Year: 2002

Categories
Just Shelley

Death by a thousand paper cuts

I’ve always had this thought at the back of my mind that we would live forever if it weren’t for life intruding.

Aside from the effects of our environment, of gravity and solar radiation and our proclivity in fouling our own nests, we could live much longer than we do except that we keep persisting in wanting to kill ourselves off with life.

If we didn’t care about about geographical boundaries, we wouldn’t fight to preserve or gain them. And if we didn’t believe in religion or philosophy, we wouldn’t feel the need to protect them with our lives. Or the need to fight to force others to believe as we believe.

And love. If we didn’t love others we could live ever so much longer. There would be no worries, no care, no long nights and silent mornings. No grief when love dies, no sadness and loss when love goes unfulfilled. An eternity stretches out in front of us if it weren’t for love.

We connect to others in friendship, and this is a real danger to life. Every time we become concerned about others—feel their pain, listen to their stories—we take away a minute, hour, or day of life.

Death by a thousand thousand paper cuts.

There should be a disclaimer attached to life:

Warning: When you care about others, your life will be well lived.

Categories
Burningbird

Visual hints and clues – original

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

I modified my Movable Type template to display a small graphic associated with the subject (category) of an posting next to its title. Those who are uninterested in my technology writing can avoid postings with a CD next to the title (as shown with this posting); those who are uninterested in politics, can avoid that graphic, and so on. (My friend Chris at Empty Bottle also uses graphics to designate categories. However, his graphics are a lot more sophisticated than mine.)

I thought about creating multiple weblogs and focusing each on a different topic, but I wouldn’t write more (or less) on any subject just because I split them out into different weblogs. All I would do is scatter my thoughts about like dried bits of corn on a dusty field, forcing my readers to take on the visage of Crow, pecking about hoping to find that edible kernel among the dirt.

Besides, my thoughts don’t split cleanly along subject and topic, neatly categorized into discrete buckets. I’m just as likely to throw new photographs or a bit of writing whimsey into an essay on RDF, or mix a little technology into an essay on the Environment. My weblog reflects my writing, which reflects my mind: muddied waters of blended interest.

Categories
Just Shelley

Sounds through an open window

The weather is cooler and we’re able to turn off the air conditioner and open the windows. With the cool breeze comes the sounds of the neighborhood, normally blocked by the glass.

In the night was the sound of the train, whistle fading, lowering as it moves away. The train travels close enough to hear but not so close as to hear too well.

This morning, I was awoken far too early by the truck picking up the garbage — a cacophony of crashing gate, motor whine, and the melodious clang, break, smash, and smoosh of garbage sliding into the maw of the damned beast. I put a pillow over my head until the bin is lowered and the truck begins to drive away. Relieved, I snuggle back under my comforter, prepared to continue my rather interesting dreams, only to hear the same process repeated at the bin a block down.

Mid-morning a mockingbird sits in the tree next to the townhouse and sings for whatever reason mockingbirds sing, and the sound is wonderous. And unusual as the bird switches between different types of song at the drop of a, well, feather. So much song for such a plain little gray bird.

The people across the way have guests, and when they arrive, there are cries of delight among them, each voice dripping with an accent as thick as molasses on pancakes. I look up quickly, wondering why Dolly Parton’s here in my neighborhood. Not Dolly, but surely kinfolk of hers.

Tonight, the neighbor has friends over to watch the game. I don’t know what the ‘game’ is, but there is much yelling, cries of “All right!”, and hands slapped in high fives, accompanied by great gulps of beer, punctuated by enormous belches.

Well, I didn’t really hear the hand slapping and the beer guzzling and the belches, but I know they’re there, just beyond the range of my hearing.

Categories
Weblogging

On a clear day, you can blog forever

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

Today’s a true fall day, with wind loosened leaves falling into mercurial pools of water on sidewalks dark from rain. And with the weather change comes an attitude of gentle philosophy, reflections on times past. I wonder why the fall triggers a need to dive into the catalogs of our mind, to bring up old memories and relive them again? Is it the leaves floating past on the breeze?

Speaking of memories past, I think that if I could embed any one of my weblog postings in amber, it would be this one, my first posting in Movable Type, April 28th, 2002. I was still in San Francisco, it was the Spring, and our virtual neighborhood was still new and fresh and fun, and we — you and I — would spend time chatting online, in email, by phone.

That was the time that Jonathon started his Dishmatique craze, leading to the Sudsy Men of Weblogging. I beat Jonathon’s rollout to MT by a couple of hours, and it seemed like there was a virtual cascade of webloggers switching to Movable Type at that time.

AKMA was in the midst of a series of debates on postmodernism and forgiveness; Bill Simoni was expecting his first baby; Mark Pilgrim was ramping up on accessibility in a pre-engaged state; Halley was still married, Shannon hadn’t started waitressing, and Huffies was still alive (scroll down to October 2nd). Mike’s wife was still in rehab, her coming home a future hope.

Of course, in the midst of my basking in the golden glow of days of weblogging past, I must remember that in April I hadn’t started reading Dorothea and Loren and Michael yet, and they’ve become part of my daily life now, so there is much to say post-April.

Still, it seems as if we all had a lot more to say six months ago. Gary Turner mentioned this week how quiet things have been lately, a sentiment echoed by my friend Chris. I have to agree. Too many weblogs I’ve visited recently haven’t updated in days, weeks, even months. Perhaps we’re going through a maturation process — posting less frequently, but with more care. Or perhaps, we’re all burning out. How much virtual bonhomie can we all handle?

Leaves floating past on the breeze. This time of year always makes me nostalgic.

Categories
Political Weather

What’s the weather in Iraq

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

Hurricane Lili sputtered to a category 1 when it rolled into the US — enough to inflict damage, but not to the extent of first speculations, when Lili was a category 4 hurricane.

Unfortunately, as much as I wish that Congress would have stood strong, forcing President Bush’s category 4 bluster down to category 1, or even tropical storm status, yesterday’s news conference with Bush and several congressional leaders show this isn’t going to happen. As the Boston Globe (and other publications) reported, all the little political ducks in congress — including Senator Gephardt from Missouri I’m ashamed to say — have lined up behind our little soldier.

There is really nothing, now, to stop Bush — a man who’s justification for war is suspect when one reads Saddam “tried to kill my dad” — from invading Iraq.

Certainly not a Congress who would push through a resolution stating that Bush only need inform them of an attack within 48 hours after it’s occurred. Hell, I can inform them within 24 hours of an attack and I don’t have the CIA and the military in my pocket. And to give the President a blank check to invade Iraq if he, he mind you, determines that diplomatic efforts have failed, is nothing more than a washing of Congressional hands; absolving themselves from any responsibility of the actions while reaping whatever pale benefits they might be able to scavage from their acts of inaction.

Both the Congress and the Presidency of this country are fast becoming nothing more than characterizations of our worst fears: a paranoid, megalomaniacal president with delusions of grandeur, only held in check by a weak and ineffectual Congress.

Too bad Lili didn’t hit Washington DC, instead — that area could have used the fresh air.

Update Mark Fiore sums this whole thing up for me. (Thanks Michael)

Second Update:This also fits this occasion: Norm Jenson’s Asshole of Evil. Norm also pointed out Flight of the Chickenhawks.