Cogito Ergo Spud

As It Is - A Short Film About Non-Duality

2011-04-15T12:30:00.000-07:00

I'm usually not the one to send on links to videos but I think most everyone can be helped by this following link. Click on it and go to You Tube and watch the video...

It is grounds for thought.

AS IT IS

With Love and Happiness

Stuart

My Own Personal Self-Help Book

2011-04-04T00:31:00.000-07:00

The Art of Living In the Now / Be Here Now / The Power of Now...

These are all very popular titles to big selling books but I have a book with only one page.

"How To Live In The Now"

1. Breathe - I know it is hackneyed and trite and just on the edge of being a total cliche` but consider that it is such a cliche` because it is true! Breathe and pay attention to your breath and you will tune in very quickly to what's happening around you.

2. Forgive - Most of the time when I'm drifting away from the here/now I find it is because I am dwelling upon something done to me or another, in the past, which I am holding onto with fresh resentment. This distracts me from relaxing into the present moment. So, in order to stay healthy and stay in the moment, I have to give up on on my anger and forgive. Forgive everything, even if there doesn't seem to be a good reason for the forgiveness. You will find that the reason is that it makes us happier people. Forgiveness isn't altruistic... it is selfish and wonderfully so.

3. Love - OK, so it's nothing new, but I must say that one of the things that keeps me from staying in the now is fearing something which is coming up or which I'm afraid I will get wrong in the future or something someone is going to do to me which I'm fearing and I've found that fear is the opposite of love. Dig that? It's not hate, hate is a product of fear, you cannot hate what you don't fear and you cannot fear when you love. So... Love. It helps you stay in the moment.

4. Repeat. That's it. Simple... not really easy, but very simple. K.I.S.S. (Keep it simple, Sammy) Don't get bogged down with too much over-thinking of the subject. It's easier if you just let the moment wash over you with a minimum of furious thought.

One of my favorite posters from the 60's said, "Sometimes I sits and thinks, other times I just sits" That's the secret, learn how to become a fool without being foolish.

One page... I'm done... please purchase 4 million copies and make me rich... I'm waiting.

Love,

S.A.M. Tanner

And The Snake Eats Its Tail Again!

2011-03-30T03:44:00.000-07:00

There is, in legends too old to find provenance for, a story of the hoop-snake, who grabs his tail with his mouth and then having made a circle of himself, creates his own forward progress (movement) by rolling over and over in a wheel-like manner.

This hoop-snake supposedly has magical powers and if about to be captured by humans, will swallow its tail and magically eat itself whole thereby disappearing into that strange place from whence the Mobius Strip came. This magical snake cannot be caught by humans and those humans who try would end up with a handful of air. The only way to catch the snake is to not try to catch it. Instead, the aware human is supposed to sing to the snake with songs of love so that it will roll in circles around said aware human until it comes to rest at his feet. Then he can reach down and pick it up. I've always felt there was something important in this legend and now I believe I know.

I've seen in one of my half-waking visions that the hoop-snake is a symbol for inevitable occurrence and that man is not supposed to have control. Instead, man is but to witness the unfolding of events and reflect upon them as they roll by. If he tries to hold onto this bit of reality, he finds himself with a handful of air. We humans are not meant to grasp upon the wheels of this living world. We are to merely observe and appreciate. If we try more... we get much less.

And now I bring myself to talk about Libya.

Here is a country torn by the forces of anger and fear. It has a leader who is part mystic, part crazy-man (crazy like a fox), and part despotic dictator. Following the upheavals in many of the other Arab countries of Northern Africa, we see a civil war occurring. It was almost inevitable, wasn't it? This tide of revolution and despair rolled out from Cairo and Tunisia and couldn't avoid investing itself in Libya, could it? But under the surface what is happening? These waves of revolution and change have a deeper current flowing under them and we should see that these changes probably won't create happy little democracies as we would hope but instead will make chunks of territory ripe for the picking by the NWO (or whatever we are currently calling the machinations of the banksters this week).

Gaddafi (another false prophet in Bedouin clothes) is resisting. He has marshaled his forces and attempted to gain control of his country by force. This has lead The Powers That Be (TPTB) to instigate a "no fly zone" in an attempt to control the outcome of the popular rising against Gaddafi.

This heroic (yeah, right) effort by the NATO forces (With the USA leading the way as usual) to cement the re-alignment of Northern Africa with their "New World Order" has been portrayed, in the media, as a great undertaking of freedom and a blessing to the poor, downtrodden citizens of Libya and we are told to watch the great popular uprising of the people, whom we are "protecting" from Qaddafi's forces of evil, as they free their country and make it a wonderful place where freedom will reign.

Hogwash.

Watch the snake eat its tail again.

Consider these things...

One) Qaddafi, though a truly destructive leader, has been tolerated by TPTB for close to forty years because he has done the one thing a leader sitting on oil is supposed to do: make the oil continue to flow into the maws of the industrial countries who need it to keep their fantasy freedoms from crashing down around their ears. These leaders and "free countries" have ignored the crap to which he's subjected his people for far too long and it's only when the time is convenient for these "leaders of the free" that anyone lifted a finger for these poor downtrodden Arabs in Libya.

Two) Though Libya's control of the Earth's oil reserves is rather small in respect to the whole of the Earth's total found deposits of rock oil, the cost of oil has "magically" gone up by 100% in the world markets and the oil producers are now making huge profits from the toxic sludge they are pumping from the ground. Do you think that maybe the King of Saudi Arabia can afford to give his citizens a small percentage of the money they are making from oil sales in an attempt to bribe them into not revolting? At over a Billion (yes phokes, that's Billion with a "B"!) dollars a day in oil sales, I think they can afford a 500 million dollar give-away to their citizens. This increase in oil prices is so convenient for the "NWO" as to be laughable. Our money is being poured down the rat-hole which is the pockets of the international banksters.

Three) Nobody is talking about the 40 TONS of depleted uranium which has been rained down on Libya by the Nato forces in an effort to "free" them from Qaddafi! Depleted uranium is one of the most toxic substances known to the world. Depleted doesn't mean it's not radioactive. I just means it isn't so radioactive that we can use it to make bombs or power our destructively dangerous nuclear power plants. It is still very toxic. It is a heavy metal, heavier than lead, and much more poisonous. Now the people of Libya have tons of the stuff leaking radiation into their air and tons of particles of the toxic metal floating in the air for their children to inhale so that the radiation can sit in their lungs and give them cancer a few years down the road.

So, we watch this horrendous series of events unfold in front of us. We observe, but if we reach out to try to stop it, then the snake will eat its own tail and we will be left holding air. These events are so huge in their scope and so very wrong that it is only by meditating and breathing deeply and regularly and chanting "Om" as I chew on these mushrooms (joke) that I can keep myself from trying to reach out and hold the snake. I know it cannot be done, but I have the urge to grab and try to stop this. But I know, from hard-earned experience, that it is wiser to love than to hate and it is better to envision a better world than to try to force the world to change to my desires and acknowledge with my futile denials the truth that all this has a purpose.

It is easy to become very jaded and cynical if one is not careful (BIG WINK).

And still I want to reach out and grab the snake and make it stop rolling away with my world.

I want to try to stop TPTB from stealing this world out from under the rest of us humans. I want to "make it stop" and control this "circle of life" from occurring, but I can't. The hoop-snake is on a roll and nothing I do will allow me to make it stop. If I try to grab the snake, the whole process disappears... only to appear in a different form elsewhere. Maybe it will appear in Georgia (the country, not the state of the USA) where it appears that Russia will soon be allowed to force the people there to re-join the corrupt Russian Federation. Maybe in China. Maybe in Indonesia. And the hoop-snake keeps rolling.

There is one thing we can do... We can love. Love the banksters and their sad machinations. Love Qaddafi and his insane attempt to hold onto power. Love the hypocritical leaders of our countries who try to steal freedom from us while pretending to protect us. Love the snake as it rolls by and by doing so, we negate its power to get anywhere.

Hurry, Hurry... The Movie Is Starting!

2011-03-25T18:26:00.000-07:00

There was a fireball seen descending over Jerusalem a while ago (I was fascinated by the implications at the time) which some are now claiming was done by Lord Maitreya (If you don't know who Lord Maitreya is, you obviously haven't been paying enough attention to the internet... You Tube has a lot of stuff about the guy... I believe he is a false prophet, one of those wolves in sheep's clothing which The Bible told us about in the Book of Revelations) as a way of showing the world that "He Has Arrived". Of course I'm eating much salt at this time but the old illusionist's trick of mis-direction is apparent. There are some who are now claiming that the 9.0 in Japan, which had weird "scalar" readings on the seismographs was caused by "HAARP" (again, I direct you to You Tube to check out the umpteen videos about HAARP if you are not familiar with what it is... there are many people who claim it is much more than to what the gov't admits) as an attempt to direct the world's attention away from the ramp up in the Mid East towards world control by one group on the vast majority of the world's oil. This includes huge reserves sitting off the coast of Vietnam and Borneo which have been discovered but not exploited as the OWG guys consolidate control over Malaysia, Indonesia, Brunei and Vietnam.

I believe the "take over" will have two prongs... one will be a new religion arising around a "magician/spiritual avatar" who will perform miracles and declare a New Age... Meanwhile, the banksters will be instituting a complete controlling hand over the resources of the planet: oil, minerals/metals, water, transportation etc. in order to create a system of slavery. The slavery will be hidden behind both the necessity (as they will say) to save humanity from extinction (a condition which they have had a very bloody hand in producing) and the "spiritual freedom" which worshipping this new "Avatar" will seemingly produce. It's like the joke of the priests in the temple who get everyone to kow-tow to the idol of the god while picking their back pockets.

I'm going to make sure I have a big bag of Jelly Bears so I can watch the whole movie without going to the lobby in the middle and missing out.

In the meanwhile I pray in god... a lot!

With Love,

Stuart

Pass Me Some More Sand, Mr. Sandman!

2011-03-13T09:00:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I feel like there isn't enough sleep left in the universe.

The other day I was feeling tired. I went to bed early (7 PM) and slept deeply until about 12:30 AM when I awoke, drank some water, made water, and went back to sleep when I awoke again at 7 AM and repeated the process (with some heart medication added to the mix) and then slept until 10 AM when I awoke and told myself that "this is enough, time to get up" and then closed my eyes for what was going to be "just a few seconds" and found myself awakening at 3 PM!! I had slept about 20 hours and really needed to get up!

So what is causing this great desire for nap time? Is it my health? Is it Wintertime? Is it the fact that the Mayan Calendar has put us into the 9th "Underworld" and we are slouching towards 2012 with a most unseemly speed?

I don't know. I only know that sleep has become a very welcome commodity in my life and I cannot seem to get enough. I'm not depressed. I feel fairly positive about life. I'm meditating regularly, the house is clean, I'm clean, the car is clean... there's food in the pantry. But I'm a sleeping machine of the first water.

Whatever is causing this, I'm not sure I want it to end. My only problem is I cannot seem to get enough time in the day to do the other things I really want to do (like go to the spa and exercise, go to the theatre and see the plays and movies I want to see, or spend time talking with my friends and visiting with my loved ones) when I'm not snoring and snorting on a horizontal surface.

At least, unlike Snow White, I don't have to wait for some ponced-up prince to kiss me so I can get up.

Oh Sure! Nuclear Energy Is Safe!

2011-03-12T08:43:00.000-08:00

I remember when the wonderful people at PG&E (Pacific Graft & Extortion) built their nuclear energy plants in California and time after time the people told the government they didn't want such dangerous things in our state.

They told us they were safe and that with their safety systems, no earthquake would hurt them enough to cause any release of radioactive material...

And now in Japan, a country which has much better control of their technology and much better safety systems due to their constant earthquake problems we have a power plant which is about to go "China Syndrome" (what do you call it when you are next to China?) on them with total melt-down. The only thing which will help them is that they are near the ocean and they can flood the containment with sea water and large amounts of boric acid.

It makes me want a nuclear (pronounce that "New-Clear" in honor of ex-president Shrub) power plant in my neighborhood! Oh goody!

Let's start some DNA rearrangement soon!

Quick! Grab Your Surfboards!

2011-03-11T07:40:00.000-08:00

So, the tsunami scare turned out to be kinda over-inflated. But then we all knew in our heart of hearts that it wouldn't be as life-threatening as we were told it could be.

Let's not all drink the kool-aid on this one.

My brother lives on the coast and we talked about his options come the waves of the tsunami. We agreed that it would be prudent to move the car out of the low-level parking garage and get it up to the street and maybe behind a building or two... He lives on a promontory above the beach overlooking Monterey Bay and it's close enough to the water that I thought maybe he should go for a drive and head inland. But in the end it was a miss not a hit.

Good enough.

After all we've got enough to worry us.

Global Warming
New Diseases and Plagues
Potential Ice Age Coming (ironic, isn't it?)
Pollution
Republicans (oops! I promised to be non-partisan)
Pests
End of Oil

The list goes on and on.

But then I look out of my window at a beautiful partially cloudy sky and realize that as long as there is breathe, there is hope.

Or as the old Romans would say,

"Dum Spiro Spero"

Let's paint a smile on our clown faces and get ready to dance while we can.

They're All Asleep At The Switch!

2011-03-11T07:27:00.000-08:00

So I've been having problems getting access to another blog which I set up as a joke and to which I would love to gain access again. Too bad, I can't get in.

The problem being that I've forgotten the email address which I used to set up the account. It was an hotmail account and I stopped using it long ago.

I've sent messages to blogger support but I'm getting nothing. No answers... I just get forwarded to a "bulletin board" where us users are supposed to answer our own questions so they don't have to pay to have someone actually answer our questions.

The whole thing is stupid... the whole thing is frustrating and I start to realize that I've run up against this wall of stupidity masquerading as poor customer service before and been just as frustrated by the situation. And then...

