boiler is not boiling

Yeah, I dunno. I just can’t quite get it going for my every day. I HAD all kinda of get up and go…but it didn’t come to anythng and now..

well. Now even the things under my control seem not worth the effort. I’m not flatlined…been there…been where I am so wiped out that i have to drag myself by my lips to keep moving.

Now…i’m moving. i’m doing this and that. But I am not feeling like I mean much of it.

I could tell myself that I’m resting on the confidence that I can handle what comes.

that sounds good. And that’s partly true.

But I *like* getting things done. And I’m mostly not getting things done right now.

My projects (other than this awesome long term BOOK project) are stagnant. Or a very slow trickle. and I just can’t seem to care right now.

I wonder.


My motor shifted sometime last year.

I used to always be revving, gotta go do THAT gotta do the NEXT THING

Oh no! Gotta go do it!

But I sorta realized, hey, I could still get it done without the freak-out. Yeah, I need to go get that part. I’m getting that part. How about I relax? Maybe that part isn’t the right part. Well, I have to trust myself that I’ll recognize that and then go find the right answer.

It is a different way of being…the Calm-the-hell-down way of being.

I’m not entirely comfortable with it.

But it has a lot of advantages

Good evening blog

had a tiring day. But not a bad one. Now we are doing the parenting dance.

“Let me talk to her…”

sure, fine. You shall succeed where I could not.


So today I’m thinking about scorpions. They turn on you

and they are kind of everywhere.

Jesus had a lot of scorpions. Judas was a big one, and he offed himself. So. JEsus didn’t have to forgive him.

Peter betrayed him too. THe cock crowed after he’d denied christ three times. But Jesus forgave him.

Two different levels of betrayal. One was not forgiven.

But the other guy was more than forgiven.

So. What does this tell me about how to deal with scorpions?

Not sure yet. Thinking about it


alphabet blogging?

Someone has been blogging through the alphabet.

It’s a new blog. Should I be condescending?

I mean, okay, my first impulse is to be condesdencing. That says a lot more that’s negative about me than anything really.

I”ve had a  blog fora  long time. But I dont’ post every day. I do post every week.

But, not every day. Maybe a prompt to get me to post daily would be warranted.


the alphabet…I dont’ know.

My problem right now is that my blogpost ideas are longer than I have time to complete.

I have to MAKE myself make time.


Low expectations lowers all boats

Seems that the world is dissapointing me again. Why aren’t we all better than we are?

I am not making the progress that I wish I were on pretty much any front. And it looks, from a survey of what’s around me, that the tower of babel never ended, and we are still all bumping into one another getting nothing done.

but…wait…if every body is having trouble..and if it is so freaking impossible to make any progress at any time…well, maybe the little scratches I’ve made are noteworthy after all.

hmm…I shall have to try thinking of it that way

Sounding off

I was a teenager, and I remember it well. Robin Williams as a teacher of uptight prep school boys, breaking the mold and standing on his desk to challenge them with Walt Whitman:

I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,

I sound my barbaric YAWP over the roofs of the world.

Sound your barbaric Yawp! Cut loose from civilization! Sound your song of yourself over the world.

The verse contains it’s own contradiction. YAWPs may be barbaric, but you know what is categorically not barbaric?


Whitman and Williams were talking to a similar crowd: the housed and bloused. Those who understand and comply with society’s expectation.

I do not count myself among them. I would embrace a bit of taming. I am a foreigner to this civilization.

I am the barbarian coming to the rooftops. I do not sound my Yawp defiantly.

I sound it because it is the only sound I’ve got.  It’s not what the people under the rooftops want, I don’t think. It is not what was expected and cross-referenced.

My voice is a tide-tumbled piece broken out from the school of hard-knocks, dropping in where it lands, not invited and little regarded.

It’s barbaric. It’s my voice. It might not get much better than what it is now.

It’s mine though. I like the way it bounces back at me off the rooftops.

I’ll keep sounding it.




You try it. It feels good.

getting busy

life has gotten busier.

Funny. I know this about myself, I do much better when I have slightly too much to do. It’s like the lyric

“I don’t believe in energy

the tension is too low”

Like a sewing machine. If then tension isn’t right, everything is tangled

Art and Lots of It

It is a cliché to talk about calligraphers losing their jobs as soon as the printing press was invented. I suppose they mourned the loss of their art. Except that new art was formed. The advent of the printed word changed everything almost immediately.

