"You say you'll give me
A highway with no one on it
Treasure just to look upon it"
-U2

"After all, an endless journey is a little intimidating, a little scary but a journey that ends you can put in your pocket."

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There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

YES -- even after my death
you shall not escape me
I'll follow you
in the eyes of every hawk,
every falcon, vulture, eagle
that soars in whatever sky
you walk beneath,
all the earth over,
everywhere.
Yes -- and when you die too,
and follow me into that deep
dark burning delicious blue
and become like me --
a kind of bird, a feathered thing --
why, then I'll seek you out
ten thousand feet above the sea;
and far beyond the world's rim
we'll meet and clasp and couple
close to the flaming sun
and scream the joy of our love
into the blaze of death
and burn like angels
down through the stars
past all the suns
to the world's beginning again.

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don’t cry
- the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids’ flutter which says

we are for each other; then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life’s not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis

Michael O'Hare, professor of public policy at Berkley

"The bad news is that you have been the victims of a terrible swindle, denied an inheritance you deserve by contract and by your merits. And you aren’t the only ones; victims of this ripoff include the students who were on your left and on your right in high school but didn’t get into Cal, a whole generation stiffed by mine."

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I nice editorial in the latest edition of Cooks Illustrated:

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"Conquerors immemorial have known that the secret to successful occupations is to let the guys who surrender stay in charge of the yokels."


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“a future where everybody has the opportunity to find (or start) one or more open companies in alignment with their passions, and make a living doing what they love.”


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"One of our biggest concerns is that once an ecological threshold is crossed, the ecosystem in question will most likely not return to its previous state."

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Touched by your goodness, I am like
that grand piano we found one night on Willoughby
that someone had smashed and somehow
heaved through an open window.

And you might think by this I mean I'm broken
or abandoned, or unloved. Truth is, I don't
know exactly what I am, any more
than the wreckage in the alley knows
it's a piano, filling with trash and yellow leaves.

Maybe I'm all that's left of what I was.
But touching me, I know, you are the good
breeze blowing across its rusted strings.

What would you call that feeling when the wood,
even with its cracked harp, starts to sing?

Have you ever noticed that even at different points in your life there are
various parts of a person that might stay constant. The stuff that
can transcend time and is always out there with its string tied to you and you tied to it. The self comfort things:
The favorite book you keep going back to.
The movie that makes you laugh or cry.
Reruns of that old tv show.
The food that always taste good no matter when.
The picture you keep on the wall.
The t-shirt you wear to bed every night.
A certain pencil.
The street you like to drive on.
The old dream of doing something that always stays in that back of your mind but you never actually do.
That thing that has taken you 10 years to build.
The friend you always call.
The game you played when you were a kid.
Something you remember that can make you smile.
A piece of paper.
The night sky you stare at.
The path you like to walk on.
The warmth of sunshine on your skin.
The place you close your eyes and wish you where at.
A voice.
Your favorite drink.
The sounds you like to here.

For awhile now I have been trying to learn a song on the guitar.
Its haunting, extremely sad and beautiful all at the same time. It makes me feel a range of emotions in a short amount of time, only like music can do. But within that range you see clarity. It might go away when its over or you stop playing. But isn't that what self comforts are there for? Brief moments of clarity that keep you on track. The guitar was self comfort. But now what I want to know is, if a thing is no longer a self comfort, what happens to it? Is it lost forever? Does it never actually go away but just gets stuffed in the back of the closet waiting for you to bring it out at some unknown point in the future. Waiting patiently because it knows that some day you will dig it out and that the clarity it can show you will still be there? Is that how all self comfort things are? Treasured items that can easily be discarded to the back of your mind and brought out when needed. Or can the string unravel, the knot untie and it just floats away from you? I don't know.

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Very funny! Watch it!

I can see the street
from the window
cigarette smoke waiting
behind me
sheets crumpled, back bare
rain on windows
and sounds
in my head

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"As for shallow journalism that helps Big Oil, Steele makes the point that the newsrooms that were once staffed by the redistributionist children of the New Deal and the A.F.L.-C.I.O. are now populated with the children of Reaganomics: "Younger reporters come out of a mind-set that the market rules, taxes are evil, and government ought to let these people in the oil industry go about their business."

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Resistance to ciprofloxacin has emerged in people without access to the antibiotic, but who have taken a related antimalarial

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