Who is this person trying to impersonate me 22 years ago?!

Oh, the days when I worked at GE as a schedule analyst on weekdays and a Christmas tree recycling expert on weekends?

No, that wasn't me, was it?  ;)

Huntsville Christmas Tree Recycling Project -- 1990

Thus Endeth This Blog

The cowboy rolls up his knapsack/pup tent combo, slings it over his shoulder and steps into his rocket boots to pursue a lifelong dream.

Where he rides, there are no sunsets.

The path he takes is a lonely one, as usual.

It's always been about you, me, us, as usual, too.

He issues a voice command and off he goes.

"Giddyup, boy, let's get this show on the road!"

Whoooooosh!!!!

Wet Noses Leave Marks On Glass

No matter how smart we are, our brains can't stop bullets, but we can outsmart them.

Don't you love watching baby animals before they learn how to fend for themselves?

I love watching a global ecosystem that doesn't know how to fend for itself.

Such innocence in its ignorance!

Nuthatches and Trillii

New spider webs in the woods. Insects in the air.

What are we to do with states of energy we don't know how to control?

We. You. Me. Us. Whomever we may be.

Nothing these two hands are going to do besides walk around and describe what the indescribable is not.

Suet. Sunflower. Millet. Insects.

Moving old birdfeeder shepherd's hook to prevent squirrel from leaping onto platform full of fresh seed.

A cagey character. Dodgy. Dodging. Feeding off of available material.

Can't remember if I'm describing the squirrel or me.

The kousa dogwoods don't care.

Give the squirrel credit for persistence.

The birds have no patience.

Feed a squirrel, feed a hawk.

Feed the imagination.

The big picture is chance enough - poker is for humans.

Never give away what you know if you can put a price on someone else's head.

The titmouse knows food, not facts or truth.

Do you soar with turkey buzzards or flying squirrels?

Play the cards you're dealt - the other table's occupied.

Clear tents in woods fog up, don't they?

Do butterflies play or play around?

What is the nongender form of leadership by our species?

Should I stop misleading us by using words?

Plant seeds now - reap harvests later.

One second to observe the transformation - is that sufficient to know what just happened?

Can you create this life from scratch?

The Simplicity of Beauty

Tall, slender trees with tiny emerging leaves swaying in the winds of a wave of passing thunderstorms.

Prelude and Fugue No. 7 in E-flat major, from Das Wohltemperierte Klavier, Book 1, by Johann Sebastien Bach, played by Sviatoslav Richter.

What am I in comparison?

Today, I died a happy man once again.

Once again, I will be born to live happiness all over tomorrow.

Once again, once is never enough.

Green With Envy

A nod to Dr. Doug.

Control In The Hands Of The Few

I believe in free enterprise, the ability of the individual to create personal wealth, and the prevention of artificial barriers to entry created by those who, once in what appears to be a position of power, want to prevent free enterprise for the rest of us.

It is, to beat the dead horse again, a dog-eat-dog world.

Let it be so.

The view of dark matter many parsecs from our galaxy is no different.

The laws of nature are the only laws I know to obey.  The rest is illusion.

We are one species, nothing more, nothing less.

Except when seen as a specific type of set of states of energy.

But I can't talk to you about that right now.

The language hasn't been invented yet.

In other words, is ILY an acronym, a person's name, or a way some people say, "oily"?

Experiments in Quietude

While I take a break from mentally actively imagining the movement forward of the parallel universe in this blog, I take a walk.

Out the back door, I step into the woods that surround my house.

I climb to the top of Little Mountain, observing the leafcup leaflets and the shooting stars pushing up not far from prickly pear and brake ferns on the little bald.

I walk along the ridge to the section of woods bisected by overhead power lines overheard to be run by TVA.

I follow a roughcut path to the bottom of Little Mountain, heading west, crossing Old Big Cove Road.

I step into a field and flush out dozens of birds.

I watch dozens of robins oblivious to my existence as they hunt for insects.

Wearing shorts, I carefully walk through brambles, scaring up a couple of deer resting under a small tree.

I follow the deer, scratching my legs on briars, into a deciduous forest and a dry wet-weather creek bed at the base of the mountain on which the Certain Tract is laid out.