I realize that I've run into this all over the place in "real" life as corporate world think steps up with the brilliant idea of refusing to acknowledge the users of their services so they don't have to engage in customer service. It's a policy and it's not right.

We put up with it.

It's our fault.

I am standing up and going to the window and I'm opening the window and I'm shouting to the world...

"I'm MAD as HELL and I'm not going to take it anymore!!

I'm not going to buy their products if they don't want to acknowledge my existence.
I'm not going to go to their theatres if they don't want to acknowledge my existence.
I'm not going to pay for services if they don't want to acknowledge my existence.

(Of course, the exception is going to have to be blogger... or you won't be able to read this)

I'm going to become the sand in the grease on the wheels of the machine... if only for entertainment purposes.

Kowabunga!!

He's Baaaaaaaaaaaaack!

2011-03-05T05:54:00.000-08:00

So here we are again...

Testing, testing... can you hear me now? (OK, joke over)

Sorry to take so long to get back with you all, but your un-faithful correspondent has been asleep at the switch as he danced with the distant drummers in his head and enjoyed the dramatic parade of the human race. We seem to be imitating lemmings in a most entertaining manner.

So, people ask me, "What have you been doing?" and I find it embarrassing to admit that "not much" is an apt description. Can I admit that I've actually checked out in a manner similar to those hermits on the mountain tops? I spend an awfully filled time listening to the world and watching movies.

I just can't be bothered to pay attention sometimes.

I've come to believe in non-duality so there comes a time when you have let go and your ego is temporarily put to sleep and you can enjoy listening to the sound of the traffic going by your window and find peace in the click of the rainspout as droplets of the latest rain make percussive falls to the ground.

You can enter Zen from anywhere, blah blah blah...

So, how can I make pithy conversation when I've lost a bit of faith in conversation itself?

More later.

Slouching Towards The Cataclysm

2007-05-03T07:22:00.000-07:00

There is a news report in the public media which states that certain celebrities are now considered the "most influential". These include (and feature at the top) such luminaries as Leonardo de Caprio and Rosie O'Donnell.

I'm horrified.

Where are the Einsteins of our current times? Where are the people who have actual brains and have spent their time thinking clearly about our present problems and have a vision centered towards solving our world's problems? They're not here. Instead we get Rosie, a woman who oogles Tom Cruise on daytime T.V. and who spouts her views in outrageously loud and poorly thought-out tones. Instead we get an actor who has studied nothing of import and who's main talent is impersonating other people.

At the very least we should be looking at people like the musician Sting who, taking the large amounts of money he has earned as a popular music star, spends his time practicing yoga, meditating and teaching himself how to play medieval instruments in order to stretch his brain.

We are guilty of worshipping false idols and I'm afraid that perhaps our punishment for this basic fault will be as biblical as the warnings.

We need to wake up and smell the Apocalypse.

Seven Points Of Change - Necessary For The Future

2007-05-02T04:59:00.000-07:00

1. DISMANTLE RACIALLY SELECTIVE MASS INCARCERATION, beginning with action to sunset or repeal all mandatory sentencing legislation, eliminate the differential in penalties for crack and powdered cocaine, and halt privatization of prisons and prison health services. America's prison population has multiplied eight-fold since 1970. African Americans are one-eighth of this nation, but fully half of her prisons and jails. Mass Black incarceration is a national public policy that destroys the prospects for progress in every arena of African American life.

2. AID AND EMPOWER THOSE DISPERSED AND DISPOSSESSED BY KATRINA through legislation that specifically recognizes the rights of hundreds of thousands of exiles to return to their communities under conditions of adequate housing, schools, health care, and social support. The Gov't must demand that destruction of public housing and other affordable dwellings cease, and that affordable housing be constructed for the 70 percent of uprooted residents who were renters. Not one federal dime should be spent for programs that lead to further gentrification of New Orleans. The Gov't should establish its own permanent Watchdog Unit to monitor all reconstruction activities.

3. END THE WAR IN IRAQ NOW through support of the Woolsey-Waters-Lee "Bring the Troops Home and Iraqi Sovereignty Restoration Act of 2007"; H.R. 508, and renunciation of George Bush's pre-emptive war doctrine in all its manifestations. The Bush war policy is a formula for endless global conflict, deterioration of the rule of law among nations, and growing impoverishment, indebtedness and evisceration of civil liberties at home. Further, the Gov't must resist all attempts to draw the U.S. into war with Iran, and block covert and overt U.S. schemes for "regime change" elsewhere in the world, most notably in Venezuela.

4. GET THE U.S. MILITARY OUT OF AFRICA by withholding funds and authorization for a permanent string of U.S. military bases throughout oil-rich regions of Africa, from Djibouti and Ethiopia in the east to the Gulf of Guinea in the west. In January, the White House created a Pentagon Africa Command as part of its so-called Global War on Terror, thus targeting the continent for further militarization and de-stabilization. The Gov't must create its own Watchdog Unit to monitor and expose administration plans to make Africa the next front in its wars to seize the world's resources.

5. TRANSFORM THE CITIES AND CREATE MILLIONS OF JOBS through a massive program similar to the U.S. post-war Marshall Plan that rebuilt Europe, or the much larger federal programs that established national infrastructure necessary for the creation of an almost exclusively white American suburbia during the same period. Integral to this project must be creation of GOOD JOBS AT GOOD WAGES for the residents of the cities, good schools to educate young people who will fill those jobs, and democratic participation of residents in the transformation of their neighborhoods and hometowns. The Gov't must unequivocally support the Employee Free Choice Act and other measures that allow employees on any job to organize unions wherever and whenever they choose.

6. ESTABLISH TRULY UNIVERSAL, SINGLE PAYER HEALTH CARE for all Americans, by endorsing HR 676, co-sponsored by Reps. John Conyers and Dennis Kucinich, as a first step toward a single payer system of national health insurance. 15-30% of every American health care dollar pays for advertising, shareholder profit and other non-health care costs. Medicare, Medicaid and single payer systems like the Canadian one spend 97 to 99 cents of every dollar on health care. These are the only practical ways to deliver health care to all Americans. Any proposal that further entrenches private profit further delays the advent of a genuine national health care program, thus making inevitable the unnecessary death of millions of Americans.

7. ENSURE VOTING RIGHTS through measures to require verifiable paper trails, along with enforceable guarantees that every citizen has an equal opportunity to vote, and an equal chance to see that vote counted. The 2000 and 2004 presidential elections were both thrown by the selective nullifications of tens of thousands of black votes in Florida and Ohio. The Gov't must support all measures that reinstate the franchise to persons who have served out their criminal sentences.

Time Elapse

2007-04-09T15:06:00.000-07:00

He set up the time exposure. His camera tightly set upon
the tripod with the shutter open and the lens set wide to
capture the lines of the lightning bugs dancing around

his roses on the hot summer night. Brilliant light paths
cut into his emulsion while the dull yet beautiful roses
slowly inched their way onto the photo with their sullen

beauty caught on film through the patience of their
vegetative state, returning a glimpse towards the cycloptic
peek with an acceptance of low-light inevitability. Posing in

this way they seared an image onto his attempt at art.
Yet strangely when he returns and bathes his visaged
film in stinking fluid, he sees what was never expected

inside his long-set look. Caught within the darkened
frame of rosebush queen with yellow insectoid crown
a ghostly cat stares back at him. Whether by design

or in strange awareness understood at levels he could
never comprehend his feline ghost stands still beneath
the bush and stared at his handiwork for spectral image

capture. She of padded-foot stalk had stopped to look
upon this strange three-legged creature and paused
at length to show her limpid eyes to his metered glimpse.

Now a separate regal ghosting invades his photo and there
upon this serendipitous canvas of silver and celluloid
he sees ,frozen in partial wink, an eternity of curiosity.

~ Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner ~

2007-04-06T07:52:00.000-07:00

And Yet...

And yet once again we hide our bushels under a light of unreason.

And yet once again we wallow in the mistaken

self-pity of the illusion of necessity.

And yet... when we try to justify our ambitions,

we find that the stage manager has left to find a pastrami on

rye and left his drunken fool of a cousin in charge of the

cue changes so that we miss our entrance and

stumble on the risers before performing in front

of the laughing multitude.

And yet... the peanut butter sandwiches which

we packed in the mornings begin to take on

a hauntingly delicious flair when compared

to the dry semi-sandwiches jammed into

the whirl-around vending machines

we cowered before in the lobby just yesterday.

And yet... we still cannot get the beautiful

girl with the cute smile to look at us

when we wear our best outfit and do our hippest

impressions of Christopher Walken.

So Therefore...

We keep our fingers crossed when the

newsmen say that the world is going to end

and hope it will be soon so that we do not have to

endure the humiliation of trying to fit our square peg

selves into the round hole world we found ourselves in one more time.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

April '07

Once Again Corporate Amerika Tries To Shut Down Freedom

2007-03-05T10:49:00.000-08:00

The following posting was made by my friend Scott (from Wyoming) Larson.

He says in much clearer terms what is in my mind right now. Please read.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Copyright Royalties Board has issued a ruling that will instantly kill most internet music webcasts: College Radio stations, everything on Shoutcast.com, and my personal favorite, RadioParadise.com. Also at risk are individualized webcasters such as Last.FM and Pandora.com. If you are among the millions who listen to internet radio and cherish the variety available, be aware that this decision does not require the approval of congress—it's a sordid tale but it's important to raise a cry right now. Tell your friends, contact news outlets and do what you can to generate awareness that once again big business has stuck it to the customer. The following quotes can tell it better than I can.

Kurt Hanson of RAIN wrote: http://kurthanson.com/archive/news/030207/index.shtml

The Copyright Royalty Board (CRB) has announced its decision on Internet radio royalty rates, rejecting all of the arguments made by Webcasters and instead adopting the "per play" rate proposal put forth by SoundExchange.

RAIN has learned the rates that the Board has decided on, effective retroactively through the beginning of 2006. They are as follows:

2006 - $.0008 per play
2007 - $.0011 per play
2008 - $.0014 per play
2009 - $.0018 per play
2010 - $.0019 per play

RAIN ANALYSIS: In 2006, a well-run Internet radio station might have been able to sell two radio spots an hour at a $3 net CPM (cost-per-thousand), which would add up to .6 cents per listener-hour. Even adding in ancillary revenues from occasional video gateway ads, banner ads on the website, and so forth, total revenues per listener-hour would only be in the 1.0 to 1.2 cents per listener-hour range.

That math suggests that the royalty rate decision -- for the performance alone, not even including composers' royalties! -- is in the in the ballpark of 100% or more of total revenues. (KH)

Bill Goldsmith of RadioParadise wrote:
There's a lot of talk going on in webcasting circles about what constitutes a fair performance royalty rate for Internet radio. I have a radical suggestion: how about the same amount paid by FM stations? In other words - at this point - nothing. Why do we pay these royalties when FM stations don't? Because we're providing "perfect digital copies" of individual songs to our listeners, rather than engaging in the creation of traditional radio programming. The fact that this reasoning, which is the foundation of the differentiation between analog & digital broadcasting in the DMCA, is *just not true* is rarely discussed.

When I share with my listeners the discrepancy between what we pay in performance royalties & what an FM station pays ($0) they are flabbergasted and outraged. These are people who *know* that listening to Radio Paradise is no different from listening to an FM station (except for better programming Smile and the idea that we're fundamentally different because we transmit digitally seems absurd. It seems absurd because it *is* absurd - and every time the issue comes up, my blood pressure rises all over again.

While it is possible to "rip" a radio stream into individual songs, you can do the same thing - with little more effort, and with similar results in terms of audio quality - with an analog FM broadcast. If you were to take a random sampling of, say, RIAA attorneys (or Senators) and play them a song copied from my webcast and the same song copied from an analog FM station, I doubt that they'd be able to tell the difference.

Based on the feedback I get from my listeners, only a very small percentage ever record our station for any reason, and most of them are recording blocks of programming for playback during commute times or in other situations where they don't have access to the net. The vast majority of them just turn the station on and listen, just as they would do with an FM broadcast. No wonder they are astounded to find out that Congress - under the careful guidance of the RIAA - decided back in 1998 that we were an entirely different type of service that needed to play (and pay) by an entirely different set of rules.

Is it fair that FM broadcasters pay nothing to the owners of performance copyrights? Perhaps not. In most countries, they *do* pay. But is it fair for the recording industry to try to right this supposed wrong in such a manner that it drives law-abiding business people such as myself and the other independent webcasters out of business? I think not. Perhaps the most fair solution of all would be a significantly smaller royalty (something comparable to the 3.5% or so that both webcasters and broadcasters pay to songwriters) applied to *all* forms of radio.

Will "The Unborn" Please Stand Up?

2006-12-21T10:46:00.000-08:00

I've been studying the writings of a teacher named Adyashanti who is probably one of the most powerful individuals it has been my pleasure to meet. His writings are powerful too. I'm reading a book called "Emptiness Dancing" by him which is very easy to read but harder to delve.

One of the subjects he broaches is the question of whether life ends here or if we live after we die. Or whether there is life after life and life as we run through many lives trying to get it right.

I won't spoil the plot for you but I will state that Adyashanti brings up the concept of "the unborn" which is our very essence. This part of who we are cannot be killed because in reality it is never born. It lives always at a place which exists and existed long before the gleam entered our daddy's eyes.

We are saved already, there is no action to save us except our willingness to lay down our lives and cling instead to the eternal.

It is a powerful concept and it is one I find I'm going to have to look into over and over again.

What Is It With Cats?

2006-12-07T14:44:00.000-08:00

Strange creatures, eh what? They go from being nuisances who make an inordinate amount of trouble, needing to be let out, needing to be let in, feeding them (which means getting my carcase out of bed at a disgustingly early hour or she will continue to pounce upon me at five minute intervals), grooming them (hold still now, I promise I'll get them burrs out of your fur without hurting you too mu...YOWCH!!), and let's not even TALK about the catbox! They go from that to being this amazingly restful bag of purrs which lies upon you chest and twitches her tail in a most appeasing manner until I forget the jerkoff life which set me to lying upon the sofa (in hopes of forgetting just how frustrated and sad you feel) in the first place.

