THE FIRE

The ear participates, and helps arrange marriages.

But the eye has already made love with the person it sees.

The eye knows pleasure, delight in the body’s shape.

And the ear makes do with words that talk about all this.

When hearing takes place, character areas change.

But when the soul sees, inner areas change.

If all you know about fire is what you’ve heard, see if the fire will agree to cook you.

Certain energies come only when you burn.

If you long for belief, sit down in the fire.

The ear, if it hears subtly, turns into an eye.

But if sounds do not reach the ear in the chest, nothing happens.

Rumi

(translated by Robert Bly)

DRUNKEN POST #39

First off, let me say this:  Fuck the “improved posting experience” that WordPress so generously forces on us!  It’s designed for mobile devices–and who the hell has any business posting on his or her blog from a goddamned mobile device?  If you don’t have a mobile device, do not get one.  If you have a mobile device, get rid of it.  I’m not joking–mobile device usage is literally killing people on our highways every day, and destroying our face-to-face communication with one another!

Now, on with the drunken post:  It was so wonderful drinking Guinness tonight, even though it was from a can!  Guinness is the king of beers, in my opinion, and one of only three stouts in existence, to my knowledge (the other two are Negra Modelo, from Mexico, and McGuire’s, from McGuire’s here in Pensacola).  If you know of any other stouts, please let me know.

I was thinking about something very intellectual and deep at dinner, but now I can’t remember it–I hate it when that happens!  When I got home, I replaced the traditional Chinese music in my CD player with the Chambers Brothers’ “Time Has Come Today”–full-length (over eleven minutes long) version–God, I love that song!  And it’s even more applicable today than it was in the Sixties!  I wish the lyrics were printed on the CD, I’d transcribe them here.

I notice, from my stats, that most of my readers actually land here to look at the spreads of the gorgeous women I’ve posted.  But that’s okay!  If you land here to see a beautiful woman, you might, as Bill Cosby used to say on “Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids” (and by the way, I am highly skeptical of those sexual assault accusations against him–I really think it’s a smear campaign directed against him because of his candid comments on the attitudes and behavior of Black Americans) learn something! Tonight, I’m going to post some photographs of one of the most beautiful women I’ve seen in modern times–a local news reporter named Meg McNamara.

large510311125_1398107477116373_1573846646_a10864666_914789778544666_553854373_nB9Se5e-CcAILeQpB9059qJCIAA4kX_Easter_Cooking_KLEW Q_Z6zSfW_400x400 Screen-Shot-2013-11-29-at-6.38.30-PM

Now, remember:

If you have a mobile device, get rid of it!

And in the 2016 election, do not vote for a Republican or a Democrat for President–vote for an independent!  And if there is no independent on the ballot, and you feel you would make a good president–vote for yourself, as a write-in!

I’m serious about this–if you stop using mobile devices, and stop voting for either a Republican or a Democrat for President, the United States of America may fall.  But if you continue using mobile devices, and continue voting for either a Republican or a Democrat for President, the United States of America WILL fall!

WHOEVER’S CALM AND SENSIBLE IS INSANE!

An invisible bird flies over,

but casts a quick shadow.

 

What is the body?  That shadow of a shadow

of your love, that somehow contains

the entire universe.

 

A man sleeps heavily, though something blazes in him like the sun,

like a magnificent fringe sewn up under the hem.

 

He turns under the covers.

Any image is a lie:

     

     A clear red stone tastes sweet.

 

     You kiss a beautiful mouth, and a key

     turns in the lock of your fear.

 

     A spoken sentence sharpens to a fine edge.

 

     A mother dove looks for her nest,

     asking where, ku?  Where, ku?

 

Where the lion lies down.

Where any man or woman goes to cry.

Where the sick go when they hope to get well.

 

Where a wind lifts that helps with winnowing,

and, the same moment, sends a ship on its way.

 

Where anyone says Only God Is Real.

Ya Hu!  Where beyond where.

 

A bright weaver’s shuttle flashes back and forth,

east-west, Where-are-we?  Ma ku?  Maku.

like the sun saying Where are we?

as it weaves with the asking.