Staying out of sight of metal behemoths racing down Cecil Ashburn Drive, I follow the deer path further, stepping over hundreds of soda and beer cans, rolls of metal fencing, broken trash barrels, oil canisters and other debris thrown or bounced onto the roadside and/or washed into the woods by heavy rainfall.

Eventually, the path leads away from the road and deeper into the woods where a creek that flows out from under the road trickles down the mountain.

Like a young kid again, I jump from rock to rock (carefully, though, because this heavy 48-year old frame is less agile), looking for living things finding refuge in tiny water basins.

I walk the creek bed like a cattle rustler hiding from a vengeful posse, making sure my tracks are hard to follow.

Eventually, I find a small creek or spring flowing out of the side of the mountain.

Look!  A baby salamander or newt.

Another one!

There are three or four!

BAM!  I slip and fall several feet, excitement clouding my judgment about the security of stepping on a rock not balanced for a big boy like me.

Triage: stick jabbed through back of a knuckle on my ring finger, an open split of my left palm, a scuffed right knee that's quickly swelling and a sore behind that indicates a hematoma I'll feel more than see the next time I sit down.

Pull out the emergency kit (hey, Scouts, "Be prepared!"), pour water on wounds to wash off blood and debris, swipe with antiseptic alcohol wipe and bandage up.

Move hands, wrists, arms, back, neck, legs, ankles and feet.  Everything works as expected.

A few gulps of water and I'm good to go!

Continue climb to top of mountain.

Take the Bill and Marion Certain Trail.

Shoot photos along the way.

Stop to eat lunch under large tower, next to AT&T/Verizon warning signs.

Take return path using unofficial trail marked by orange bows on trees.

Hike back down mountain using Cecil Ashburn Drive, breathing in auto exhaust fumes to determine the age of the vehicle that just passed me.

Look for fossils in rock outcropping.

Return home.

Shower, dress, redress wounds.

Smile.  It's a good life.  The Hays Nature Preserve, Goldsmith-Schiffman Wildlife Sanctuary and Certain Tract surround me in the middle of suburban sprawl.

Thoughts and prayers to the folks in New Zealand and other parts of the world where turmoil is rearranging political powersharing.

Don't fear revolutionaries - listen to their complaints and try to proactively implement change that benefits the whole population.  Otherwise, elitists, your time will come and go, mainly forgotten on the scrap heap of broken ideals that you tried to prop up with mercenaries and so-called counterrevolutionaries on your payroll.

Act quickly - change is happening in seemingly faster cycles every day.

Time to visit my inventor friends and see what they're cooking up for everyday living.

Grey Day On The Charles

"Buffy, darling, something smells absolutely steel-cold dead in here."

"I'm sorry, Tiffany.  I'll move the urn of my mother's ashes off the grand piano and into the other room...

There, how does that smell?"

"Much better!  Next time, I recommend you spray a little Urn Odour Deodouriser before you have friends over for tea."

"I will, dear, I will.  Mother would have preferred it that way."

"Yes, 'Mum always knows best!'"

At my age, friends are starting to drop like flies buzzing through the cloud of hairspray hanging over Dolly Parton's wig.

Reminds me of a poem I wrote (old age is already bringing out memories, the nostalgic "golden years" of the poetic youth in me):

Modern-day Martyr

Anticipating your reluctant smile
And knowing that we sometimes fail to see
Our love (that drive to satisfy), and while
You wiped away the tears, recalling Lee,
I hugged you tighter.  Had they told the truth?
I mean, your brother fell.  You know the bridge
Was slippery.  You know they cannot prove
He killed himself.  Just take your privilege
To put these thoughts aside and sleep tonight.
In time, you'll have perspective and the strength
To put your brother's death back in the light,
To recall the times he went to any length
To pull you out of your self-pity.  Now
Is not the time for asking "Why?" or "How?"
-- 29 October 1985

A bluebird is eating in the spindly bushes outside my window right now on this sunny, cool, breezy day in early February, Groundhog's Day, one calendar day short of Chinese New Year (but my clock says the New Year has begun on the other side of the planet), when spring has hinted that the short winter in these parts will soon end.

An SUV flies down the road and a group of goldfinches scatters.

Watching the wildlife outside the winter*, these woods a natural traffic lane, I almost think the birds know that mating season is upon us.

