Category: Burningbird

Categories
Burningbird

Under construction

I am in the process of closing down the Practical RDF site, and moving the entries over into Burningbird, so things might be a little off at times today.

I’m not going to be maintaining a separate site between my technology and other interests–those who like the tech will have to sit through the poetry, personal epiphanies, and other flowery sh*t; those who like the personal stuff, will have to skip over the tech.

Besides, Wordform combines both sides of me into one neat and easy to install package. Contrary to expectations generated by my post earlier today about being disappointed about ETech, I am more determined that ever to create this forked variation of WordPress. Why? Because I can.

Categories
Just Shelley Photography

In Memoria

I had finally gone through all of Dad’s books and decided which to keep, and which to give away. I called the library, but they weren’t accepted any new book donations until April.

The lady I talked to asked what kind of books they were. I said they were mainly mystery and detective novels. She suggested I call the local Veterans hospital and see if they could use them.

The hospital said they’d be grateful for the donation, and I went down to drop them off at the Jefferson Barracks Medical Clinic. The weather was fine today, and the place was very pretty with the old barracks buildings and their peeling paint. I asked the person who helped me unload the books if I could take pictures, but she I better not — the place is also the local Homeland Security office.

The hospital is right next to the National Cemetary and I stopped by it to take photos. There were several funerals underway in various places and I could, from time to time, hear the faint echo of shots being fired.

It never fails to move me to see the row after row of white gravestones, especially so soon after my own father’s death. I was grateful for the camera, because through it I could view everything dispassionately. I managed fine up until I heard the single trumpet playing Taps.

cemetary stones

Categories
Writing

Elements of Poetry

I sometimes think that a poet is really a frustrated engineer. Or is it, an engineer is a frustrated poet?

Researching what kind of metadata one could capture about a poem, I’ve found that there are a goodly number of rules and restrictions when it comes to poetry. More than I’m aware of from my limited education in the form.

Thankfully there are sites such as this one, virtualLit an online, free, and interactive poetry tutorial that covers the elements in poetry, using three poems as examples of each: “The Fish” by Elizabeth Bishop; “To His Coy Mistress” by Andrew Marvell; and “My Papa’s Waltz” by Theodore Roethke.

What I’m discovering in my researches is that one uses one set of elements to find a poem, but a different set to understand it, both mechanically and sensuously. For instance, wanting to find poems that use the concept of birds as freedom would use the element of metaphor; but once found, then other elements, such as the poem’s poetic form could not only help the reader appreciate the art of the poem, but better understand the craft of poetry.

It is through better knowledge of the craft that we discover new ideas, such as a poetic form that’s based purely on visuals, called concrete poetry, where I found a link to this site that features extraordinary visual haiku.

Categories
Just Shelley

TiBook battery saga continues

The Apple Store is in the West County Mall, a very upscale and large mall that’s only about twenty minutes away. This was my first time in one of these, and my first reaction was that they must still be moving in. However, I was assured that the white, empty spaces made it easier to look at the products.

I showed the TiBook to the ‘genius bar’ guy, and he’d never heard of the stuck TiBook battery before, and went to look it up in whatever genius bar guy manuals there was. It would have been better just to check the Internet, though.

Anyway, he said that he thinks the rim that holds the battery is broken and that’s why it’s stuck. Since this isn’t covered under warranty (“But it’s a known design defect!” “I don’t know about that, but look at the wear at the latch.” “But that’s because of me trying to get the battery unstuck!”), it will cost me about $250.00+ to fix it. Big ouch.

He was also cool and mentioned a couple of other places that do Mac repair and how they might be able to fix the battery without replacing anything. So there is that. However, I think it’s going to cost, and I’m not ready to do this.

Right now I have about 2 1/2 hours of battery life when fully charged, and that’s usually enough for sitting at the coffee shop, uploading work, downloading work, catching up with the weblogs, and email. I’ll probably just keep things as is until the battery gets worse, and then I’ll look at upgrading the memory in addition to fixing the battery when I take it in. With this, my TiBook should be good for at least another 2-3 years. Considering I bought this about five years ago, that’s not bad.

While I was waiting for the ‘genius’, I looked around at all the new gadgets the store carried. The company has a real thing for white, silver, and blue, doesn’t it? Made me feel like I should put on a virginal white robe and bath in a bath of fragrant herbs, first, before entering the store. Or is it black t-shirts with little bitten white apples?

Also, is the company philosophy consist of “why do things square when you can do things rounded, eh?” However, if you’re thinking of getting one of those new 12-inch PowerBook, think again. I mistook one of them for a really big iPod until I realized what it was. Speaking of which, there was a silver gray kind of blobby thing, which I think was a speaker system and holder for an iPod. I do wonder about the Apple design people and their use of drugs at times.

Most of the printers were Epson, but when I asked about the 300 the salesguy said I would have to download printer drivers for it, the printer is so new. I asked if I’d have to use CUPs, and he went, use what? Hee hee hee – so much for genius. I think the store should hire me; I look good in black.

Categories
Writing

The Historian

Born too late in a strange land,
lost with love of a people
you can never claim.
Living a time you can never know.
Touching flyleaf of book
as hand of friend.
Surrounded by plain walls that can’t
keep you safe, from sepia
faces with delicate tints.
You walk streets you resent
because your prints are misplaced.
You drink of waters faint
as fog and myth.
You don’t see me because
I’m too real. I’m messy and chaotic,
and speak words you can hear.
I walk in light, no stones lie on me.
Smell of sweat and soap,
not flowers decayed.
I am less real to you than images
in print and paint.
In your mind, less real than
beauties in a field scattered about;
like painted bluebirds on fragile teacup.
Your life ended when
Atom’s fire blossomed,
Your time started when the ashes
had cleared.