Thursday, May 18, 2006
Photos
I still have not done anything with my pictures from my recent trip to Morocco; They were taken with my cell-phone camera, so they're not going to be spectacular anyway.However, one of my friends from the Entrepreneurs' Organization, Jason Niedle, posted his photos; He is a professional photographer and has a very nice camera. We were on the same tour, so it's a decent record of the people, places and things that I also saw... and yes there are a couple of me in the batch.
Jason's links:
http://homepage.mac.com/digitaldescartes/PhotoAlbum46.html
http://homepage.mac.com/digitaldescartes/PhotoAlbum47.html
http://homepage.mac.com/digitaldescartes/PhotoAlbum48.html
http://homepage.mac.com/digitaldescartes/PhotoAlbum43.html
Jason's company is called The Calendar Factory, and he has taken many other lovely photos in his day.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
39
I turned 39. That's 3 times as old as I was when I was 13, which was about a week ago I think. At 13 I wouldn't have assumed that I would live this long.
But here I am.
When I was in college, 4 years seemed like a good long while. These days, 4 years can just slip by while I'm not looking. If I had children, that would be different. But I don't. When I was 20 I thought I would probably be "ready" for that at 30. But the time filled with other things. Now that I'm 39, I am adjusting to the idea that it may not happen. I do believe the world has plenty of babies and is amply populated already. (Actually "amply" is a sort of cynical understatement when what I really mean is "catastrophically.") But consciousness goes on, as always, everywhere. Maybe my children would still be grateful for theirs, in spite of everything.
The blur of Los Angeles
where one year blends into the next
with barely a shift in the season
to mark the time
the magnetic vortex
the indifferent cultural chaos
the lefthand addiction to glittering surface
the righthand cult of decay
the seaside end of the long westward road
the relentless torrent of money
and fame
that looks in a mirror
and seems like everything to itself
but is dwarfed and mocked
and owned and cultivated
and tricked and consumed
by other processes
even merely earthly ones
that it prefers to ignore
the fat Mexican
sitting out the war
hazy with beer and sunshine
(you can ask him what he's chuckling about
but he won't say)
the piñatas filled
with penny treats
and stray fragments of wandering spirits
tumbling in the air
and the skulking coyote
still stealing a life
around the edges
in the quiet hours
incapable of begging
or acquiescence
or integration
or cooptation
or remorse
confidently distrustful
knowing something is wrong
but not knowing what.