[*a double-play on words, including the subcultural pronunciation of window]

Another poem comes to mind, one I may have shared with you already:

My religion is based on a form

My religion is based on a form,
neither simple nor complex,
Known nor unknown,
A form that can never be perfected.
The form is based on the shape of a wave,
A wave that completes a revolution,
That revolves around an unfixed position.
The wave does not exist
But its form is imitated by physical phenomena.

My religion is based on a few short words --
Everything goes in a circle.
-- 3 October 1985

Do you find yourself talking more frequently with your pets than with people?

At the post office yesterday, while I was mailing some of my wife's homemade cake truffles to our nephew at college, a woman told me that a single person with dogs can get a letter authorising her dogs as her official companions and the dogs will have to be allowed to stay with that person at any hotel/motel/B&B in the U.S.

The woman showed me her copy of the dog-as-companion letter she carries so she can take her two dogs with her as she travels from Utah to Colorado to Alabama and back.

Wonder if the bluebirds, goldfinches, nuthatches or woodpeckers would serve as my travel companions?

Have you ever scolded a woodpecker for punching holes in your furniture?

"Hey, Woody, there ain't no bugs in those varnished slabs!"

Oh, wait, here's a regulation by the Forest Service I wasn't aware of: "Wild birds may not be caged or carried as domestic companions during mating season - tests have shown there's rarely enough room in the cage, carrier or human on-the-road sleep chamber to accommodate the intricate mating dance required by most avian creatures."

[Hmm, seems like my marriage licence had the same restrictions.  Drum roll and rim shot, please!  No, no, hold the applause and laughter until the end.]

Let's see, look at my to-do list...

BORN.  Check!
MARRY. Check!
HAVE KIDS. Skip!
DIE.  Nope, not yet.  Still got that nagging issue of making sure we're set up to communicate transuniversally in 2050.

This guy's cycle's not over yet!  Miles to go before I give it the ol' heave-ho!

Until next time, Sialia sialis.

Shazam!

While I topped off the water in my 55-gallon aquarium, watching the green and brown algae pieces spin in mini-eddies between the filters and pumps which keep water circulating healthily, I asked the living creatures inside, "Who are you?"

The gurgling of popping water bubbles was the response.

I don't know how many letters, emails and IMs I get requesting the identities of the Committee members and the two in the know.

I repeat, they aren't who you think they are.

We have bigger fish to fry than you can possibly imagine.

And the fish don't come from the depleting stock of marine animals readily available and palatable for eating, either.

And those of you who have jumped up and down about the phrase "New World Order" need to understand that every day of our species' modern existence has been a reformation of the New World Order, so don't create conspiracies or theories about hidden agendas.

Remember, this is about all seven billion of us, including our personal beliefs, habits and locations.

We take into account every cult, religion, occult practice, secular behaviour, lifestyle and spending trend in which you participate.

Your life, unbeknownst to most of you, is a series of tests to ensure you are behaving as you appear to behave.  Unlike what some will tell you, we have no specific plan for you - we just want to know what you're doing and how it changes the interconnections between other groups of states of energy like yourself.

You are always free to choose your behaviour in the moment.

We would like to believe every one of you makes a conscientious effort to choose your behaviour wisely.

But we know better.

That's why we work with the animatronic and computer graphics industry to get your children used to watching CG videos and playing videogames so when they visit zoos and aquariums, they can't tell the real animals from the robotic ones we're slowly putting in place to make exotic animal husbandry more affordable and controllable.

Eventually, your children's children won't tell the difference between a real member of our species and an artificial one, enabling us to keep our species' behaviour more orderly.

Until then, here's a story a friend told me about her family (I've changed the situation slightly to protect the participants).

An aunt of my friend kept calling my friend, Elizabeth, about problems with the toilet.

Elizabeth would check out the toilet and find no problem but her aunt insisted that Elizabeth stop by every time there was a problem.

Elizabeth bought her aunt a toilet plunger and showed her aunt how to use it.

Still, her aunt kept calling.

Exasperated, Elizabeth asked her uncle if he knew what the problem was.

He didn't.  He said that everytime he sat on the toilet, his testicles would hang down into the water and he'd tell his wife, Elizabeth's aunt, about how the level of the water in the toilet kept seeming to rise, his personal joke about the effect of gravity on an old man's set of balls.