It's a trick I can tell you. How these critters get us to take care of them and nurse them and indulge their yowls and claws and hairballs is beyond my figguring...

But I do love the way they look at you when they want you to do something and you're too dumb to know what it is...

More On The Subject Of "I'm Not As Advanced As I Hoped I Was"

2006-12-05T11:18:00.000-08:00

There's this person who's really ignoring me. I won't go into particulars but he's decided that because I accused him of being "an idjit" (which he's not but he acted like one and I lashed out at him) he's not going to acknowledge my existence. It's a shame I guess and in the grand scheme of things in my life and the world at large it means little.

But I find that it bothers me. Which means he's won, I guess. I'm quite sure he's started the cold shoulder to punish me and I'm actually astonished to discover that it bothers me. I guess I'm not as detached and holy and I would like to believe I am. It is too bad. If I were more detached and/or less proud I could just say something like, "Gee guy, I'm sorry I pissed in your soup." and leave it at that.

I'm gonna sigh a bit about it and try to love this person for the beautiful insights into myself he's given me. Then maybe I can stop being bothered and just smile a lot. (That'll bother him! (insert smirk here))

Comments Envy

2006-12-04T07:51:00.000-08:00

I've been visiting the blogs of friends and acquaintances and trying to understand my feelings of envy as I notice all the comments others have had to there postings. It's not FAIR!! my inner child screams. I know people read this site because I see the counter show the "hits" the site gets. Yet no one comments. I'm not worthy. My inner child, whiner that he is, pouts in the corner and sez, "Nobody loves me!"

I wonder why it is that we humans feel this overwhelming need to be appreciated. Why can't we just be honest about posting our insights and know that just by stating them we are doing ourselves a great good and leave it at that? I feel so cheap that once I noticed that I'm not "getting my share" of comments, I started to feel a dissatisfaction so profound as to leave a pit of disappointment and sadness in my stomach. I'm not as evolved a being as I thought I was.

Perhaps I could put my blog into the "no comments accepted" mode and then I could lie to myself about all those who are dying to comment and yet can't. I could invent the legions of admirers and detractors who are stymied by their inability to make a scratch upon my iconic wit and viewpoints. Then I could gloat instead of sitting in the bath feeling bereft and ignored.

Ha! Go ahead ignore me! I don't care!

Such a lie. I'm just like the rest of humanity. I am a person desiring the acclaim and affection of others hearts and just like all others I languish in solitude. I, despite all attempts to the contrary, am human.

Infinite Supply

2006-11-29T09:42:00.000-08:00

I believe that finding that you have lack in your life is a sure sign that you aren't in touch with your inner strength. The center of our being, which is beyond our thinking mind and is beyond our ego structure, lives in a place of infinite love and from that infinite love I believe we can find infinite supply to apply to our life.

Religion won't give it to you, working harder won't give it to you, stealing from others won't give it to you.

As the frontpiece of "The Course In Miracles" says,

"Nothing that is real can be threatened, nothing that is unreal actually exists. Herein lies the peace of God."

As the holy-rollers say in their chanting... "You gotta run to the rock."

There's more than enough for you... as long as you allow it to be in your life.

The Scam What Am

2006-11-28T17:14:00.000-08:00

I'm not a fan of religion... I dropped out of ministerial training because I fell seriously out of love with religions and dogma so when I say that this hasn't affected my deep faith in my own personal "higher power" I want you to know that I have this deep faith not because of any intellectual thinking process but because I've had "experiences" which can possibly be called "mystical" and these experiences have cemented my belief that humans are created beings and that life does not end when the body gives up the ghost.

But to answer other's questions and/or raging comments beforehand I really don't believe that it's my job to "prove" anything to you.

If you choose to be an atheist and believe that this is your best option in this world, so be it. It isn't going to change things much.

The only thing I ask is that you apply the "golden rule" to your lives as much as possible.

"Do unto others as you want to have done to you." Sounds like
good symmetrical thinkning to me.

I Am What I Am

2006-11-27T21:53:00.000-08:00

Popeye had it right. We are that we are...

(and just a note for you who believe that trying to prove the existence of a deity is actually something your limited
mind can accomplish, just remember that you cannot create a rock so big you cannot lift it)

And while you are trying to get your minds around this bit of dumb, I will wish that you had a great Thanksgiving.

Don't forget to pay the caterer and tip the waitrons.

(Waitron, I just love that term. It is an attempt to make the job of waiter/waitress more gender-neutral... makes sense as long as we continue to try to pretend that there is no difference between the sexes ~ You can thank San Francisco and the political correctness police for that term)

I cooked a nice simple roast and put out bread and let people make their own sandwiches... and lots of wine and beer to wash the inedible things down. I think it passed muster.

Maybe when Xmas comes around I can depend upon someone else to do the cooking so I can sit in the corner and get slowly and thoroughly drunk.

Mazeltov!!

Grateful Bread

2006-10-20T18:36:00.000-07:00

The joys of letting a lump of dough rise with fresh yeast
in it is amazing... If it weren't for the fact that bread is
really bad for me I'd make a loaf a day! It's easy, it's
fun (still playing with mud pies... and at my age!) and
when you're done, you get out the honey and butter and
GO TO TOWN!

Right now the dough is on it's second rise. When it finishes
rising then I'll knock it down and put it into the loaf pans.

After it rises in the pans one more time, it's into the oven
for 40 minutes and then cooling on the rack and then
I get to indulge.

Not a great thing to do every day, but it's really tasty.

I'm gonna have two extra loaves left over... one's for
the crazy lady who lives upstairs (weirdos need love too)
and the other goes to my brother (just to protect myself
from myself). It would be really great if I could get
really good at baking and make it into a skill. I love the
smell...

Sammy Redux

2006-10-03T18:10:00.000-07:00

Oh the joys of Vitamin C...

I have been sick. Really sick. And Vitamin C saved me.

Here's the situation. I'm overweight, with bad heart rhythm
and a problem with recurring Urinary Tract Infections. Don't
know why the infections keep coming back but they do.

The main problem with the infections is that the antibiotics
they give me cause kidney stones to form. So I was left with
the choice of fighting the infection off by myself or dipping
back into modern medicine's trick bag for more anti-biotics
and more kidney stones or to try to fight off the infection
without the anti-biotics. I chose the latter.

I figured, "People fought off infections long before anti-biotics,
I can do this now." And so I didn't go to the doctor, I didn't
tell him I was sick and I prayed to let my natural resistence
win the battle. But that didn't happen. I got worse.

The pain in my groin had increased, the urine was cloudy
and had a bad smell and then my kidney started to hurt.
It was a tender pain which registered as back ache whenever
I bent over or tried to lie down or leaned back in a chair. It
was getting worse and I was getting worried. That is when
I remembered the big three pound jar of Vitamin C powder
I had purchased once in an attempt to try and "get healthy".

I started taking large doses of Vitamin C because I had
read many anecdotes of people healed from dire diseases
and problems with saturation doses of Ascorbic Acid. I
Started with twenty-five grams a day. I then moved, in
about three days, to thirty grams a day. First the smell
went away from me, then the urine cleared up, then slowly
over a period of two weeks the pain in the kidney went
away.

The infection has been eliminated. The interesting part
of the whole thing is the correllary health issues which
are being healed by the Vitamin C which have prompted
me to continue to take it in a lower, but still substantial,
maintanance dose.

My skin is better. A lesion I had and the incipient allopecia
I had been developing are clearing up. I've lost weight
as I've dropped toxins from my system and seem to have
less interest in eating than I did before. I lay all of these
changes down to the dose of Ascorbic Acid I'm taking.

I really am a convert. I mix the powder with spring water
and sip it all through the day to keep the dose regular.
I feel much better. I recommend that you try it. It's
made a huge difference in my life.

2006-09-09T10:10:00.000-07:00

I realize it's been awhile since I posted but I've nothing to
say in reality.

I've reached a point in my life when I'm just so lacking
in belief in anything going on in this world that I've
just about given up.

I'll post more when I can.

Gold

2006-08-19T17:40:00.000-07:00

I once looked upon a statue made of gold,
majesty of the hart's bold silhouette.
Gifted to us we spread the gild expanse
proved from the cairn to stand against the rot.

Melded with the past to hold to what is.
The stag stands still in pause between its breathing.
Frozen, surviving in the cold and buried night,
to lay here upon blue silk in hermetic case.

It Glows. Glows the butter metal glow. So we
feel the greed which makes men dive into the rock.
Sight of heaven, crumpled into matter and set to wait
for striving, sweating men. Glowing incorrupt.

The glowing in the metal's heart calls to us.
The Gods won't come to Earth because they fear
to quench their fire. Instead they built a bridge
of lumpen earth filled with tears from the sun.

Piled in nuggets wrested from the stream,
it dreams of Croesus' slaking avarice,
This ersatz deity, covenant stealer,
Builds its color on the temple door.

The amber brings down the heaven's fire to glow.
This earthen dust that drinks the burn of greed.
A deeper weight beyond the heft of balance
scales tipped to open the generous seed.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

Good-Bye Hunter

2006-08-17T22:58:00.000-07:00

Pint-taste bitter the Vat 69 wrests a tear
from eyes grown dry with hopes of victory.
The heroes of my youth are fallen and I cannot
find the sacrificial move to save the day.

I am weary of surviving. The insignificance
of my passions mocks me in the shaving mirror.

The bats have won.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

Central Coast Meet-Up (Part Three)

2006-08-12T23:58:00.000-07:00

So after I left the Avila Beach after saying good-bye to Gary I drove to Morro Rock to look around. I hadn't been there since a trip at nineteen with relatives. I enjoyed the foggy nature of the place. You could hardly see the towers of the power plant... The rock was invisible from the highway and although it wasn't cold, it was much cooler than Avila Beach.

I didn't stick around, I wasn't hungry for a meal at a restaurant and the shops were all tourist type places. I don't need more junk (or as my brother calls it, "Automatic Dust Collectors")

I then went back to San Luis Obispo and there I saw "The Madonna Inn" and I had to stop. It is sooooooo famous for its theme-park hotel rooms like the Tarzan Room and the famous lobby men's room which has the waterfall urinal. I had to see that urinal in person.

There it was in all its American Kitsch Splendor. I gave it a whirl... WATERFALL! So cute!

This sort of stuff proves that Americans are suffering from the second curse of mankind (getting what you want). Anyway, with bladder empty and a need for some relaxation I headed to Sharkey's house where I was just bedding down in my car for a mid-day kip when Sharkey came out. He and Janis had gotten there just before I did (I didn't expect them for awhile as we were supposed to meet at his house around 4 PM). So instead I went inside and sat on his futon sofa and stared at his artwork. Sharkey is great. Nice guy, good artist, excellent bartender. I kept him company while he got the Mojitos ready for the others and then enjoyed a really excellent drink from Sharkey's hand.

Everybody else showed up and we drank our wonderful drinks while Justine regaled us with her rendition of the "Avila Beach Dog Massacree" complete with a really funny impression of the redoubtable "Barney Fife Deputy Dawg" who had been so helpful in making sure that the world is safe for puppydogs everywhere.

Scott is usually the one on the web most of the time (I'm sure Justine has important things to do like raise two children and take care of Scott) but I really feel that any woman with her sense of humor needs to spend more time on the RadioParadise boards. She's a jewel!

How an ugly guy like Scott got a woman like that and then managed to produce two wonderful children is a mystery of nature... (jess keedin' Scott)

Once the afternoon cocktails were drunk, off we went in caravan string of cars to view the mural at the hospital which Sharkey worked on and finished the work of. Doctor Seagull appeared for a few minutes... just long enough to take over my body and force me to park in the doctor's parking zone. He's such a trouble-maker! At least this time I didn't wake up with Crisco all over my body.

The mural is beautiful! It is much prettier in person than the pictures on the web which Kris posted. It is truly beautiful (except for the rocks which look like potatoes) and I think Sharkey is a wonderful man to have labored so hard to complete it.

Abhijit took a group picture of us and then I split off from the group who was going downtown for the Farmer's Market. I was too tired for more, I needed to get into bed and I had a long drive back to Scummyvale, CA. For a story of what happened at the Farmer's Market (I understand the RGJ13 made an appearance) you'll have to talk to someone else.

I jumped in the car with a bag of granola and three liters of water and drove BACK UP the Cuesta Pass, into the headlands of the Salinas Valley and North on 101 to the Bay Area. Long drive. Left SLO about 5:45 PM and rolled into Sunnyvale about 9:30 PM... about four hours and some serious white-line fever.

I am currently recouperating from the fun. Lots of tuna sandwiches and sleep...

Yer Phaythful Correspondent!

Samiyam

The Central Coast Meet-Up (part two)

2006-08-12T23:22:00.000-07:00

I checked into the motel around 2 PM and took a shower and meditated and then watched the news on TV. I called ScottFromWyoming's friends who were hosting the evening and I got Catherine on the phone. She was a really pleasant woman who gave good directions to her new home and I climbed BACK UP over the Cuesta Pass to Atascadero and their home.

I first met Gary (OlderThanDirt) in front and we greeted. Funny to meet somebody you know for the first time! Really nice man. Big hug.

Then in to meet the crew. Children everywhere! Jon and Catherine had two or three of their own (nobody slowed down enough for me to count effectively) It was wonderfully homey there and the house was beautiful. Lotsa hugs around and I was really pleased to see Boosie looking so healthy. New faces I knew were Janis (SittingInLimbo) and Dave (David_Price) and of course our hosts. Sharkey, SFW, JFW (looking lovely as always), Abhijit (Pilate) and Gary. Then, of course, Scott's kids Augusta (could any child be cuter?) and Charlie (a real champ! the kid has the look of one of those thinking bruisers who grow up to be quarterbacks) and of course, Chester! (more on Chester later!).