 

The Friend comes into my body

looking for the center, unable

to find it, draws a blade,

strikes anywhere.

 

There is a light seed grain inside.

You fill it with yourself, or it dies.

 

I’m caught in this curling energy!  Your hair!

Whoever’s calm and sensible is insane!

 

Do you think I know what I’m doing?

That for one breath or half-breath I belong to myself?

As much as a pen knows what it’s writing,

or the ball can guess where it’s going next.

 

Rumi

(translated by Coleman Barks, et alia)

ON MY 49th BIRTHDAY

The sun is the same in the relative way, but I’m older

Shorter of breath and one year closer to death.

STOP THE VICIOUS CYCLE

SCOTT MAYO 10SCOTT MAYO 11SCOTT MAYO 12

ELECT AN INDEPENDENT PRESIDENT IN 2016

IF YOU’RE MY AGE OR OLDER, YOU KNOW THIS FAMILY

The following is from MORE OF PAUL HARVEY’S THE REST OF THE STORYby Paul Aurandt (Paul Harvey, Jr.).

The Gianinnis

Her name is Doris Gianinni.  Gianinni is her maiden name.

She is proud of her Italian ancestry, especially proud of how it relates to our American history.

Doris’s family, five generations before, had been brought to this country at the behest of Thomas Jefferson.

Their home in the Old World was a little Italian town called Lucca.  The Gianinnis were growers of fruit trees and vines, tenders of vineyards, makers of wine.

About 1773, three years before our country was a country, the Gianinni family received a communication from America from a fellow countryman who had emigrated there some years before.

His name was Philip Mazzei.  Philip had only recently befriended revolutionary statesman Thomas Jefferson.  Their common interest was horticulture.

Mazzei and Jefferson discussed the feasibility of forming an agricultural company because Jefferson was fascinated by the prospect of growing exotic trees and vines in America.  Mazzei told Jefferson that they would need Italian laborers for the projects.

That’s when the Gianinnis entered the scene.  Philip Mazzei, at Jefferson’s request, prepared to take over land adjoining Jefferson’s Virginia estate.

“Come to America,” Mazzei wrote the Gianinnis.  “Let us accept this glorious challenge.”

The Gianinnis did come to America, worked with Mazzei and Jefferson.  The project lasted about four years, through the autumn of 1778.

Although the horticultural experiment suffered and eventually failed in the Virginia climate, Thomas Jefferson–through his association with Mazzei and the Gianinnis–gained a deep affinity for all things Mediterranean.

Historians recall that Jefferson favored friendship and trade between the United States and the Mediterranean countries, that he was particularly in awe of Italian agricultural skill and artistic heritage.

Jefferson’s respect is one reason Doris Gianinni is so proud of her family.  For after the Virginia experiment failed, Doris’s ancestors stayed in Virginia.

Now Doris represents a sixth generation of Gianinnis in America.  And her son is THE REST OF THE STORY.

He became a writer; because of something he wrote, we know his mother, Doris Gianinni.

We don’t know her by that name nor did we know previously about her Italian ancestry.

For nine years, however, she had been portrayed in the setting her son remembers, in the mountains of Virginia.  Her writer son is Earl Hamner.

Earl’s mother, whose Italian forefathers worked alongside Thomas Jefferson–Doris Gianinni we know as Olivia Walton.

