| Frêsh Fish |
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Archive Mea Culpa. The above Archive Link & the Search This Blog Link do not work. This happened after Google, the king of search, bought Blogger?
Frêsh Fish - Much magic for a little fish.
Frêsh Fish is a combination of new and spirited with the added bonus being that everyone knows that fish is best fresh. The icing on the cake was that my mother’s mother, Lena, always told her and she me, that fish was brain food. So with Frêsh Fish we have spirited and new food for thought, ideas, that ain’t got no stink. I was suppose to eat fish today and did not. I hope I can be forgiven.
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Monday, August 24, 2009
 During their time they served me well but now I find I no longer desire their touch. Whatever novelty they once held for me is gone. We for awhile enjoyed, but now our relationship is one of neglect. Best to put them out their again and perhaps another will find comfort in their sway. © 2009 big box industries Saturday, August 22, 2009
I live near the nether. I live near where one turns into another. I guard the border between the darkness and the light.  In the backyard a darkness beckons, a dancing of shadows and such. Sometimes at night, in the backyard, just beyond the demarcation that I ever vigilantly guard between the darkness and the light, interspersed between the incessant cadences of the crickets,there is the soft tinkling of chimes and every now and then voices and giggles.  © 2009 big box industries Saturday, August 15, 2009
I was halfway down the upstairs steps when I realized that I didn’t have anything on except a t-shirt and some tighty-whities. Whatever, I have a backyard that is only accessible to me, the fairies, and the angels. Quick I was. Down the stairs, through the living room and out the back door. I had to proceed a little gingerly because I also didn’t have any shoes on and there were rocks and sticks and all the little things that you have to be alert to when you walk barefoot. Outside. Up the little embankment. And there it was. A beautiful guitar on a stand, right there in the middle of the wooded area of my backyard.  The guitar had a shiny neck and a mahogany colored body. When I went to pick it up I also discovered that it was very heavy. WTF. A guitar on a stand in my backyard. I needed 2 hands to hold the guitar while I examined it. On the steel pickups in raised letters were the words Travis Bean.  The guitar also had a number embedded in the metal of the head on the neck, 1374. It didn’t seem like it had been played in awhile because The Bean was missing 2 strings and had a thin layer of dust covering the entire body and strings of the guitar. But when I held it in both hands and fretted the neck with my left hand and did some string work with my right hand, the guitar was still in tune  © 2009 big box industries Friday, August 14, 2009
Everyone, especially the pundits on TV, wants to know when the economic recovery is going to start. Is it going to start next week, or next month, or in the third quarter of 2009? Please! If the economic recovery starts in 2011 I would consider the US Economy lucky. By economic recovery I mean starting to add new jobs rather than just losing jobs at a slower rate. Long may it be remember than it wasn’t until December 2008, that the National Bureau of Economic Research proclaimed that the recession had started a year earlier, in December 2007. Thank God that this isn’t the same group of savants that is responsible for alerting the United States to terrorists’ or ICBM missile attacks. I have two reasons for my pessimism about the US economic recovery. 1. As we look closer at almost any segment of the economy we are finding as Bob Zimmerman would say – 2. Last year we were suppose to have an above average number of hurricanes. Once again the pundits were wrong and 2008 was a relatively light year for hurricane activity. 2009 is now also predicted to be a below normal hurricane season. However, it is not the number of hurricanes but the intensity, we would only need one good hit to cause our delicately balanced house of cards to implode. © 2009 big box industries Sunday, August 09, 2009
In 1797 Samuel Talyor Coleridge didn’t have much to do.  There were not a lot of distractions in 1797. If you wanted it frêsh you had to do it yourself. At the time Coleridge had been reading some sea voyage novels. Add to this some opium – “Throughout his adult life, Coleridge suffered from crippling bouts of anxiety and depression (neuralgia); it has been speculated that Coleridge suffered from bipolar disorder, a mental disorder which was unknown during his life.[1] Coleridge chose to treat these episodes with opium, becoming an addict in the process.” – Wikipedia and you get the sprawling tale of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. I have always liked the opening passage of Part I with its “ stoppeth one of three”, “unhand me, grey-beard loon!”, and the erstwhile “Eftsoons”. It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three. 