We were joined by friends of Scott's from Cal-Poly days Blank (I am unable to remember his name... I keep wanting to say Roger and I know that is not right!) and Dionne. Nice people and Blank was about as tall as my cousins in Kansas... (I always said it was the corn that did it but now I'm not so sure) and one of the nicest men I've ever met.

We barbequed some nice brisket and drank some really excellent home-made wine which Catherine's relative made. Also a couple of bottles of the Tobin James Zinfandel which was excellent and some Rolling-Rock Beer (Pre-AB) and some Acme Pale Ale (samiyam brought that) and generally whooped it up a bit. Great conversation and really interesting people.

All too soon it was time to go... Waves and hugs all around and samiyam checked himself to see if he could walk a straight line (are you kidding me? I cannot walk a straight line if I'm sober!) and if I generally felt sober (yes... I had ceased to drink a bit before and at my weight, I'm a great absorber of alcohol) and then I drove DOWN the Cuesta Pass again and back to my motel room.

I stayed at the Travelodge because I couldn't get reservations at the Best Westerns in town. The Travelodge was minimal comfort. I would say that I would stay there in a pinch, but not a first choice. The bed was kinda lumpy and the amenities were minimal and there wasn't a "breakfast" of any worth. (they put out bad coffee and packaged pastries for the guests - neither things on my diet) but I didn't care really. I just wanted to sleep at that point and a soft horizontal surface presented itself and I lay down and zzzzzzzzzzzz.

Woke up at about 3 AM with red wine stomach... kinda sour. I took a Rolaids and went back to sleep. Got up around 8 AM, packed and checked out and went to Avila Beach/San Luis Bay Harbor. Nice snug little bay just south of SLO. I took a walk around the SLBay Harbor pier and really enjoyed the look and smell of a working pier. The place is in kinda rough shape but it looks like there's work being done on the place. The icehouse looked like it was getting use and there were about a dozen or so fishing boats at anchor. The smell of boiling crab lead me to a shack on the Pier where I ordered fish and chips and had my "breakfast" The fish was perfect. Fresh and lean and cooked in a light breading in hot, fresh oil which didn't stick to the food. The fries were real potatoes cut and fried. (for you who worry about my diet, A) it was a vacation B) I only ate half the fries).

I then went to Avila beach where I was supposed to meet the FromWyomings (Scott and Justine) and whomever showed but I got there about an hour early and sat myself down to meditate and watch the scenery... Gary showed up soon and we had a wonderful conversation. He's a really interesting man who's had a very full life (so far). Unfortunately we didn't meet up with the FromWyomings. We were at the wrong place and finally by 1 PM we had absorbed too much sun and it was time to go. I remembered the sunscreen too late (had some in the car) so my face felt a bit tight the rest of the day.

I understand that it was a good thing that we didn't meet up with Scott et al because they were rousted by the local Barney Fife Deputy Dawg for "felony animal abuse"... Oh how I would have made a nuisance of myself if I'd been there! Apparently Chester got well and properly beat up by Jon and Catherine's dog at their house (where the FromWyomings stayed) so they couldn't leave him there for the day. They took him with them first to Morro Bay and then to Avila. He was out and got in the water and swam a bit and they were keeping a good eye on him.

At Avila Beach there are no dogs allowed on the beach so Scott was keeping an eye on him from Front street by the seawall while Justin had the kids on the beach. During this period, Scott put the dog in the car so he could get "shaved ice" cones for the kids and in the time it took to get them and give them to the kids and get back to the car a sherrif's deputy had rolled up (soon followed by animal control) and was about to break into Scott's car to retreive what Barney claimed was an abused and overheated dog. He claimed that somebody had called in that there was a dog "in distress" in a car and that he was certain that Chester had been abandoned in an overheated car.

Chester was fine. Granted, if a dog is left in a car too long he will die a horrible death. But Chester was fine. The five to ten minutes were not enough to hurt him. When Scott pulled him out of the car, he took two or three laps at a bowl of water and went and lay down. He wasn't panting. Barney claimed otherwise and wanted to confiscate Chester and arrest SFW for "felony animal endangerment" but the animal control officer (who had probably been called by the deputy) said that because A) The animal did not appear to be in any distress and B) The officer had neglected to put a thermometer inside the car to verify the temperature inside the car (an animal left in a car an half-hour can be roasting in 145 degree (fahrenheit) car, but only 10 minutes, it wouldn't be more than 105 or so...) Therefore, the deputy could not refute with any authority Scott's assertation that the dog had not been neglected. They were let go (with a warning not to be seen driving overheated dogs around in these here parts any time soon!). I'm proud of Scott for not getting arrested. I've been up in officer's faces too many times to count and have suffered the consequences a few times. Policemen seem to lack a balancing sense of humor sometimes.

Then I went to The Madonna Inn to see the urinal...

(More Soon)

My Trip to San Luis Obispo - Journal Entry

2006-08-12T10:45:00.000-07:00

Well, the first thing I have to say is that being sick and unemployed means that I can go to meet-ups like this without having to schedule a vacation. Life is full of trade-offs.

I woke up and brushed and fed the cat (extra in her dish) cleaned the cat-box and then fed the Cavvy (Guinea Pig) and made sure there was enough water for both. I then set up two box fans in the windows (one blowing in from the sitting room and one blowing out from the bedroom) to keep the pets from getting too hot. I then packed quickly (I'm a 30 minute packer - which means that I believe that if I pack just before I'm going on a vacation I don't obsess about it and I seem to get most everything necessary anyway (in this case everything) and what I forget can be purchased where I'm going) and jumped in the car.

I left Scummyvale at 9:30 and hit 101 South. I made good time and passed Salinas by 10:45 and then into the Salinas Valley and that long ride to Paso Robles. It got a little exciting when some idjit in a RV decided that both southbound lanes were for him. Yikes!

I hit the down-grade of Cuesta Summit around 12:30 and carromed down the mountain into SLO. I find it fascinating that you go from 1500 feet elevation to the 250 feet that San Luis Obispo resides at within a distance of three miles or so. It's quite a hill. There are three lanes going each way for the grade and the trucks are in the right lanes trying to either make the hill or come down the hill without killing the drivers. It is a mighty slow trip for them. In the middle lane are the guys like me who either have a car which doesn't go fast well or have more sense than to go fast on this monster hill. The left lanes is for the heart donors and speed-racers. I rolled into SLO at 12:40.

Check in at the motel was 2 so I had some time to kill and maybe decompress. I needed food and so I went in search. Cruising through the fascinating downtown I came across a place called Mo's Bar BQ which looked to be just up my alley (independent restaurants are always a great adventure) so I parked and went in. Great 'Q'!! I was on vacation so I decided to splurge a bit and ordered the "Combo Plate" which gave me a selection of meats. The first was chicken (really good but not "fantastic") I got a leg so I don't know how moist the breast would have been but the leg was almost falling off the bone and the hickory smoke had gotten well into the meat. Well cooked BBQ is a joy. The next meat was pulled pork butt which was too moist. It should have been drier but all-in-all quite good. The next was some pork ribs and here I pause to say a silent pray of benediction upon the man who taught Mo how to do "Q". The ribs were the 6th best I'd had in the USA and the 2nd best I'd had in California (The Best is in Hayward, CA... it's called "Carmen and Family" and is run by the family of a Creole Lady who developed the sauce). Really wonderful food. They also had Rolling Rock (pre-Anheiser-Busch-shutdown) and I ordered two (and water!) because I was dehydrated from the drive.

After lunch I needed a nice place to digest and I dragged my 27-acre body down to the mission and looked at all the pretty people while I sat in the shade and ruminated. San Luis Osbispo is probably the nicest town I've been in for quite awhile and I could live there easily. The combination of local agriculture, college-town ambiance (Let's hear it for the Cal-Poly Mustangs!!) and tourist attraction makes it really friendly and filled with wonderful young people. A man could grow old there and still stay young.

(more later)

I'll Be Here -- A Villanelle

2006-08-04T14:29:00.000-07:00

I'll be here when you need me, I promise that.
This is a statement solemn, you can trust it.
My door is always open and I'm available for a chat.

Though we were never lovers we are close for all of that,
I have loved you in a way that will not quit.
You suit the way my thinking works just like a well-worn hat.

You're made of the improbable, a modern Cheshire Cat
You can't be bent by others, not a bit.
You tongue comes out to razz the world, you act just like a brat.

When all the days of this life have gathered skirts and sat,
Then the tally of our dealings will permit,
A tale told of the telling blows we struck in our combat.

Yet I could cherish every word that you have ever "spat"
At me in anger, baffled, too timid to admit,
That you care for what I do, and what my actions have begat.

So here in our strange friendship, like players standing pat,
We wait for rival gents to fold and quit.
And find what confidence we need with what we can laugh at
As hostile time tries robbing us of the leavings in the vat.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

Waking To The Storm

2006-07-29T23:34:00.000-07:00

I

They say the wind whips but it doesn’t.
It hits like a wet sheet upon a metal pole,
slapping in a rhythm only it can understand.
Laced within the slapping are the nettled
raindrops, cold and sickle sharp.
Like mischievous cubs of ursine mother,
together, they come marauding.

The storm. Quickly she comes. Born of
Neptune’s peeving, angry and wet, she bares
her bones upon the world raving. Beast and
woman both yet not one, this thinking/thoughtless
monster rips a weary man from his sleep and
sends him thinking of those still on the sea.

II

Fools go down to the sea. Drawn by the
fascination or driven by the need, we pit
mere yards of wood against oceans of deep.
We hunters of pelagic flesh bed down
where there will never be a home.

To some we are two different breeds,
the weary and the worshipful. To the storm
we are equals. Motes to be flecked, insignificant.
We see the infinite when halcyon spells
occur, and fear the immediate in other times.

III

Sine and Cosine of disaster, the waves tower
or toss us up. Countered by endless hillocks
we yearn to be hidden. Dwarfed by narrow
valleys the cry is for the mountain top. Buried
in foredecks of frozen hell or balanced on
the precipice we count on fortune to serve our turn.

Holders of stolen fruits, we wonder what fare our
passage may tally. Casting our lot, we think on
those who paid the final toll. Word stolen cries
communicate an urgency without human message.
Together we are alone.

IV

Battered sideboard and roofing wearily shoulder
the assault. Saltbox shackled, my shelter grips the
soil with taloned foundations and leans into the
squall with an aged merlin’s grace. Fingers of wind,
muted into drafts, scratch my feet to let me know
that even bundled, I am never safe.

Pity for the sailor. Pity for the lost.
Wonder renews itself to the torment of the senses.
Drifting within the howling, I listen to branches
buffeted into drumsticks beating a wind-code:
messages from spirits loosed upon the tempest.
Listening to those painful sounds, I simply yearn for sleep.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

The Dark And Dry Of Night

2006-07-25T11:20:00.000-07:00

In the dark and dry of night,
I look to my inner fright and see...

Years spent looking for "her"
Parents finally buried in memory
A career never found, taunting from the bushes
A perfect me hiding in the mirror - behind the chesterfield
Love
Peace
Passion for flowers
Resolve
Watered fields awaiting the sun
and finally...

Sleep.

~Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner~

Heart of the Rainbow

2006-07-20T20:34:00.000-07:00

Seek the heart of the Rainbow
And ponder much on what you see,
For sight alone will not allow
The freedom that a thought can be.

Thrown across the heaven’s canvas,
Watered fire in layered arch;
Brings my faith to fuller confess,
And evidences nature’s march.

Come promise-mark of flood’s remission,
Come patterned sign of Gods’ true law.
Infect the mind with renewed vision
Of daily life in daily awe.

~Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner~

Sardines

2006-07-15T08:11:00.000-07:00

Scissors cut paper wraps stone.
Sitting and wondering why
Persistence pays me little
And never enough.
Sitting alone and wondering why
Everything hovers in circles and strains the senses with overload.

Scissors cut paper wraps stone.
You played with me and I always chose wrong.
Once again you got to be "it" and I had to look
For your call.

All'e All'e Oxen Free.
One - Two - Three on me.
Slow running children agree.
Trading potatoes and never the three but he...

Waits in the lilac bush waiting to pounce.

Everything hovers in circles and then comes down on your head

Scissors cut paper wraps stone
Mortal wounds need not apply
Persistence pays me little

And never on time...

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

When Morning Comes

2006-07-12T10:36:00.000-07:00

When morning comes I am not vain
to see a mirror reflect of me again.

This promised moment. The apogee aspect
recalls what midnight terror has not wrecked.

We have survived the depth of thought
which scourging self has dearly bought.

And now aurora, harbinger dear, lights the sky.
We rise, to dry the night sweats and bid doubts goodbye.

~Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner~

Prayer For Rain

2006-07-08T17:20:00.000-07:00

By the unhallowed skulls of our ancestor’s passion
we cry. Our tongues find fire in the air, we
drink of dust within our spittle, pained.

Down the clouds in torrents fall.
Spear the sky and make it roil with lost
Containment for our powerfully crowded grasping.

Oh Mother of the World, complete our sorrowful
lamentation’s need.

So soon we’re forgotten. Motes of no worth. Locust
stripped of all which stripping leaves us.
Fire of the belly creatures, not refined.
Crowding ourselves in need of what we do not lack.

Hear our sorrow with heal forgiveness.
These cold, misshapened dolls of clay whose
meanness stops the flow.
Cracked and favored by the dust, we cry out and
plead our hopeless case.

Wield the springs of winter’s passage.
Sooth our need with nurture wet.
Light the load of self-torn loathing.
Bring the rain which quells the heart.

~Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner~

Dedicated to the farmers of Kansas.

Ode To The Box The Freezer Came In

2006-07-04T07:20:00.000-07:00

The cardboard expanse in which we kids could meet
held worlds of wondrous measured fantasy.
It was...

§ The tank which rumbled across the plains to upset
Rommel and turn the tide.

