Frêsh Fish

Wednesday, June 30, 2004

Erasmus & Mr. Jones

I was up early this morning inhaling the magick of the day and I was not disappointed.

Early this morning, while still in bed I started hearing some strange clucking sound from outside my open bedroom window. It wasn’t really clucking, but what can I say, I suck when it comes to onomatopoeia. When I looked out of the bedroom window, there he was – Erasmus.

Erasmus is my hawk. Several times a week I see him, solitary and serene, soaring in swirls, round and round, dizzy with life, riding the wind currents high above The Kingdom. He is the part of my spirit that rides the wind, high, protecting The Kingdom from above. I hope that Erasmus knows that he is my friend. Whenever I see him my heart is happy in a special way.

I had watched E many times from afar, but now he was only about 20 feet away, perched on the retaining wall in the backyard. For several seconds I was in awe, there close, just for me. All this and heaven too and I loved it.

Snap, snap, must have a snap. And in a snap I was out of bed and into the study to get my camera. Luckily, the camera was loaded. I gingerly made it back into the bedroom towards the large open screened window, trying not to startle Erasmus. I was afraid to get right up to the screen. So I did the best with what I had. I got 2 snaps off from about 20 feet away, before E with a flick of his outstretched wings made his way aloft and to my left, away and gone.

All this and heaven too and I love it!

Erasmus from My Window

Was Erasmus there just watching me as I slumbered through the opened screened window of my bedroom? No. Remember the clucking, hawks don’t cluck.

With a kingdom always comes some creatures. I have a wide assortment of birds, and a half dozen lizards, and one or sometimes 2 very pesky squirrels, and the other day meandering across the backyard I found a turtle who likes watermelon, and a build it they will come hummer, and of course Eramus always soaring high above, and a cute little chipmunk.

Erasmus was after Chipper. It was Chipper who was clucking in a very special chipmunk way. E had Chipper cornered, or perhaps sequester would be more appropriate, inside of a wedge made by the two basins of the old kitchen sink that I put in the backyard garden. E couldn’t get in, but Chipper couldn’t get out. My presence foiled the stalemate. Luckily for Chipper, he will live to see another day, but it took him about 30 minutes to calm down and stop making that sound that I can’t spell.

Addendum – With some reflection I have decided to name the little monk – Mr. Jones. For all you die hard Dylan fans out there a Mr. Jones would just make it all a little more geeky.

The transition in monikers goes like this – chipmunk – Chipper – I live outside of Atlanta, the home of the Atlanta Braves – Chipper Jones does or did play for the Atlanta Braves – Mr. Jones - (Since I am so memento, it took me awhile to remember) – Bob Dylan – Ballad of a Thin Man.

“Something is going on and you are not sure exactly what it is? Do you? Mr. Jones.”

I suspect most of you think that you know what a geek is? If you got a dictionary handy check out the definition of geek.

Who gnu/knew/new?

© 2004 big box industries

Tuesday, June 29, 2004

Sparkle Plenty

And she danced like the wind and sang like rain and her name was Sparkle Plenty. She was one of Lena's girls. Well girls is not quite right for Lena was Queen of the Fairies.

© 2004 big box industries (how big are they?)

Sunday, June 27, 2004


I have a yen, a fetish, a fascination, with hawks. I just think they are cool. One of the reasons that I bought the house that I did is because it comes with its own hawk. Several times a week I can look up into the sky and over my property there he is, serenely swirling, round and round. Other times there is just a big shadow swooshing across the ground and again, sartorial in all its splendor, there he is, my friend, high, doing the day.

Into far darkness gone in search of she who will still my heart to beating faster.  And thus with wing to soar above the welter.

With Splendor & Serene

I am slowly giving names to all the creatures of my kingdom. For reasons I am not consciously aware of I have given my hawk the moniker of Erasmus. Perhaps it is because he is so stately and stern.

Hawks are solitary creatures and will usually be found making there rounds alone. A few days ago on the Public Broadcasting Channel, they had a short segment on hawks. I found it interesting that hawks see the world a lot slower than humans do. Hawks process visual information about 4 times faster than humans do. So something moving at 20 mph would only appear to be moving at 5 mph to a hawk. Who gnu?

Coming soon - Erasmus & Mr. Jones.

E on the Prowl

I am waiting for Erasmus to leave me a hawk feather. It is illegal to possess a hawk’s feather in the United States, but if E leaves me a feather or two, you can just kiss my ass, those bad boys will be mine for ever and ever, as serenely we swirl, high and the higher, in a way known just to us.

Coming soon - Erasmus and Mr. Jones

© 2004 big box industries

Saturday, June 26, 2004


Witch my soul.

There is a quiver and twitch to it. How it differs from the rock. Life in all its incessants. A flow to form. Connected yet each different. No two the same. Connected and yet separate. Always alone. To live and then to die. To live and then leave it all behind. To quiver and twitch and then to still. To a stillness like stone. And now still all alone.

All this and heaven too and I love it.