DRUNKEN POST #38

I love this!  Can’t write much for this one, haven’t drank alcohol (before tonight) since last April, so I’m somewhat out of practice!  As aforementioned, the only times I’m at peace are when I’m drunk or when I’m asleep!  It’s been this way for over four years now.  So much has changed since 2010–not just in my personal life, but in the society time in which I live exist.  I would give everything–except my soul–including my bodily existence–just to be placed back in the 1980’s, the 1970’s, the 1960’s, or any time before my birth, within the last 100,000 years (or as long as fully evolved modern humans could keep me company)–provided I would retain the knowledge of the present and past (otherwise, I wouldn’t appreciate it).  I love that anti-Obama bumper sticker that says something like, “I’LL KEEP MY GUNS, MY MONEY, AND MY FREEDOM.  YOU CAN KEEP THE CHANGE!”  It’s not as simple as that, of course.  Most of the changes for the worse are not attributable to one person–Barack Obama, or anyone else.  But I say to fate, to God, to the heavens, to whatever–YOU CAN KEEP THE CHANGE!  As aforementioned, I don’t hate change, in itself.  I just hate change that is only for the worse.  And in the last four years, every change has been for the worse.  I can think of no change that has been for the better.  God help us–this really is the worst time, age, era, epoch, period in human history!  I know this.  And there are others like me–scattered all over the planet–who also know it.  Most people don’t know it because they’re so pacified by Digital-Age technology.  But eventually, everyone will know it.  Yet I realize I’ve gone over this before.  When telling people about my blog, I often mention that I actually use my blog to condemn this unrestrained technology–that I literally use Digital-Age technology to condemn Digital-Age technology!  Well, so be it.  I use the tool(s) at hand.

DAMN THE DIGITAL AGE, DAMN CLIMATE CHANGE, DAMN EXPONENTIALLY INCREASING OVERPOPULATION, AND DAMN GLOBALIZATION!

Yet I must say I am grateful to live in a nation that allows me to write so freely as this–at least for now.  If you continue to elect either a Republican or Democrat for President–your freedom and mine will be completely taken away.  The next Republican President will be far more dangerous and destructive than any before him (her)–the next Democratic President will be far more dangerous and destructive than any before him (her).  If you continue voting for one or the other, you will bring an end to the United States of America.  And no third-party President will help either–he or she will just complicate things further–because he or she will still be controlled by a political party.  In the election of 2012, there was no independent candidate on the ballot–there were third-party candidates–but there was no independent candidate at all.  So I made the mistake most others made–I voted for whom I thought was the lesser of two evils–I voted for Obama.  Next time, in 2016, if there is no independent candidate on the ballot I’m going to vote for myself–as a write-in.  I’m serious.  You can do that, you know.  You can even vote for “Mickey Mouse”–it’s perfectly legal (though I wouldn’t recommend that).  But I will recommend this:  If there is no independent candidate (not a third-party candidate, but an independent candidate) on the ballot in 2016–and you feel it necessary to vote for an independent candidate–and you feel you would make as good a president as anyone else on the ballot–then vote for yourself, as a write-in.  Seriously, there are millions of Americans who would make better presidents–much better presidents–than seasoned corrupted politicians.  I even recall a sticker I saw on the cabinets of several schoolteachers in the teachers’ lounges when I was substitute-teaching–“IT’S TOO BAD THOSE WHO COULD BEST RUN THE COUNTRY ARE BUSY TEACHING SCHOOL!”  And that’s really right on.  There are many teachers who would make very good presidents–but there also many police officers, construction workers, secretaries, and especially soldiers and sailors (notice I don’t mention doctors, lawyers, etc.) who would make good presidents.  My point is that the true public servants in our society–not the self-serving politicians–but the true public servants, or even unemployed humanities graduates like me–would make better presidents.

One of the reasons George Washington was the best President this country ever had was that he was not a career politician to begin with.  And one of the reasons Ross Perot probably would have been the second-best President this country ever had was that he was not a career politician to begin with.

But I’ve said enough–make up your own mind.

Now I’m going to do something mindless (or near-mindless), like watch television!

MORE GRANDIOSE IMAGES OF ITS OWN SMALLNESS

In late 1986, while on a glorious spending spree, I bought a brand new book entitled, 101 Science Fiction Stories.  The following story, by Ray Russell, is one of my favorites from the book.  It’s one of those stories I wish I had written!

RIPPLES

Ray Russell

An invisible starship stood at rest near a canal.  If the eye could have seen it, the sight would have been one of immense beauty, for it was a thing of harmonious circles:  an outer rim, hollow and transparent, in which the crew of four lived and worked and looked out upon space and suns and exotic worlds; contained in this circle, another, the core of powerful engines whose surging, flaming energy propelled the ship across galactic distances.  And all of this unseen.