§ The fishing boat in which we braved the waves to
wrest our living from the sea.

§ The house on the prairie in which we hunkered
down to meet the wind which blew the dust into our
meals.

These and more it became. Bright imaginings.

These the monster box became.

More precious than the freezer which came within
and now took pride of place in our home, the box
filled our play with a hiding place,
a jail cell,
a gold mine.

I wonder at what a few cents of paper, ridged
and stiffened, can do to the child's mind. What
can we fill within the void of holding?

Why do our parents buy such polished gifts?

Give me a box with room to hide a dozen kids
and I will give you the foxhole in which we regrouped,
from there to win the war.

~Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner~

To Be

2006-07-02T14:16:00.000-07:00

I wait upon this hour in silent discourse
both question and inquisitor arising.
Reason a questing and silent remorse,
broken upon decision's devising.

Vision and visor or parceled out times,
Truth, beauty and all that sad jazz.
Truckled tempo mark remarked as crimes
when unable to attest to surpass.

Looking for slackening painful remind
I grab or devise eyes quite valid.
Then dilemma inclined I must pick a tine
harsh realizing makes me pallid.

Though Shakespeare said it best I fear,
I try in crippled fits to engineer.

~Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner~

Monterey

2006-06-28T17:41:00.000-07:00

A smug—“I’ve got mine”—is the chant
as their houses slowly settle down
around their ears.
Tiny smiles of complacent madness
mask dingy yards
and rotting woodpiles, new paint façade,
heart of heartless spirits.

These Righteous People
“Go in peace—but go”
A city-wide library shushes me and
gone am I as I go in my way—sight choked with
visions of Paradise that only I can see.

This lost mine of fade gems,
Oak tree love ghetto, laughs
when confronted with its broken ones.
These fire-pointed people falling in wars
of human inhumanity.
Crying and dying in
brilliant despair,
they seek the solace of forgetting.

Shuttered windows like eyes that will not see.

Only the sea holds back the sprawl that embarks upon
this littered shore. Can it be that such beauty
as is here can only be seen by those who
don’t belong here?

Yes, the Emperor has no clothes.

Down by lawyered angry men—we helpless prey upon
those more helpless still. Pointless in full anticipation
we call for Jubilee to free our debted selves. But now
in heartless city,
by the heartlessness we feel,

our only end is that which we vision
and fall upon much too soon.

~ Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner ~

Redemption

2006-06-25T08:49:00.000-07:00

Standing on precipice, dancing on the brink
Of chasm much too wide. We will never agree.
We look, Alice in the hall, for bottled drink;
For key to fit the door that sets us free.

In our standing leer we're looking for a sign
Of how the tumor that is our heart can find a cure.
Fit our formless fears to an outcome benign
Or for the strength to make us pain inure.

Fidelity plays with us on record ruined by wear,
Saying "Do you remember?" with hiss and scratch.
Costs are tally-marked with moss-backed care,
The sums not lied about, but colored to match.

As the sea gives up its dead we rise to look around,
Ahab's children shine, fretworked souls repairing to astound.

~Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner~

He Who Robs Me Of My Greatness

2006-06-20T17:05:00.000-07:00

Under the counter, over the sill. Behind the oak trees
and over the hill, bundled in white drape left from before;
The man who I hated will bother me some more.

"You'll never be able, you just have no gift." An echolocation
returning quite swift. "It's good don't you see but not good enough yet."
Faint praised was my damning to make one forget.

Those who should help us now help us falter, our reasons to
give up a liturgical psalter. Invention and spirit, a tethered hawk's cry;
Passions left hidden and painfully shy.

So varied and clever the break-step confounded, then stepped down,
like fortress surrounded. Witness a greatness now reset to fail.
Look further still for the shackled soul's wail.

~Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner~

Ode To A Ripe Tomato

2006-06-09T17:55:00.000-07:00

In ancient days you would have been
the norm amongst the many.
But now the combine harvester
has made you rare within plenty.

You're smell is like a musky rose,
you're color warm and red.
In olden time our mothers bought you
soft and easily bled.

Your cousins, found in shopping malls,
are hard and filled with greenish seed.
They have no scent and otherwise
will never bruise or bleed.

I found you at the farmer's stall,
in pile of serried match.
But you were perfect, best of lot,
the prize of the whole batch.

I'll take you home and eat you raw,
with neither salt nor dressing.
The sunlight soaked into your skin,
will fill my heart with blessing.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

Lament For Molly

2006-06-01T21:59:00.000-07:00

Beneath the farthest rock, in farthest field
I found, I hid this note I wrote to you.
I don't know where the mailman finds you now
And so it serves as box and grave both one.

What beauty I can garner from my thoughts,
Is very like the widow gath'ring seeds
from fields of frost before the snow has fallen,
Wintering now and scythed like hoary chin.

Though once regarding looks were fashioned,
By evenings spent considering your face
I see, mind's eye upon a fictive tableaux,
A scorn I feel inside to be your mask.

Then once again I'm present, threshing moments
With flail, how can I ever have agreed
To this plot. My schemes brought to this final blush?
I fooled myself that love's promises were real.

You touched me once when evening's fire burned low,
A glancing blow, you gently brushed my hair.
And in that moment, if I could be frozen;
An ambered fly, I would stay ever still.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

In The Combers

2006-06-01T21:56:00.000-07:00

In the combers by the seaside,
rocky blasted busted rocks.
Ground hugging lichen likens

to

our daily white-fingered grip upon the shore,
limpets in the flora dripping.

On mineral outcrop broken daily by the waves,
we impotently view the plumes of freedom breathing.
Their force much too great to pleasure us here,
the poor insipid nature of their lost home.

Cows returned.

Once upon a day they slid back into the sea
and formed the whales which now roam the seas

and are smarter than we.

Once cows, I'm told, they no longer belong
on shore. Don't belong to us any more.

And yet we kill. Casting the harpoon for dogfood's
bleeding hump, oil reduced from blubber boiled, in
barrels to make eyeblush.

In the combers lost, in the catacombs of waves
we stand the shoreline watch and wish for flippered
freedom's song.

Where we don't belong.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

Ghostlight Serenade

2006-05-31T09:11:00.000-07:00

When magic begins, the wolf is silent

muted by fears he cannot name
rough-edged patrol, the ridgeline ragged lope.
Stilled by splendid burning air, he joins the we
in wonder.

Million sparkle shrouded shadow display
calls down to all the fauna to marvel at
timeless and untimely light.

Rabbit bleak exploding yip, caribou undo.
While underwritten with despair, the beaver
holds his castle.

Liquid fire of plasma sheeting streaks into the void and
we huddle under blanket and shiver wondering. Cosmic
display underway.
You can hear the sound of stars exploding lonely miles away.
Holding water in mirrored jumble ripple
unholy is the fire and
the wood hold their breath.

We look North.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

An Analog To Understanding

2006-05-27T10:36:00.000-07:00

Sometimes the horse refuses to obey,
wriggled into a worm-brained state by fatigue
and lousy grains fed after desultory brushing
he jumps about in mute ignorance of the bit.

Frustrating slice of independent life
he brings my knees to painful haunch incline
brilliant sideways glance of smirk tossing mane
great shouldered shudder jangles through my frame.

And so too thoughts refuse my bridle call
and tempest-tost the id, that sense of presence,
triumphant growth in affirmation's beck
remains upon the sled of state; confused.

Where are the paddock fencings holding safe
this wandering mind, black bess in fury flailing.
Where is the link-boy's hand to hold the bridle
tremendous forces rampant tucked in jailing.

~Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner~

Modern Love

2006-05-26T17:31:00.000-07:00

You're coming over again.

Third time lucky I say, third time and it better be right.
Time watch waiting and nervous as I mark how clean
the place is, I really should have you over more often.

I know the stew is ready, it is easy food because I want
to look into your eyes instead of being busy host.
The ghostlight lava lamp burbles in the corner and I light
some incense while Vanessa Daou haunts the speakers.

Your outfit says it all. Silk scarves and faded jeans
say you want to relax and yet you want to impress. Soft
slick lips hint at that jar of gloss you've been saving.
I am impressed.

Dinner over we talk.

Talk.

Talk.

Talk.

And then when the first glimmer of fatigue reminds us
of slumber I kiss you...

And we know.

We know I can make great coffee... in the morning.

~Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner~

Lazy

2006-05-24T11:33:00.000-07:00

Nothing doing Bro my friend, why dontja come and share,
This patch of ground that I hold down and spend an hour here?

Pick out the colors on the clothes of people passin’ by,
And weave with me a tapestry, we’ll join it to the sky.

The crunch of tires, sounds of day, now salt them in as well.
Pick up the crossing smells that drift and sew them parallel.

How sad for those who say I’m lazy, wasting half my day.
I work real hard at what I do, I work at how I play.

And when I’ve worked my days away and leave this mortal coil,
I’ll lie me down upon the ground and work at making soil.

~Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner~

Even E=instein Had Bad Hair Days

2006-05-24T11:31:00.000-07:00

Being and nothingness, no conclusion.
Could the choices breed more confusion?
Hamletization no temptation, I think I’ll have a drink.

Professing no illusions, I slip into fantasies of profusion.
Intimacies not close enough for me.

Though energy enough for time, couples with mass and is frozen.
Nothing relative is chosen.

Crazy thoughts and conditions,
Eliminate other renditions.

Quirks of quarks cannot figure, randomness so pure.
Mighty questions of absolute,
Nothingness does not compute.

The park looks peaceful today.

~Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner~

Skill Set

2006-05-22T11:53:00.000-07:00

Pitched quickly from my shovel the brown soil scatters
upon the pile in hopes of re-interment as deeply I set
the manly hole in line across the hillside. Here is the
pipeline set... one by two by ohgodhowmany?

Backgrown crick and groan... I stretch and find my
mind drawn further up the scale of days away in
multi-tasking splendor. Thank god I am not here.

Down goes the tool, up comes the soil and once
again I reach for more to crush and pull.

A skill-set this, when thinking fails me and the
many training vales fail me, I am here... digging
this ditch and pitching a lifetime earned upon
this continuous byre.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

To Margie, Who Doesn’t Really Give A Shit

2006-05-18T13:51:00.000-07:00

What hurts is that I think of you after many empty times.
A bitter welling soaks fresh resentments into memories
of a contentment never relearned without you.

What hurts is that I cannot remember your face.
When passing in the tide of city urgency I doubt I’d
know you, though constantly I look.

What hurts is that I miss you. When hours collect
in the small and dark of day I write words of re-union
conversations, dialogs of doubtful veracity which
open a window of wonder and pitiful yearnings.
These I hope never to use, but still I make them up.

What hurts is that you don’t seem to care.
The grown man doesn’t cry anymore,
Instead the belly eats of itself with a shoddy-built
hope that finds a refuge by my ribs. Anchored in
place with a glue of wistfulness, it clings mightily.
And still the letters have gone to empty silence.

What hurts is that you asked me to love you. My
last protector, the off-side stance, melted in trust.
Folded in tender arms I crumbled. Never did I fear
Eventual loss until betrayal was unveiled.

Now unto the last days...

The walls are down, the gates are breached, and the
Winds scatter the grain into the fields.

What hurts is that I still want you.

~Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner~

Silent Sing The Crows at Final Light

2006-05-18T13:33:00.000-07:00

There stands a hill like many hills that stand in
shade and light. It stands with rows of grass and
stones recalling names of those who fought and
fell in wars whose independence fades in numbered
similarity.

A place of flesh which mortifies. A place where
few will come. A place of many endings where
stands a man remembering his past.

The old man sat so lonely upon a settled stump.
Crumbled on its edges it served as mute testimony
of what had stood before the cabins came and filled
the open fields. They grayed together, stump and man,
sharing of the summer shade and holding down the
corners of the world.

In the boy’s eye the hair which downy fell upon
his aged pate became a halo shining in the
speckled light the last surviving tree let down.
It was a shining which—even now—the boy
could never say was not an inner clarity shining forth.

A spotted hand pinched the beard which grew in
grizzled confusion upon his chin. A chin which
knew not of beards in years gone past before the
hand grew too enfeebled for the blade.

There was a sound, moist and subtle, which framed
the steaming stench which issued from his pipe.
A pipe which ancient teeth, yellowed but firm, held
in practiced clench.

The old man sought in the welcome of a smile to
bestow a blessing upon the boy, a child of children
once removed. Emboldened by the fond gentleness,
the boy climbed the ragged folds to a lap which held
him in quiet embrasure and spoke of safety.

These the man remembers. These he says are foremost
in a mind grown older with an adult wisdom both
spurious and proud. These are still what speaks in
admiration for what the generations passed down.
The man has soaked them into his growth.

The boy now grown sits by the stone which serves as
mute testimony of the man who stood before the stones
came and filled the field. The child now grown calls
to his own and mourns that part he never knew. The
absence leaves a hole wherein the demons of his night
come to taunt him.

Here/Now acceptance of farewell is voiced.
A silent finality chants what is written on the stone.
As peaceful grows the grass that knows the man;
Deep in weather-watch stand the stone.

~Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner~

A repeat for those who missed this the first time

When The Child Was One

2006-05-17T17:31:00.000-07:00

When the child was a child,
Traveler of the lifted sight.
Manner bold like danger wild,
Cast of God, blank shadow bright.

Taken, holding, gentle grasp,
Climb exploring, burgle look.
Reaching, helpless handful clasp,
Laughter builded, anger took.

Teaching love in needing trust.
Tangent seeking, singly vast.
Howl of raining; days of dust,
End of contract, grown too fast.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

Dedicated to Thomas Lee and William Wallis

Sister Moon No Friend Of Mine

2006-05-15T15:38:00.000-07:00

They call you Sister Moon but no family are you to me.
Cold and distant floating on an infinite sea you light the
night with silver light
but it never warms my heart.

Long ago I lay in the grass and wondered at fateful
evenings to come now I am happy just to be numb
and as I drive this country road
where no one else comes by.