After a good laugh at her uncle's joke, Elizabeth explained to her aunt that the problem wasn't a stopped-up toilet but that gravity and old age had gotten the best of her aunt's husband.

The aunt laughed and apologised.  She said that she understood.  She was looking in the mirror the other day, thinking that her belly was hanging over her pants and then realised that it was one of her breasts.

We can still live our normal lives, fully aware and appreciative of the fact that the Committee is looking out for your best interests.

Some days, those interests include violent protests but most days it includes quiet days of families taking care of one another and sharing their own private jokes.

We Pride Ourselves On Huge Subsidies of Private Business

So, let me get this straight, we plan to cut off medical support of the elderly and get rid of our teachers (some of the lowest paid state workers) but we'll keep subsidising our industries without removing a penny from their coffers, all to let the states figure a way out of bankruptcy, just so we can say we are no longer the United States of America but merely the United America, eliminating the pesky, petty problem of states' rights?

Even though the Committee clearly has me organising us into a perfect New World Order, it sometimes raises the hairs down my back (forcing me to recomb my back hair) and puts pimples on geese when I think about our having to sing "New World Order over all us" in pubs while we drink to forget the poverty we've forced on the majority of our species' members.

Today's political commentary is brought to you by the makers of Pulp Paper, who happily share the following message with its loyal customers, "If you want the freedom of printing at home, we want to pollute the water in your backyard - green, algae-filled water is a sign of a healthy environment, thanks to our friends in the agricultural runoff business."

Whose Kool-Aid Am I Drinking?

The benefits of deforestation.

All in an economy's rapid fall/rise.

There's a riddle there, if you know what not to look for/at.

When there's no Internet, there's always citizen band (CB) / amateur radio, personal satellites and drone networks no one can see you're flying over their state of deNile.

Another sign the real world is not ending tomorrow...

The marsh marigolds are leafing out here in the USDA Plant Hardiness Zone 7a that is slowly turning into a 7b (and eventually an 8, based on current trends).

Are mosquito population outbreaks not far behind?

And ticks, where would I be without your accompaniment on long hikes?

All Brain, No Mind

Don't mind if I do:

Think Different: How Perception Reveals Brain Differences

Lost in the virtual maze

Is there a way to make every one of us our brothers'/sisters' keepers and prevent terrorism? Are thought police the next best thing to massive security checkpoints?

To Open Envelope Tear Off This Stub

Members of the U.S. Congress showed a brave and unified front today when they told members of the press that MoUSC (pronounced 'mouse') would no longer take a salary, fringe benefits, retirement pays or industrial kickbacks through PACs.

They pledged they would earn money the old-fashioned way, through earning the trust of customers, one at a time.

During questioning the MoUSC would not affirm or deny their right to work as lobbyists or remain on retainer (or is that retain on remainder?) as honourary board members of prominent industries seeking favour with the U.S. government for lucrative contracts.

In other industry news, the country music conglomerate is reviewing its contracts with the Hollywood media moguls, concerned that mediocrity and bad movie plots are ruining the purity of C&W music.

Rap music moguls are also questioning the portrayal of their stars, many of them classically trained at prestigious schools like Julliard.

Carlos Slim has not weighed in on the subject of negative images associated with gangs of Mexico, leaving the general public questioning halleged involvement in illegal activities himself.

Bookies are divided over the point spread.

A secret physics society revealed that the knapsack problem is the solution to transforming humans into the nonwaveparticles needed to travel from one version to another of the intertwined universes. Communication to this universe is accomplished through nudging light waveparticles to an almost imperceptibly slightly higher speed spaced at what looks to us like millions of years apart.

Unfortunately, the physicists explained, time units, perceived by us as connected to solar cycles, lives, generations, and civilisations, are not megauniversally scaled the same (think metric vs. U.S./imperial units).

The timescale at which others communicate across universal barriers is why major messages take so long for us to communicate to each successive global civilisation.

However, our relatively short lives lead us to impatience which leads to war, overconsumption, famine and disease-spreading - we cannot easily conceive a message that takes 10,000 or 1,000,000 years to convey.

In farm news, it's time. You farmers know what that means.