Posted 11:03 AM by robert d

Gift From Lena

I had trouble sleeping last night, tossing and turning, with visions dancing, dancing, dancing so pretty. And somewhere, I kept hearing laughing and giggling and someone was playing a guitar.

I didn’t think much of it until this morning. There I was in the bed with dirty sheets and four pillows trying to catch the bits and pieces of the night before they slipped away forever. The whole time I was chasing dreams, I was a bit distracted by a rainbow shimmering in the backyard coming in with the morning sun through my large bedroom window.

I finally got up. Went to the bathroom. Splashed some water on my face. Brushed teeth and then. And then I happened to peer out the large bathroom window over the tub.

I was thunderstruck.


Some Time Dwell

There was a guitar on a stand out in my backyard.

helter skelter (2/21/2000 – 1:49 am)

we go there not directly
but in a helter skelter way
too much
too soon
so often causes
one to go astray
and it is our intention
for you not to lose your way
nay, it is our intention
for you to come
and then to stay
stay awhile or longer
and may this serve you well
stay awhile or longer
but promise not to tell
that once while you were traveling
in a land most far but near
you heard the twinkling
of the light
a sound so very dear
more of this we know
and more of this we may tell
but first we ask
that you stay awhile
and with us for some time dwell

© 2000


© 2009 big box industries

Posted 10:33 AM by robert d

Too Much Blood


All This & Heaven Too

Cut myself while culling The Garden. Hit on the fleshy pad of The Pink on the left hand.


Bobbit Practice

Doesn't take much to make a mess with blood.

I sucked on my finger to keep the blood from splish/splashing all over the place.

My blood was hot & frêsh and had a unique taste.

"I can feel it in the air. I can feel it everywhere. There's just too much blood." - Stones - Undercover - "Too Much Blood". (I did this quote from memory and of course I got it wrong.)



I went back outside to do some more stuff in the yard and ended up giving another donation.


Same Hand Different Finger

© 2009 big box industries

Posted 8:21 AM by robert d

The Hobgoblin of Little Minds

"The most commonly known Hobgoblin is the character Puck in Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. Puck, however, is only another name given to a much older character named Robin Goodfellow. However, the origins of his name can be controversial.

Hobgoblins seem to be small, hairy little men who—like their close relative, Brownies—are often found within human dwellings, doing odd jobs around the house while the family is lost in sleep. Such chores are typically small deeds, like dusting and ironing. Oftentimes, the only compensation necessary in return for these was food. Attempts to give them clothing would often banish them forever, though whether they take offense to such gifts or are simply too proud to work in new threads differs from teller to teller.


The Many Become One


Searching For Nirvana

While Brownies are more peaceful creatures, Hobgoblins are more fond of practical jokes. They also seem to be able to shape-shift, as seen in one of Puck's monologues in A Midsummer Night's Dream. Robin Goodfellow is perhaps the most mischievous and most infamous of all his kind, but many are less antagonizing. However, like all of the fey folk, hobgoblins are easily annoyed. When teased or misused excessively, Brownies become Boggarts—creatures whose sole existence is to play tricks and cause trouble for people. They can be mischievous, frightening, and even dangerous, and they are very difficult to get rid of.[1]


The One Becomes Many

The term "hobgoblin" has grown to mean a superficial object that is a source of (often imagined) fear or trouble. Probably the most well-known example of this usage is Ralph Waldo Emerson's line, "A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds," from the essay Self-Reliance.[2]" - Wikipedia

© 2009 big box industries

Posted 7:19 AM by robert d

Who Is John Galt?

I am re-reading Atlas Shrugged (1957) – Ayn Rand. Good, no extraordinary. Ayn has a deliciously unique style. It is very direct without any frivolous pretense. Little attention is given to what the characters are wearing or the minutiae of environments – for the antithesis think Ann Rice. Ayn Rand is the only female writer I revere.


Alisa Zinov'yevna Rosenbaum

Atlas Shrugged is the flag bearer of Individualism vs. The Group. How much of today’s economic problems can be traced to our country’s obsession with being a team player? I have always thought that the concept of team allowed the weak to hide and flourish.

“”Don’t you ever think of anything but d’Anconia Copper?” Jim asked once.
“No.”
“It seems to me that there are other things in the world.”
“Let others think about them.”" - p. 95


Dagny Taggart

Atlas Shrugged is certainly a novel, many pages, my copy runs 1168 pages. It required a commitment by the author and it also requires a commitment by the reader. I have been delaying my commencement of Atlas Shrugged because I knew it would take me several days to read. I have finally started my reread and now reremember what a joy Atlas Shrugged was and is to read.


Don't Drop The Ball

If you have forgotten or never knew – “Who is John Galt?”, get you to the Atlas. It will be time well invested.

P.S. Thank God that once again I have found a good book, a place to go when I am tired of all the rest, away from the mediocrity and slime that today passes for entertainment.

P.S.S. I have made it through Chapter V – 126 pages – and I am still in awe. In Chapter V, Francisco d’Anconia reveals to Dafny Taggart, that he has purposively invested in a project in Mexico that he knew would fail. He professes that his intentions was to attract the money of the leisurely rich. Now the do nothings, who always follow the wake of the industrious, would fail.

“It was worth whatever it’s cost me. I could afford the price of that show. If I had staged it intentionally, I would have beaten the record of the Emperor Nero. What’s burning a city – compared to tearing the lid off hell and letting men see it.” – p. 122.

Francisco has told Dagny what he is doing but still not why.

“The truth. You can’t handle the truth.” A Few Good Men – 1992



© 2009 big box industries

Posted 11:28 AM by robert d

Wanted for Hyperbola and Other Non Sequiturs

I have recently finished reading Life of Pi – Yann Martel – 2001. While the story line is on occasion confusing, Martel has a extraordinary gift for descriptive narrative.

I rarely quote long passages. I make an exception in this case. Since we are all so memento, I wanted to not forget. Hence here for later.

“Chapter 56 – (I had hoped to find the text online but this was not to be.) I must say a word about fear. It is life’s only true opponent. Only fear can defeat life. It is a clever, treacherous adversary, how well I know. It has no decency, respects no law or convention, shows no mercy. It goes for your weakest spot, which it finds with unerring ease. It begins in your mind, always. One moment you are feeling calm, self-possessed, happy. Then fear, disguised in the garb of mild-mannered doubt, slips into your mind like a spy. Doubt meets disbelief and disbelief tries to push it out. But disbelief is a poorly armed foot soldier. Doubt does away with it with little trouble. You become anxious. Reason comes to do battle for you. You are reassured. Reason is fully equipped with the latest weapons technology. But, to your amazement, despite superior tactics and a number of undeniable victories, reason is laid low. You feel yourself weakening, wavering. Your anxiety becomes dread.



d Snaps With Entourage

Fear next turns fully to your body, which is already aware that something terribly wrong is going on. Already your lungs have flown away like a bird and your guts have slithered away like a snake. Now your tongue drops dead like an opossum, while your jaw begins to gallop on the spot. Your ears go deaf. Your muscles begin to shiver as if they had malaria and your knees to shake as though they were dancing. Your heart strains too hard, while your sphincter relaxes too much. And so with the rest of your body. Every part of you, in the manner most suited to it, falls apart. Only your eyes work well. They always pay proper attention to fear.”

© 2009 big box industries