Off go the headlamps, I drive by the silver light you let
down to wash the fields and quiet the eerie argentine
road is welded to my brain. Here on this dark yet
brilliant journey I wonder and wander along.

How many pilgrims, lost in their questions, float on
the tresses of silver let down Dark-hearted princess,
dressed in your nightgown, what will you say to those
others you've lit?
I know not the clear winter morning to come.

Can you be sister of our cool questings, journeys which
lead us to the ends of the world? Will we find the giant
who hurled you upon the fell canvas? Or will we see that
in your cold silver shining you are but a hunk of frozen
brilliance.

A rock rotating outside on the cosmos forever reflecting a
brilliance but stolen from mother's golden glow.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

In The Mall Of My Dreaming

2006-05-15T15:34:00.000-07:00

In my dream I am swimming,

the foul water of indoor pool, Koi pond
of botanical gardens
eldritch and sullied.

Within the water are the bodies of
the dead. My dead
floating under the surface and hampering
my stroke as I
strive for the other shore

The island

held in sight and yet so dark and lonely
lost

My Valhalla un-illumined

Building rising on the shore which folds
like cardboard boxes in the rain holds no
window to reflect back
the actor who is me.

Stroke, stroke, stroke
bumping over the bodies,
climbing over the bodies,
trying to not touch the bodies.

My dead are in my way.

I will get there I will crawl over
these fallen ones
I will,
I will.

~Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner~

The Winds Of Santa Ana

2006-05-13T12:36:00.000-07:00

Running through my mind like a child with no shoes,
The strong-scented breeze ruffles the curtains of perception
And lets me know that all will never be lost.

As long as hope resides in my chest, I will strive.
Eventually to get there and then to discover that
it was always here.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

Holy Crossroads Blues

2006-05-12T12:19:00.000-07:00

In the space of a lifetime
When the moment unfurls
I can hide in the distance of you eyes.
But the sweet understanding
rains down on my brow
and the metallic measure of your sighs.
You pull on my insides
with precision and fire
sad whipping the saddest of smiles,
so full is the daytime
that folds into night.
I crave to be a victim of your wiles.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

Death Stalks Us In The Courtyard

2006-05-11T08:32:00.000-07:00

Death stalks us in the courtyard.
Padded stealth commits
itself to vigil. Hidden
by dieffenbachia camouflage,
observing
the unsuspecting prey.

Perched upon a sun-warmed rock,
she waits for us to take our turn at
the watering hole (tea set).

This secret world hides the fantastic mind
of feline hunting manners,
gracious her living and perilous her
stay.

So grateful that she lets us live here.

These tiger stripes hide a belly filled
with felled antelope (fancy feast)
as she waits for the moment to
strike.

Twitch in traitor tail gives the game away.

Vicious attack wins victory against helpless
victim (right shoe).

In sunlit satisfaction she waits, licking.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

Absinthe Makes The Heart Grow Fonder

2006-05-11T08:26:00.000-07:00

The rift of hearts in tankard's blessing dowsed,
complete the jist of tourist books I've browsed.
I've traveled many miles not for to find, myself I lose,
but to find the copper bar with shelves of foreign booze.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

Waiting For Monk

2006-05-10T10:31:00.000-07:00

Two tappings on the keyboard awaken me
from the slumber of my hard-fought day.

Gracefully the piano glistens as The Monk
enlightens us with his magic.

Painful beauty.

Is it the vodka which fires my need to crawl
inside the music or something more?

Wishing I was born black is no answer,
I am a whale on this shore.

Silences fill the moments between the notes
and become the grounds for the notes themselves.
Stretched like canvas on frames twanged from
a firmament of tones, they meet our anticipation
and spellbind.

In resolve I determine that I am making the melody
as it unfolds before me, never mind the vinyl
set before my birth.

Cool imaginings deserve this regret,
I will never create this beauty.

Go man. Go.

~Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner~

So Sweet They Call This Paradise, A Villanelle

2006-05-09T09:39:00.000-07:00

So Sweet They Call This Paradise
(California by any other name)

So sweet they call this paradise,
And were this really just a game,
It would be fair to advertise.

Set forth with expert laid advice,
As from lectern we proclaim,
How fairly won and worth the price.

This vista-pregnant paradise,
Virgo intacta we would claim.
Gentle husbanding would suffice.

In truth a stained and jaded slice,
Of crusted tart in fullest shame,
Is all that’s left of paradise.

From those who once possessed the prize,
Was stolen this with force and flame,
Dismantled lives with holy guise.

And now with stone laid down in size,
To muffle-drown this land’s exclaim,
We celebrate the compromise.

And verdant sward called paradise
In hidden glory waits reclaim,
There patient cradled in her cries,
Is fervent hope of fair assize.

~Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner~

Ever Present Presence Proud

2006-05-07T08:31:00.000-07:00

The sad ineffable now betrays me.

Like yoke to the oxen it channels my thoughts
into pathways of the ill-defined past.

I surrender to the brook-voiced murmurings that
fall outside my blindered sight and yet
sell to me the ghosts of my

childhood dread.

I surrender to that which tickles my thoughts
and stages dramas I could wish to
be cast with heroes.

There by a whirlpool of neglected wrath
I sway and threaten to fall in.

Perhaps a path of righteous fire, burned clean by
bargained temperament’s recasting,
will open a laddered escape
to heaven.

There placing a mercy, called forth and portioned
meagerly upon a character less than
sorrowful but still in fear
of generational rebuke.

My legacy, hastily viewed but in patience wrung, is
pressed into my heart until I find myself
uncomfortable in my breathing.

The blood-pulse tattoo beat drums a dirge and shows, in
powerful song, a breath that rattles its way to
the inevitable end.

Yet still I crave the present.

Too soon the coda.
Too soon the last of this earth.

Not shortened could I wish this battle-timed measure.
No rushing will succeed. Rather tortoise-tread becomes
the pace that wins.

In the freedom of my wishes it’s to the light I reach.

Why not more steps that beat more fervent now than ever?
Why not extend the trail?

Lay on!

For when I’m done, forever waits for me.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

Translation

2006-05-07T00:41:00.000-07:00

Pearls don't know of their preciousness.
Cast detritus, worried grit in rounded
suppuration they winkle darkly in dank fleshy
lips which calmly wait the diver's clutch.

In tidal pool of missing intercessions I
gathered my nets of broken conversation.

Perilously close to grave intent
I mirrored a world made violent by nightmare
movie previews and fraternal knifings.

But I digress.

The pearl of the oyster calmly awaits its
declaration. The ugly duckling wishing for
oblivion could not
crash more unexpectedly, blinking, into light.

Squonk!

Regard me no more, I am the oyster

and the pearl awaits your delving.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

In the Empire Of Night

2006-05-07T00:29:00.000-07:00

In The Empire of Night: A Triptych in Verse

I

Wind cracks the ivory canvas sails as
The moon’s full cold flowing light freezes
My eyes and slides in brilliant pallor down
The triangled cloth. There suspended against
This colander sky the fabric glistens as I
Heave the wheel to hold the course. I stand
The lonely midnight watch and let the hypnotic
Whisper of the sheets beguile me.

Wing-spread, we run before the wind as
Gracefully the following sea lifts our stern,
Glowing with the effervescent blue of our
Wake. I feel the song of the wires humming
In my fingers as I bend to test the buckles.
Bright gee the thrum of the wire, leading me
To wonder at the tuning of our craft.

What chords do we sound in our quicksilver
Flight? Do leviathan creatures sing back in
Aquatic harmony? Is it the song of the our
Sailing which leads the dolphin to dance upon
Our prow and linger in the drone of the bow
Wave? The counterpoint makes the fugue.

II

This is the downhill run. The trade wind blows
A steady course and firms our bucking ride.
Seemingly the world is aslant and we slip down
This forever slope. Landless is the horizon,
Limitless the sea. I reach upward to touch the
Brilliant sky and am enchanted by the tales told
In the stellar sea above. Illumined by their
Stories, I read the portent of the milky runes.

If every journey’s voyage were so sweet, how
Common the sailor. If every journey’s voyage
So simple, no steamship would sail. Here the
Pace of our passage shifts the celerity in me
To a kinder steadiness. Dangling my fingers in
Passing--I test my strength upon the movement
Pushing, a monster’s hand invisible to my eyes.

I stretch myself wide to accept it. Taken in
All, it lessens me. Like a grain of sand in the
Desert, I look upwards as one of a multitude and
Sense the futility of human strife. My balloon
Heart swells, bursting my chest. Too strained
Is the lightness within this dreaming span.

III

In cage of bones, my brain strains to understand.
Grasping at smoke, I force what cannot be
Known to fit my rooted lore. The wisdom of the
Boat outpaces my insight’s poverty. I am the
Dispossessed, fleeing forward towards a future I
Cannot hold. Under this boundlessness I shiver.
This nocturnal kingdom marks its boundaries
Upon my soul. Saddening its sovereign ruler.

Naked within the enormity of the sky, I seek shelter.
Infiniteness is a power which sickens; too strong
Is the physic here employed. I seek delivery from
The purity I feel now. I am a god here and I see
That mortal man was not meant to hold this orb and
Wield this scepter’s care. Pass my brow with this
Crowning, I must take the abdicator’s evasion.

Standing in the cathedral of eternity, I grasp the
Measure of my limited self. I am but a man, my
Course takes me forward. I find in my breathing
That which I would keep. Immortality must wait
Its turn. Within this world I will learn to be an
Ordinary man; an emperor without a realm.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

Dogtown Blues

2006-05-07T00:24:00.000-07:00

Swelter, shelter, smelter, helter-skelter.
I must protest this acid heat.
Stifling me like the extra blanket I don't need.
Sweat my only companion.

I burn, inside and out.

Please explain how I ended up here.
What animal karmic overload caused
me to end up beached like a whale
lost and dry?

Here in this ghetto of failure and
unhappiness. I can feel the pain
of the day I got on the bus coming
here.

The market down the street, drooping
awnings melting in the heat, limp
vegetables dying in the stalls outside,
has a line outside as people line up to
buy their life-line ice bags. A bag of
ice or two to make it through the night.

I slump on the stoop, waiting for whatever.
This stoop is home base. As long as I can
sit here I am safe. Here I and my fellow
inmates wait for the end to come.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

Regrets Are Cheaply Won

2006-05-05T06:53:00.000-07:00

I washed my hands with bad intent
and climbed the stairs. Full knowing
the mix of lust and anxiety which fill
stomached truth and the waiting magic tale.

Pace the floor and parcel the flame
of long nights burning in lonely reverie.
Help induced by liquid amber fire
Dripped down into my heart, unmixed.

How I wish for that to make my days again
both filled and feared the partnered man.
We both know I cannot even though I can.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

To A Love I've Never Met

2006-05-03T10:14:00.000-07:00

They say that absence is to love what a wind is to fire;
It snuffs the candle, weak and frail, easily misplaced and
quenched ~ but to the bonfire, it is whip to the racing
horse as it urges greater speed upon a headlong chase.

My heart is a forest aflame, feeding on the hurricane
growing from where you are not.

Too long I have laid myself down alone. Too many
moonlight silences have not been shared with your hand
in mine. Pity, like hot shame, cuts a path of liquid fire
down my cheeks as I beg for you at the altar of a god unmoved.

The shadow play of distant star coming through a veil of
night reminds me of what I do not have. A slow-match
smoldering is in my chest, I yearn for the knowledge of you.

There is a somewhere that you walk. A place where rocks,
living in the ground, support your stride confidently. A pleasant
breeze lifts the hem of that dress I have never seen. The patterns
of the weave are mystery to me and yet I know it does exist.
Flowing and bright, hiding all that it reveals, it lets me feast upon
an ankle turning outward as you tread upon that unknown land.

Why do you hide? My love is like a bower set upon a height and
then forgotten, dusty and faded it needs but soft encouragement
to renew itself and welcome the betrothed.

Can it be that we will never meet? Oh wicked fate, spare me this!

Let me know the gentle look which welcomes morning bustle
when dreams dissolve. Let me answer yes to that which words
cannot equate. Let me lie my soul beside you, like a bottle
waiting to be filled with the silver water of your smile.

Hurry, I wait upon the old hill, silently, patiently. Yet I weaken.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

Wood Box Waiting

2006-05-01T21:22:00.001-07:00

Hard upon the heart in somber-suited splendor,
We stand the vigil’s end and nod a signal
To the charcoal-felted hand.
Whisper-gloved, it throws the muted switch that
Runs the hidden-rollered table toward the
Waiting furnace.

Present context ridicules our rules of proper
Conduct. A clown-like impulse, shackled to my
Silence, imagines a jump upon the bier to
Trumpet a Jazz-beat dirge to
Life Triumphant.

Instead we watch in silence as the immolation
Song rings in good and graceful pose.

She always liked a good ceremony.

Grey-molting eyes, fonder in remembrance than
Fact, well a spring-like flow. Echoes
Course in a silent memory hallway, empty
For once. Moisture in effect cancels our pretence.

There is no everlasting rest.

We choke a foggy final view as our inner eyes
Paint a contemplative scene
Of incandescent flesh reduced
To elemental earth.

Ashes to ashes.

Denser than I thought. The urn presses me down
As I cradle her against my chest.

No longer restless - She comes home again.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

Not Easy The Path Which Took Me

2006-04-30T11:17:00.000-07:00

Not the easy path which took me. Not understood even now.

I gaze transfixed. Like pole-axed film buff I view the screen's illusion remarking on confusion. There in the montage incomplete, tea leaves are interpreted.

North, facing away from the sun, to polar star project I have become a priest.

West, towards tomorrow and across the sea, I am Columbus blundering.

South, seeding mustard to mark my path, I pace the missionary's quest.

East, Oriented to the ruins of bas-relief, glass in hand I examine the past.

I -- Crisis in her eyes, the nun ran down the steps to plead her cause, Minced words bit back, her habits in and out in disarray.