Walter Benjamin wrote The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction. I am not saying read it. It is a CRAZY difficult little essay to read. I am not kidding when I say I had to read each sentence three times before I could move on to the next one. AND I found it pretentious.

But it exploded my brain. What possible measuring stick can we use for art when it is all mechanical, or digital? What does it mean to spread the elusive epiphanic beauty of art all over the planet by mechanical reproduction? Because we are already doing it.

I dare to say, this very message is an example of that. I’ll name it: the Wonderblog is art. And I am disseminating it mechanically-digitally all over the world.

It used to be that art was exclusive. The beautiful Book of Kells, with words drawn so beautifully and artfully angels were given the credit for creation.

There is one Book of Kells. I have seen it. It is in a museum, behind glass, and it is open to one place that day. If I wanted to see the next page, I have to wait and come back after they have turned the page behind the glass for the day.

Except, there are now facsimiles. I have pored over the reproduction in detail. It is not the same as the original. But I can touch it and see it in a way the original does not allow.

Which means I can use it intelligently as a metaphor for this other bit of art, this blog.

Benjamin says that art in the age of reproduction means a transformative availability. As in, with so much thought-provoking and inspiring art so widely available, we must all be changed.

I have had that discussion, “Is this art, the kind that is popular and widely available, good art? Is it as high quality as the more difficult, less accessible art?” and it’s a fine discussion. But Benjamin points out something else entirely, which I had not thought about. If my belief that art changes us is true, that has consequences If art changes us and makes us better human beings, then the wide availability of lots of art will change lots of people.

Are you ready for us all to evolve again? Because we are tipping off the point.













It kinda sounds like a cuss word. “Those FUDOGers!”

It feels like hell.

And it looks the poison arrows in the quiver of Beelzebub. All multi-pronged and dripping with noxious fluid that burns.


Those FUDOG feelings are, however, fully self-inflicted. And that is what makes them so insidious.


We have found the enemy. Oh boy have we found the enemy. It is us.


No. It’s me.  It’s me that feels fear and doubt. It’s me that takes on an obligation and guilt. It is me that is uncertain.


I don’t want to be. I want to be free, confident, convinced, loving, and pure.


That doesn’t make as good of an acronym. But I guess free doesn’t need a mnemonic device. We remember that we want to be free.


I have been meaning to write this piece about FUDOG for a while. But I was uncertain, afraid that I didn’t have it together enough to explain the research that led me to this discovery of how these work together. I doubted I had the right to portray this as my own idea; maybe I was obliged to credit a source that I’m not sure of.


FUD is a well-known tactic in politics. And I read about FOG in an article about unhealthy relationships.


But I think I put it together. At least I did for myself








I started to think of how I make my choices. When I recovered from surgery, I finally got enough sleep to think and not react.


Am I making this choices, taking this action because of FUDOG? Isn’t that the opposite of how I want to live my life?


I want to spend my time doing things that I love, with people I love. Who is using FUDOG tactics on me?


Maybe I don’t have to cooperate. Maybe I am not obligated to cooperate.


I may feel guilty. True, I AM guilty. All have sinned, and I raise my hand. Here! Sinner reporting.


So. I want to walk in love and freedom, and leave behind the part where I am imperfect. Grace is necessary. For me, From me, To me.


And for everybody else. If I am not twisted up and poisoned with fudog, then maybe I will have some grace left over to give to other people too.


Even if I am not sure what I’m doing. Even if I’m not as good as I’d like to be.


Shake it off. Cut it off.




Have a blessed Wednesday, readers. That’s what I’ve got.


use your words

Chris went over the list of things the kids are expected to know for kindergarten. They say that a bigger vocabulary is the best indicator for success. So. I have to say new words to her.

She is a learning sponge.

used the bath toys to explain the 5 different kinds of animals.
Read that this is an important time to teach vocabulary. Every category was represented, thank you dinosaur, duck, frog, fish (shark), and her own self.
She repeated after me: reptile, fish, bird, amphibian and mammal.
She is however resistant to the idea that she is an animal. I reassured her that she is a person.
Volcano is not an animal. Water is not an animal. It’s fund to discuss these things.