send an article that pertains more to the sender's interests or specifies the sender as the audience.

4) Some combination of the above.

If an article does not fall under the above categories some more explanation is required when it is sent. Even if it does fall under these categories clarification could not hurt, & could get a discussion rolling.

A short clarification such as "I know this doesn't pertain to you. But I was wondering what you would think." Or "I was appalled by the conclusions, but I thought there were some interesting nuggets." Or "I know this doesn't pertain to you, but it is a cause I am passionate about." Or "This person voices my ideas precisely. What do you think?" Or something...

If you don't care enough about an article to take the time to briefly explain your stance on it, then you might ask if it is really worth recommending to someone you care about.

I would thank you to at least give some consideration to using this particular system of etiquette when sending articles.

Complexity leads to Simplicity

Eric Berlow: How complexity leads to simplicity | Video on TED.com

I've been realizing a trend in myself for a while now. A dislike for the cutting corners that goes on in the name of simplicity. A love of the order created when people take the time to clarify. Take the time, in other words, to recognize the complexities of pretty much any situation they are in.

Especially when talking to someone I don't know, much of my anxiety stems from the vast expanses of unknowability that can lead to countless misunderstandings. I don't know your language. I don't know the emotional triggers. I don't know the intellectual hot spots that really make you tick. This can make social situations feel like a field full of bombs just waiting for bumbling fools like me to step into them.

People seem almost dogmatically to avoid directness. People like to play games with me. Why does manipulation seem so much more attractive than forthrightness? Because we are, most of us, cowards.

We'd rather sense out where the bombs are through careful exploration than risk asking for a map. We'd rather assume people should be able to read where our bombs are, after all aren't the big signs clear enough, than to help someone else find the way.

One problem is that many of us can't read the signs. Another problem is that often those who know the signs are there can spot them, whereas they don't seem so large to people who don't know us.

I've often been accused of being manipulative. Most of us are to some extent. But as for me, I am trying to explain myself. I am searching for clarity wherever possible.

I realize that there aren't as many bombs as I fear there are. But I will be much more comfortable if you are open with me. Trust me. As a kid. There were a lot of bombs, & I stepped on them a lot. And the result was quite literally an explosion of rage. I am still recovering from this. Quite possibly I will always be.

Window

I find that there is nothing more beautiful to me than a cat in a window. The cool of spring, the robins bobbing just out of reach, the cat alert. There is an awakening & tension of the senses in the spring that works in odd ways with the exhalation & relief brought by softer times.

This particular cat also likes to sit in front of the tv screen when we are watching. As if the screen were another type of window, which it is. And I say to the cat something my Grandpa Elof used to often say to me as I sat inches from his tv screen, "You make a better door than a window."

And I find myself drawn to the Swedish poet Tomas Transtromer, one of the many poets I feel should not be read in an academic setting but rather a meditative one. So here are a few tidbits I wish to share with you...

The Half-Made Heaven

Despair breaks its course.

Anxiety breaks its course.

The vulture breaks his flight.

Dazzling light pours forth-

even the ghosts take a gulp.

Our images, red-painted beasts

in the glacial cave, see day.

Everything stares nakedly around.

We walk in the sun by the hundreds.

Each one is a half-open door

that leads to a room for all.

Unfathomable ground under us.

Water glitters between the trees.

The lake is a window into the earth.

Stones

Stones that we have thrown I hear

falling, glass-clear through the years. In the valley

fly the moment's chaotic

acts shrieking from

treetop to treetop. Made mute

in thinner air than that of the present, they glide

like swallows over mountain

and mountain, until they

reach the farthest plains

at the edges of existence. There fall

all our achievements

glass-clear

to no bottom

except within ourselves.