The remembering is. Many we are one. Legion is but legend.

II -- Curse the bloody tide, the fisherman rocks upon his need for safe passage. The fruits of his labor strain for market validation.

Why not the many false starts? Why not a reckoning in the fusion?

III -- Cold handed king locks the strong-box and gloats upon his mastership. Never knowing the rat that gnaws his passage rifling.

These and more we all have seen, but form will pass away.
And mercenary souls shall predicate, "Until That Day."

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

April In Paris

2006-04-27T23:05:00.000-07:00

Don't be fooled by circumstance you are alone right now.
These city streets hold no one that you know and all those
passing people are but statuary moving to a rhythm you
will never understand.

The circuit of you wanderings are laced with regret and
passionate longing. Wet through and through you know
you should seek shelter.

Steaming coffee and a fire to dry by call you but you cannot
leave. You are the patient wanting and this is your domain.

Under umbrella, lashed by winds but loyal to the last, you
stumble over pavement stones which would be declared
monuments of aged posterity in your home town. Here they
are but utilitarian footpaths waiting for the next revolution to
pull them to the barricades.

Boot click and stares surround you but still you are still alone.
Gene Kelly should be dancing by any time soon.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

A Band Will Ring This Daily Canticle

2006-04-27T23:01:00.000-07:00

It's Fool's Gold to see the bright and wish it better.
I blame the Hasbro ads which made me want,
the x-ray glasses hidden in the back
of all those comics which saved the free world.

Superman was fallible I was certain
The green lantern was really my hero
For no-one liked him but he persevered
to do the good as he saw fit.

I wish I could make this song better,
for I'm a fool and glitter makes me look
for pans to sift the sands away,
superficial priceless grifter I.

And dancing now at edge of what is witnessed,
I grant that people will not see me cry,
a broadside bill announcing our inclusive
self-congratulatory worship sigh.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

Blind Man's Walk

2006-04-26T13:01:00.000-07:00

You get there when you get there and any way is wrong.
It being equal, I’d rather not detail,
The things I’ve done to get here and why it took so long,
And all the efforts that were sure to fail.
My forward vision’s hidden by a veil.

Those chaos-spouting scientists will lecture you about,
How minor choices brought us here this way.
But all they want to clarify is theorems that they tout,
No wisdom that is useful for today.
They’re like a pack of jackals in their bray.

The bruises are like badges, I don’t notice how they gawk,
Except when I would stop to reckon cost.
The path is strewn with random turns just like a blind man’s walk,
Indirection’s wreckage over-glossed.
I won’t admit that I am probably lost.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

The Found Pressed Leaf

2006-04-25T17:47:00.000-07:00

Inside of Deuteronomy, I found you.
Maple, I supposed, though botany defeats me.
Your flattened face a reminder of a Summer passed.
I wonder when the hand that put you here
Came last before I found you in this book.
When was your scriptured prison cast.

In gone Autumnal splendor you set down to mark,
a passage to the solstice Yule in colors flamed.
Thrilled wonder at the day when frond was stored,
Set in the dark, in plane of paper fixated
Until the moment when at verses turning,
The leaves were riffled to show the leaf adored.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

Homecoming

2006-04-25T17:41:00.000-07:00

Leave a light on.
Leave it burning in the window.
A fine and proper marker for a place to call my own.

Use a bright one.
Let it burn against the Shadows.
Let it light the path where stands the place that I
Would call my home.

Leave it burning high, please.
Let its light become a beacon.
Reduce the miles and show the way to where I
Would be home.

Just leave it burn now.
Leave it burning ‘til I get there.
I need to know there’s someone at the place
That I call home.

I need to know there’s somewhere there at a place
That I call home.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

Wet Season

2006-04-24T09:26:00.000-07:00

I say it’s the mud.
Mud that I hate.
It’s bothersome stuff, glue/sticky/slime
that gets everywhere.

Feet and ankles heavy with the trudge,
wheels slipping and digging down.
Inside/outside slow-motion drag.
I cannot avoid it.
Slog/beat/inertia saps the heart
and makes the legs unwilling to move.

It isn’t the cold.

The cold it can be hard, whipped windy chapping skin
and blemish hard goose/flesh/shiver.
The woolen/warming/cloth cannot keep it out.
It slips like a lover’s fingers under the sweater and
invites the skin into balls of muscled tightness.

But mud is the Culprit.
Mud brings us down.

Give me snow and frozen ground.
Layered freezing jackets stiff.
Here is motion valued – Quick/stepping/march
Across frozen tundra to places hiding by
Fires. There we try keeping warm
with mugs of steaming tea.
Hot fire defrosting, dripping ease upon tiles
and wrapped in blankets shivering.
Crystal breath unfurled in stillness air.

Winter is hard, but mud is harder.

Spring mud is painful to behold…
In Northern clime when frost abates the mud advances.
‘Tis there always.
A rotted clumping, bumping bog that’s
bug infested at its best.

But Winter mud is harder,
Winter mud can kill.

Cold and plastic/plaster casting
it wraps around and around my shoes.
Boots become lead.
Shortens the tread.
Slip-footed concrete goo I dread.
Goosepimple anticipation
DON’T TOUCH ME WITH THAT STUFF!

Give me summer so I can complain about the sweat.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

Already In Progress

2006-04-22T10:46:00.000-07:00

...the freeway never stops. Rushing waits no more
for my timid introduction and induction. Vapid and
willing, the sad-faced four-banger grinds another
revolutionary song mashed from my intent as
downward pressed, my foot explores its well-versed
friendship with the floorboards.

Then cruelly, I notice my life and the exits made by
fellow traveling friends, bye-bye they wave as
one by one they leave. I ponder their paths as
soon approaches my looming exit, and wonder
whether we will meet again.

So now my route is marked and soon I must
leave. Quietly I whisper his name and hope
for transit equipage.

~Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner~

Notes On A Late June Rain

2006-04-21T10:09:00.000-07:00

The presence of the warm droplets displace
The sweat coursing down my face as I watch broiling
Expanses of vapor rise up conspiratorially from the South.

I leave this tin-roof shelter to feel the full force pouring
Drench my heated brow and cool the fevered knowing.
Descending patter not ceasing within my upturned mouth.

A deluge written slowly on rooftops chatter time mark,
The soupy breathing atmosphere has soaked the wetness into it.
These dribble-tendered droplets compile to depths unknown.

Please excuse my lack of industry but here I must remain.
Soaking gravid flecks of cloudy souse into my field-like hair.
Waiting for that one true droplet to awaken dried-up bone.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

Mating Time At Año Nuevo

2006-04-18T16:07:00.000-07:00

But that the selky's cries, stolen by the
wind and sifted by the dunes,
should call forth a scene of fires
in ancient caves remembering the
Mother's needed invention
and the first hand fight for life.

Then I would harbor pillared worshipful
fetishes that uphold the wildness within
and tell me of nights my ancestors
huddled to tales of the hunt.

Here could I lay down my sullen
existence and bow to that which looks
disdainfully at scheduled hysteria
and stays aloof even in the longest queue.

But the greed tethered to rationed survival flits
a single fingered salute to the kindest of hearts.
Necessity laughs at our good intentioned sentiments as
nurture proves herself to be heartlessly efficient.

Beasts of burgeoning power call forth in repose
and challenge. Humans peeking marvel.

Here at the furthest edge of Sun/Sand/Sea, we
dip a timid toe into waters of chaos recollection
and watch as a terribly real fight begins on the beach.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

Wide Spot Fever

2006-04-17T20:38:00.000-07:00

There's a wind in the desert
that walks the highway hitching for a ride.
Powerful, it scratches at my face as I hunker to avoid the furnace.

Here the road leads to the sky in any direction as pondering
the way to destruction or redemption folly the travelers
halt at our roadside attraction.

Pure. Dry. Hot.

The reasons which brought us basking to this spot don't matter
but it is the purity which keeps us. Petrified.

No sooner do we haul out our conveyance but that hand which
made the Eskimo squat upon his frozen rock weighs our shoulders
to the shaded chair. It advises our unrelenting flop.

Yes, we have beer. Gas. Lodging.

Don't get too close to the bin, it's got baby rattlers within.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

Exhale And Inhale

2006-04-17T06:46:00.000-07:00

Exhale and Inhale

This black bakelite madrigal will sing no more.
Poised on three-legged pedestal
it holds an altared place within my strange abandonment
and here on the fog-bound exile westward procession
I wait your call, infinitely.

Yesterday's urgent challenges defeat me with simple implacability.
I swirl drunkenly across a pigeon-toed sidewalk and sing
my heated breaths in undertones of effort. Cruising the shops
of lower Clement I searched for just the thing to give to you
so you would know my love without knowing how much.

So tiresome newspaper piles rot upon my porch and I wonder
where the point of vanishing can truly lead.

Can you see the missing underwear I hold and sickly cherish
so that you will never leave? Can you feel the hold I place upon
the ether as I spin my loose-laced web of calling and pretend it
is merely a dream-catcher. I know there hides a choice. Denied,
it festers in a pool I will not drain. Wistfully, I make the bed.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

I Am That I Am

2006-04-15T23:04:00.000-07:00

In labyrinth lost, we wander lonely wondering if we met,
the wise, content and knowing one, and could our finding get
us further toward a living heaven where all things are bright.
Or would we fail to recognize the presence in our sight?

We’ve sought to know how to refine the lives we feel we should,
be living in our very midst within the place we stood.
What is the wheat and what the chaff, what purpose we attend?
Why are we here, and when we fail how do we make amend?

Perhaps we’re looking out of place, and never could connect,
with teacher, guide, perfected one when outward we direct,
our seeking drive to validate our hope of good complexion.
we need accept inaptitude for earning our election.

It is a gift, we come to know, no wage that’s labor won.
When we submit to look within, the journey’s end’s begun.
We are the very learned ones we seek to lead us far,
when we discover who to be we’ll find that’s who we are.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

Imperfect Future Tensed

2006-04-15T11:29:00.000-07:00

The welcome word, it is not heard,
from hereabouts no more.
But winsome lasses, will wear dark glasses,
when I begin to bore.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

The Sins Of My Father

2006-04-14T17:40:00.000-07:00

The sins of my father are legion.

They marshal in the dark in ranks and assault me in flood upon
my addled sense. There arrived, they shout in persona chorus
accusations which echo in my self-doubt and lash my timid heart
with chords fashioned from ungrateful filial neglect.

The sins of my father are fragile.

Call forth the cuckoo’s egg. Careful tending of same marks the
harbored parasite’s incursions. Supplanted needs and hopes of
manful attainment tend this changeling foster-child in desperate
exhaustion until they drop unmourned.

The sins of my father are helpful.

They line the courses of my racing thoughts and call out their
encouragements in left-handed tones. Such dulcet sounds brace
my tired strivings. Whistling the catcalls of impossibilities, they
save me from the excesses of victory.

The sins of my father are comfortable.

Like fresh-fed hounds they gather to wrap my legs in lethargic
warmth. Such happy connection weighs like the mud from
rutted path. Leaden-shod, my aspirations halt. The padded
burrows of defeat lull me with the familiar.

The sins of my father are musical.

Melodies of lectures long past cast certain inevitabilities down my
throat. Humming with fractured harmonies they rasp a modern
tone-poem in perspectives both brittle and angered. These songs
of lamentation mark me for what I am.

Know that I am my father’s son.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

Accounts Pending/Payment Due

2006-04-13T07:39:00.000-07:00

Accounts are pending-Payments due,
I thought we’d come to this.

Cars and coolers keeping sane a people on the edge.
Curve expressive metal thrust!
A howling blur of light beamed cutting asphalt ribbons in
Darkness to stretch out night to morn.

We’re burning way too much

Accounts are pending-Burning pride,
Oh Brothers! We of this disenchanted fairyland are tired!

Why can’t we see that how we speed the hours through
Our days is killing us?
We run from that uncertain knowledge of who we are
And quit the balance that heals our earthen home.

LOOK AROUND AND SMELL THE FEAR!

The burning is in our hearts

Accounts are pending-Interest’s long accrued.
Bulging from principle long neglected.

The water is poisoning our children’s children’s child
And STILL we drink the cup!

Effluent rivers stink and run their courses long, warmed well
Beyond the healing stretch of nature’s knowing care.

The burning begins to be beyond repair

Accounts are pending-Debt called in.
Come see the last retreat.
This dance macabre comes to lead us to the killing floor.
Paid is the piper. Called we the tune.
Our feet tap a tattoo upon sun-dried skins until the rhythms come undone.

Melted mountains flood the sea as circles of death boil up from the
Tropics and drown our very hopes.
We hide in day-worn cares and die knowing nothing of our lives.

WE ARE THE BURNING!

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

Sleep Apnea

2006-03-19T07:37:00.000-08:00

I think it's time to talk about sleep apnea...

Did you know that doctor's estimate that over 10 million
Americans (and god(dess) knows how many in other
countries) suffer from some degree of sleep apnea?

What is sleep apnea? It is a condition where, when
asleep, the airways of the subject collapse causing
the subject to not be able to breathe. The blood oxygen
levels fall, the person will actually starve their brain
of oxygen to the point of damage. Then the body wakes
the subject up, the subject starts to suffer from long-term
sleep deprivation and heart problems can arise because of
this problem. The lack of deep REM sleep can become
life-threatening.

The symptoms of apnea are snoring, red eyes in the morning,
morning headaches and falling asleep uncontrollably in the
daytime.

As a person gets older, the problem can get worse. The
airwaves get smaller, the weight an adult can put on adds
to the problem. This will continue to get worse and worse
until the subject either dies from the effects or it is treated.

I have apnea. I started out snoring as a child and many
doctors remarked in my childhood that I seemed to have
very small bronchia (breathing tubes). When I finally got
treatment for the problem, I had gotten to the point that
I had damaged my heart and was actually getting blood
oxygen levels as low as 70 (normal is 95).