'By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp'st thou me? The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide, And I am next of kin; The guests are met, the feast is set:  May'st hear the merry din.' He holds him with his skinny hand, 'There was a ship,' quoth he. 'Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!' Eftsoons his hand dropt he. He holds him with his glittering eye— The Wedding-Guest stood still, And listens like a three years' child: The Mariner hath his will. It is interesting to note that Coleridge wrote The Ancient Mariner and Kubla Khan both when he was 25 and under the influence of opium. These were the only two offerings of his life long work as a poet that ever gained any notoriety. Kubla Khan was actually never completed. From what we do have, it is inferior to The Rime of the Ancient Mariner and its only claim to fame is the story of its birthing. “In the summer of the year 1797, the Author, then in ill health, had retired to a lonely farm-house between Porlock and Linton, on the Exmoor confines of Somerset and Devonshire. In consequence of a slight indisposition, an anodyne had been prescribed, from the effects of which he fell asleep in his chair at the moment that he was reading the following sentence, or words of the same substance, in Purchas's Pilgrimage: ``Here the Khan Kubla commanded a palace to be built, and a stately garden thereunto. And thus ten miles of fertile ground were inclosed with a wall.'' The Author continued for about three hours in a profound sleep, at least of the external senses, during which time he has the most vivid confidence, that he could not have composed less than from two to three hundred lines; if that indeed can be called composition in which all the images rose up before him as things, with a parallel production of the correspondent expressions, without any sensation or consciousness of effort. On awakening he appeared to himself to have a distinct recollection of the whole, and taking his pen, ink, and paper, instantly and eagerly wrote down the lines that are here preserved. At this moment he was unfortunately called out by a person on business from Porlock, and detained by him above an hour, and on his return to his room, found, to his no small surprise and mortification, that though he still retained some vague and dim recollection of the general purport of the vision, yet, with the exception of some eight or ten scattered lines and images, all the rest had passed away like the images on the surface of a stream into which a stone has been cast, but, alas! without the after restoration of the latter!”  Kubla Khanned means to be caught up in the flow of creating something, but then after being distracted not being able to recapture the excitement of the moment. © 2009 big box industries Thursday, August 06, 2009
I am still wading through Atlas Shrugged. I am on page 582 out of 1168. The opus is top drawer with the exception of the romance between Hank and Dagny. This romance and its complications takes up a lot of the middle of the book. Why Rand though this long expose added to the story is perplexing? It is an ideal romance between two exceptional people, Ayn’s ideal, but to go over the sundry nuances in nth detail is a distraction. While reading yesterday I came across this passage. “No matter what night preceded it, she had never known a morning when she did not feel the rise of a quiet excitement that became a tightening energy in her body and a hunger for action in her mind…” p.350 I felt this captured the sine quo non of the creative spirit, of the genius. The genius being one that, regardless of circumstance, feels compelled to create, and is most happy when doing just this.  The above, this impetuous energy to do, to create, brought to mind Lucifer in Milton’s Paradise Lost. I was and remain quite taken by the passages in Chapter 1 of Paradise Lost that describe Lucifer’s incessant will to do, to create, to be. Even after Lucifer had been totally defeated and fallen far into pits of fire, he arises again, ready and proud, to make his mark upon the welter. And this Empyreal substance cannot fail.” – p. 10 “…for the mind and spirit remains Incincible, and vigour soon returns.” – p. 10 “Have left us this our spirit and strength intire” – p. 10 “…though yet we fell Strength undiminisht…” – p. 11 “Their surest signal, they will soon resume New courage and revive, though now they lye Groveling and prostrate on yon Lake of Fire, As we erewhile, astounded and amaz’d, No wonder, fall’n shuch a pernicious highth.” – p.14 The rub in Paradise Lost is that even though Lucifer and his Legions have lost and been thrown into the pit of peridition, being immortal they can not be destroyed, and being immortal, each and every day, like manna from heaven, they awaken with an energy, a vigor, a joie de vivre. Where joy for ever dwells! Hail, horrors! hail, Infernal world! and thou, profoundest Hell, Receive thy new possessor--one who brings A mind not to be changed by place or time. The mind is its own place, and in itself Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven. What matter where, if I be still the same, And what I should be, all but less than he Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least We shall be free; th' Almighty hath not built Here for his envy, will not drive us hence: Here we may reigh secure; and, in my choice, To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell: Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven." - p. 13 A more detailed comparison of Atlas Shrugged vs. Paradise Lost would make an interesting paper. In Atlas Shrugged we have “good” being driven out by “bad”. In Paradise Lost we have “bad” being driven out by “good”. © 2009 big box industries
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