Inside, the captain spoke briefly to his specialist, first class.  “Your report is finished, then?  We can embark?”

“Yes sir.”

“That was fast work.”

“These rudimentary cultures are all very much alike.  The report is simple–planet’s inhabitants too primitive to comprehend our presence here; therefore suggest a return in a few millenia when the species may be more advanced and we can set up cultural and scientific exchange, trade, and so on.”

The first mate drew near them.  “Do you really think they’re too primitive?  They already have language, laws, religion. . . . ”

“But no technology,” said the specialist.

“They couldn’t possibly understand that we come from another planet; the very concept ‘planet’ is beyond them. . . . No, no, to try to establish contact now would be traumatic for them.  If we revealed ourselves–flicked off the invisibility shield–there would be . . . ramifications . . . repercussions . . .”

“Ripples?” said the captain.

“Ripples,” replied the specialist with a nod.  “An apt word.  Like a pebble dropped in a pond, spawning ever larger and larger and more grandiose images of its own smallness, so even an instantaneous glimpse of us and our ship could, with time and retellings, become magnified and elaborated and distorted–into something far beyond anything we could dream.”

“Then, let us head for home and a well-earned leave,” said the captain.

The first mate added, “And a well-shaped young lady I hope has been pining away in solitude!”

“Ah, youth–” began the captain, but broke off as his navigator approached with a worried air.  “Trouble?” the captain asked.

“Yes, sir, I’m afraid so,” said the navigator.

“Serious?”

“A little.  The main engine is inoperable–just as I feared.”

The first mate said, “That rough landing damaged more than our pride.”

“What about the auxiliary?” asked the captain.

“It will get us home, just barely, but it won’t hold up under the strain of lift-off–”

“What?”

“–unless we conserve all other energy.  That means switching off lights, chart banks, communications, sensors, air, invisibility shield, everything–but only for those few vital seconds of lift-off, of course.”

“Then, do it.”

“Yes sir.”

The specialist, alarmed, said, “Captain!  Not the invisibility shield!  We must not turn that off!”

“You heard the navigator.  It’s our only chance–and it will just be for a few seconds.”  He nodded to the navigator, saying, “Lift off.”  Then he looked out through the transparent hull at the world they would soon depart.  “Primitive, you say.  Well, you’re the expert.  But it’s too bad we can’t contact them now. It might have been interesting.  They’re so much like us, they’re almost human.

“Well, hardly that,” said the specialist as the starship moved.”  They’re monofaced, and their feet are different, and they completely lack wings.  But I know what you mean. . . .”

Outside, a bearded denizen of the primitive planet blinked, stared, pointed.

“Behold!” he cried to his companion.  “A whirlwind!  A great cloud!  A fire!  Men with wings and many faces!  A wheel . . . in the middle of a wheel!”

“Where?  What?”  said his companion, turning a second too late.  “I saw nothing, Ezekiel.”

But, roiled by that whirlwind, the waters of the Chebar canal were a dancing spiderwork of ripples.

TECHNOLOGY IS THE OPIUM OF THE PEOPLE

TECHNOLOGY IS THE OPIUM OF THE PEOPLE.

YOU WILL MEET JESUS

I saw the above on the back window of a car today.  It was obviously meant as a threat.  But looking at it, I couldn’t help thinking I wouldn’t mind meeting Jesus.

I’ve often imagined how Jesus might be treated if he were to show up in a very large, upscale church.  A long-haired, dark-skinned man with a beard.  His clothing would be very plain and practical–perhaps somewhat ragged.  And he would not likely smell as fresh as the other churchgoers.  He wouldn’t understand English, and the other folks certainly wouldn’t understand his language–Aramaic.  I can so easily imagine an usher quietly, condescendingly escorting this strange man out the door–perhaps pointing toward some mission somewhere–having no idea this man is Jesus.

Nevermind what Jesus would do.  What would you do if you really met Jesus?  How would you treat him?

Just something to consider.


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