I now sleep with a simple device which is nothing but a
fancy air pump which I attach over my nose with elastic
cords around my head. This looks like a torture device
but is actually fairly comfortable once you get used to
it. The miracle is that my sinuses stay open while I sleep,
I don't get headaches in the morning anymore, I can
stay awake during the day, and I'm probably going to
be able to live a little longer.

If you or your loved one snores a lot; if they stop breathing
in the night when asleep and then wake up with a gasp; if
they are always tired; if their snoring doesn't stop when
they are on their sides, they might have sleep apnea and
you should waste no time in going to a doctor for a simple
treatment.

And then you (they) can live a bit longer.

FUCK MANPOWER!!!

2006-03-16T14:15:00.000-08:00

I have been away from Manpower for 18 months. It has
been quite awhile since I had to work for those pissant
corporate clones but they still haunt my life! I'm currently
dealing with the fallout from the fact that those corporate
assholes have decided to drop decent health-care as one
of the options available to their temporary employees
(read this as "slave" because that is how they view the
poor benighted bastards who end up making them rich).

I am so glad I don't work for them anymore and I am
shouting to the skies that if you value your soul and heart
DO NOT WORK FOR OR THROUGH THESE
PEOPLE!!!

You have been warned. The rest is on your heads!

Thoughts On Punishment / Red Rain

2006-03-05T20:20:00.000-08:00

I once was going to be punished for something I had done which was perceived as a punishable offence. I remember the lecture I was getting and the explanation of how this was for my own good etc. The only thing I remember going through my head was the words, "Let's just get this over with."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Red Rain is one of my favorite songs. I was reminded of this while listening to the radio today. Peter Gabriel has been delving into his darker regions and mining his dreams for the gold of musical expression. It's great to listen to this while I sit and watch the rare California rain come down.

Well I've seen them buried in a sheltered place in this town.
They tell you that this rain can sting, and look down.
There is no blood around see no sign of pain,
ayayay - no pain.
Seeing no red at all, seeing no rain.

Red rain is coming down
red rain.
Red rain is pouring down,
pouring down all over me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The strangest thing is that after reading stuff about global warming, the coming apocalypse and the age of diseases and pain which all these "prophets" have said will happen and only one thing goes through my mind,

I say to myself, "Let's just get this over with."

March Hair "cut"

2006-03-01T07:33:00.000-08:00

Well, here we are in the realm of the March Hare. That little-known creature of lore and myth who is "Madder Than A Hatter" (wow, there's another strange term of insanity). What is a March Hare?

Well, as I've been told, during the last days of winter and leading up to the bloom of spring the diet of the rodents falls dangerously short of nutrients as they chew on dried grasses from the year before and wait for the shoots of spring. They become short on Vitamin C and other necessary things in their diet and they start to jump and spin in reaction to the lack of good foodstuffs. This usually happens in March, just before the blooming of April. Therefore the name. If you could feed your rabbits and hares some fresh produce, they would react much more normally.

Herein lies a truth, winter sucks.

Also, what comes in March is the time when Stuart (our brave correspondent) usually gets his "cut it all off" bowl haircut. The hair, left long for winter's chill, has begun upon these days to get cumbersomely long and in need of truncation (cut the damned stuff off of my head!) So it is right about now that I take the electric trimmers, set them on longest possible cut and take everything down to a more manageable one inch length. All the hairs one inch long. It's what I call my Napoleon Cut. Very distinguished in a sorta militaristic way. Easy to take care of.

So, in this California of fresh produce 24/7 ~ 365... I have to deal with March Hair much more than a March Hare.

But my haircut doesn't bring me chocolate like the Easter Bunny does.

Getting Close To Lent

2006-02-25T08:22:00.000-08:00

Well, Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday for those who only speak English) is coming soon and then Ash Wednesday wherein we put ashes upon our forehead in order to show that we are dead to the world and eternally sorrowful for our sins (Oh God am I sorrowful!). Then we are expected to fast during Lent. No meat... No sugar... No coffee... No fun...

Really, I don't hold with the six weeks of self-deprivation which Lent represents. Not that I'm against self-deprivation for spiritual purposes but Lent is really very empty. The Christian faith is dying slowly or maybe it is just re-adjusting itself into a new configuration. Afterall, 400 years ago just posting this would have gotten me a rather nosy visit from the Office of The Inquisition. So maybe it's all just an adjustment.

In any regards I'm interested in what people who actually practice Lent are going to give up this year.

I plan on giving up cigarettes (Stuart, you don't smoke!). See how well that works??

Mazeltov!! (wink)

Me! Me! Me! Me! Me! Me! Me!

2006-02-22T05:16:00.000-08:00

It seems like most of the really stupid things I've ever done have been because I want to get noticed. I really don't like that about myself. I seem to have a really pathetically crippled ego who wants recognition because he really doesn't believe that he's good enough. I keep this ego on a chain as much as I can, but he's slippery. I really don't think I can "fix" this factor. I just have to try to outgrow the situation, somehow.

Riddle Me This!

2006-02-19T21:31:00.000-08:00

Who is it who says, "I cannot stand myself anymore?"

When I find that I've said this in my head, I seem to more than one person. If one of these persons is the "real" me... who's the other guy?

Stranded Starfish Have No Place To Hide

2006-02-17T09:12:00.000-08:00

Translation

Pearls don't know of their preciousness.
Cast detritus, worried grit in rounded
suppuration they winkle darkly in dank fleshy
lips which calmly wait the diver's clutch.

In tidal pool of missing intercessions I
gathered my nets of broken conversation.

Perilously close to grave intent
I mirrored a world made violent by nightmare
movie previews and fraternal knifings.

But I digress.

The pearl of the oyster calmly awaits its
declaration. The ugly duckling wishing for
oblivion could not
crash more unexpectedly, blinking, into light.

Squonk!

Regard me no more, I am the oyster

and the pearl awaits your delving.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

No... it's not about suicide. It's about finding the inner core of oneself and honoring its value.

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!!

2006-02-14T08:19:00.000-08:00

In the strange history of the "Holy" Roman Catholic Church the legend of Valentine's Day ranks up there as one of the more colorful myths. I really don't care if he was real or not, I really don't care if the date was "fixed" by the church to make sure that pagan celebrations were folded into the new religion, what I care about is that we really need a day dedicated to love.

This is it. Enjoy.

And I leave you with this most heart-felt Valentine. (I only wish I had written it originally)

Burgundy Heart-Shaped Medallion

If I had a spell of magic,
I would make this enchantment for you.
A burgundy heart-shaped medallion
with a window that you could look through.

So that when all the mirrors are angry
with your faults and all you must do,
you could peek through that heart-shaped medallion,
and see you from my point of view.

Be Mine.

Aegean Stables... Redux!

2006-02-10T15:23:00.000-08:00

You would think that a man who likes to write and has spent many years in offices as one particular flunky or another would have his home paperwork situation in hand but that wasn't the case.

I had a large filing cabinet (floor mounted style) into which I threw all my receipts, bank statements, tax forms, letters from friends etc. It is big... It holds lots of paper... But after four years somethin' gotta give.

What prompted a change was the fact that I needed a form I KNEW was in there but I couldn't find. I finally just reached my bottom and admitted I had to do something about the situation. So...

For the last three days I have been sorting through the pile of stuff. It was an avalanche of paper which I sorted into three piles. They were: throw away now, shred before throwing away, keep because it's important. Then I went to work shredding. Since I don't own a shredder I had to do it with scissors (boy is my hand tired!) and then stir liberally to make sure no dumpster diver could ever figure out what was there. Then I sorted the stuff that needed saving and placed the paperwork into Manila envelopes with labeling on the outside and sorted the cabinet and filed the envelopes neatly and then cleaned up the mess in my bedroom/office. I am very proud of myself. I think I'll order Chinese food to celebrate... I'm too pooped to cook.

I know I didn't do it all in one day like Hercules did but I didn't have a river handy.

I DID IT!!!

2006-02-09T06:49:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite books of all times is "The Ronin" by Jennings wherein he tells a story taken from an old zen fable. In the book the main character, the ronin, finds himself in a horrible life which he cannot stand. At this point, he sees that he cannot live with what has happened and he cries out, "I DID IT!" as he turns and runs from the life he created.

I did it...

I don't think that until recently I have really understood in depth just what is the horribly real truth behind this line. We did it. This world we live in is ours and our creation and if we don't like it, we must take full responisbility in this moment without trying to lay blame elsewhere if we want to begin to change it to a better world.

We've got to stop trying to blame others when we find ourselves with outcomes to our lives which we don't like. We've got to start 'being here now' so that we can be good gardeners of our garden Earth.

Rant over.

So We're Done With Football... For Now

2006-02-05T21:01:00.000-08:00

Well The Steelers won... as 'The Doctor' predicted... Now we can go back to doing other things on Monday evenings and the wives will be able to get a word in edgewise again.

I'm not a huge football fan... I like the game and I played it when I was in school.

However, I'm not a huge fan and I don't seem to get the way people become so attached to a team so that they feel that the team represents them. As far as I can see, it's an interesting assortment of professionals who will be fighting for the other team next year if the money's good enough.

I like the 49'ers I grew up in SF so they're my "home team" but my self-esteem doesn't rise and fall over who wins or how well "my" team does. I just don't understand.

Can somebody explain it to me?

Oh The Joys Of Water!

2006-02-03T07:52:00.000-08:00

My mother said when I was a child that I was probably a dolphin (porpoise) in my last life. This is because I used to like to spend so much time in the water... I loved the weightless feeling I get when I'm in the water, when my whole body is suspended and I love it still. I can stay in a pool until I'm in dangerous need of dry land and my fingers have become prune-like claws.

The joys of this weightless feeling is so complete that I can forget where I am at times. I have tried sensory deprivation tanks and I love them. I love the amniotic sac of the tank which takes me back to the quiet before thinking.

But really, all this is about swimming. Why is it that swimming is so much fun for me when other forms of exercise piss me off?

I guess I am a dolphin... or maybe a manatee... (yeah, that's it! I'm a manatee! Slow, lumbering, kind, fat, big, sweet, stupid...)

Now if I can only find a woman like the one in the picture...

They Tell Me That The Valley Looks Good In Snow

2006-01-31T16:03:00.000-08:00

I got a call from a friend who's in Yosemite Valley... He's enjoying the beauty of the valley in the Winter and staying with a "friend" at the Ahwanee Lodge. Lucky guy.

I've never seen the valley in snow. Perhaps one day.

What do you do when the pain of wanting something you do not have and probably will never have makes you choke up and feel like the child who hid in the closet and was never looked for?

Shel Silverstein wrote a song about that kind of regret and I don't think I could listen to it now without breaking down.

Aw well... hope is the thing with feathers...

Here There Be Dragons

2006-01-30T23:10:00.000-08:00

Y'know those old maps made back in the 1600's? The ones in the museums? I do...

I remember those old maps and the fanciful names given to fanciful lands which actually didn't exist. Proportion was just beginning to be understood in those days and the art of surveying was quite crude. The maps were usually just approximations of here-say and guesses. However, the one thing I loved about first seeing those maps was the term which I once saw put in the unknown lands to the north of Siberia. The cartographer had written "Here There Be Dragons" and had drawn a nice dragon curled up upon rocks.

"Here There Be Dragons"

Doesn't that describe something which sends chills up your spine? The unknown land where anything can happen. The special place where a man can find his fortune or his demise. Sinbad and his voyages of discovery.

I think this is why man invents things... there is a run-away curiosity within our hearts which fires our seeking of the extremities of known space. It's funny I never thought it could be so simple as that. I kept thinking it was a nobler reason. Now I know it doesn't have to be.

Edmund Hillary hit it upon the head when he said, "Because It's There".

What We See With Perspective

2006-01-29T10:01:00.000-08:00

My father came and visited me today. He only stayed a few minutes and we chatted about this and that and other unimportant stuff. What we were really there to discuss was just exactly how unhappy he is with his health. How much pain he's been in after a "fall down" accident which has given him a huge black eye and a scar on his forehead. He's been going through a lot lately. Many different small but serious things have been going on with him, he's been in pain and he's been inconvenienced by his body not doing what he wants it to do.

Well, he's 80+ and I think he's doing really well compared to many his age but that's not what he wants to hear. He wants sympathy and he wants understanding. I see that. I see it - but I'm stuck here with a perspective of our relationship which is left over from my childhood. It is of me (the son) as his child looking to him (the father) to make it all well. I look at him as the sick man I am who is finding that every day above ground is a blessing. I haved tried to stay grateful and I'm unable to give too much sympathy to him in fear that it will lead to pity and I cannot afford to become mired in self-pity. I am also stuck upon this question of perspective. How does a child, even an adult child, reach out and lift up a parent? How can I be the strong one, the nurturing one, the parent to my parent? There is a dysfunction here. It is not what one thinks about when young.

I keep wanting my father to continue to be hearty and healthy. I keep looking for him to become the "Father William" of Lewis Carroll fame. I don't know if I can deal with a sick and weakened father. I know I cannot reach out and nurture him without giving my psyche a serious twist.

I'm gonna have to think about this...

And while I do, I'll share "Father William" with those who haven't heard or read it. It is one of Lewis Carroll's most famous poems.

You Are Old Father William

"You are old, father William," the young man said,
"And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head --
Do you think, at your age, it is right?

"In my youth," father William replied to his son,
"I feared it might injure the brain;
But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again."

"You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned before,
And you have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door --
Pray what is the reason for that?"

"In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
"I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment -- one shilling a box --
Allow me to sell you a couple?"

"You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak --
Pray, how did you manage to do it?"

"In my youth," said his father, "I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life."

"You are old," said the youth, "one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the tend of your nose --
What made you so awfully clever?"

"I have answered three questions, and that is enough,"
Said his father. "Don't give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?

Be off, or I'll kick you down stairs.

~~ Lewis Carroll ~~