How wonderful life is with all its nocks and crannies. With no two things the same, each with its own secrets and foibles.

© 2004 big box industries

John Lecarre

You either like him or you don’t. I love Lecarre.

As I glance over to the left, on the bottom shelf of my first bookcase, part of my Lecarre collection is represented – The Russia House – A Perfect Spy – Single & Single – and The Quest for Karla.

And there are others in my collection. Again, to my left, on the corner of my desk, open and placed face down, indicating that I am about 75 pages into it, is The Secret Pilgrim.

Secret isn’t John’s best but it really doesn’t matter, for on almost any page there is a little surprise, a little threat, a comfort, on almost any page there is something special waiting patiently just for you.

Lecarre is an experienced soul. He has lost and won and done all the other stuff, and bless him he has decided to share the rituals and dogma of A Night Hag – 3rd circle – inner order.

“So what do you say? You say what others have said before you. Those you can, do. Those who can’t, teach. And what they teach is what they can’t do any more, because either the body or the spirit or both have lost their singleness of purpose; because they have seen to much and suppressed too much and compromised too much, and in the end tasted too little. So they take to rekindling their old dreams in new minds, and warming themselves against the fires of the young.” The Secret Pilgrim p7.

Enchanted by page 7.

© 2004 big box industries

Friday, June 25, 2004


It has always been there. Just a keystroke away. But no, not us, we don't do things like that. We don't search in the archives for answers.

How to tell? The big fish. The fish that you thought you wound never see, the fish that are the fastest. The fish that always get away are in the archives.

I have been blogging for awhile, and I have endeavored to make certain that there is something for everyone.

© 2004 big box industries

Back In The Saddle

After about 6 months, I am finally back on the internet. Mac Daddy in the house, boot in up to the knee and kicking. Unfortunately, the Blogger interface associated with this cable hook up is less than desirable. I was blogging from work and that was ok. But whatever this is, how do you say it in English, suckkkkkks. Hope I can figure out how to get it better.

Bookmark this blog because we are going to start bringing down the good stuff. The you can only get it here frêsh stuff.

© 2004 big box industries

Monday, June 21, 2004

Confederacy of Dunces

Over the last 48 hours I have done n+1 things, where n = a hundred million. Over the last 48 hours I have done lots and lots, most of which in the details I have forgotten. But for about 10 hours of those 48, I know what I was doing. For 10 hours over the last 2 days I reread John Kennedy Toole’s – A Confederacy of Dunes.

The Confederacy focuses on the shenanigans of one of literatures more endearing characters – Ignatius J Riley, a modern day Don Quixote. Ignatius is a true rugged individualist, none could tame this capricious spirit. Against all odds, Ignasius blunders forward, oblivious to any form of social convention, totally unaware of how others might perceive his persona, doing his thing.

Ignatius is a very corpulent 30 year old, living with his mother, in a very small dwelling, in a run down part of New Orleans. He had been to school and gotten as far as a Masters degree in Medieval History, then taught for awhile, but is now unemployed.

I was actually reading something else at the same time I did Toole. While I was reading Toole, I was still reading Ann Ryan. While I was reading Toole, I was still, slowly, reading, The Fountain Head.

The odds against this are 4 nano to 1. Who, at anytime that we know of, would be reading The Head and Dunces at the same time?

Is there a way to make them both the same?

Read both Rand and the The Dunces at the same time and rejoice. They are both of the spirit, that which transcends. Both are alive in a very special way. Both are connected.

To appreciate the synthesis of Dunces and Head, one must grook Lemma I. Lemma I states that A ≠ A. Lemma I is in the antithesis of all that is assumed. All that is assumed states that this is equal to that, blaspheme.

The gist of Lemma I is that no two things are the same. No atoms, no yesterdays, no people, no things – no 2 things are the same. In the beginning, is now, and every shall be. Lemma I = no two things are the same. A ≠ A.

Only the deceiver can make one think different. Only the Devil would make the effort.

Look around you, think, be part of what is happening, and in your heart you will know, that each is special, special because, no two things are the same. And this is the meta, the core, the celebration of both A Confederacy of Dunces and The Fountainhead. One in a very ribald way and the other much more formal.

Both Dunces and Head are a testimony to the beauty of the human spirit. Both are an invocation to the I. We who know, we who have read, will now not have masters.

© 2004 big box industries

Sunday, June 20, 2004

Sur la Jardin

One of the initiatory questions of The Night Hags – 3rd circle - inner order –is what was Voltaire’s first name? If you are unfortunate enough to answer Bob, or John, or Fred, I am afraid it is off with your head, for Voltaire was the nom de plume of Francois Marie Arouet.

Francois penned many pieces but I am only familiar with the Panglossian, best of all worlds, Candide.

And how true. We spend most of our time chasing chimeras round and round until we are no longer dazzled by the dizzy and then spent, to ground we fall.

The Garden

What better way to wait for the Messiah than to putt about sur la Jardin? Keeping this and culling that until we both, I and my Gods, are pleased.

© 2004 big box industries