RAY deviant SKY spydyr Web Day

Wottaday. Axually we didn’t do anything especially supernormal, except that it was a “full” day with no major disasters. Woke up early to help at a running race (read all about it as soon as I submit results to http://www.coloradorunnermag.comContinue reading

(Whining)The State of the Entropy

door kitten

The State of the Entropy

flwrz2

or … the continuing Entropy of the State. And whining about it.

flwrz5

Whining? the usual: i complain, no-one listens, gettin’ more and more tired (whuddelse izz gnu?). In part due to THE HEAT. i don’t know about you, but when the temps hit 80, then 90 (today) i fade. doin’ the yard chores at a pace which varies between a zombie-shuffle to the occasional medium-shuffle.

cattendawgz

i’ll spiffify this happy post with CAT PIXURES, and when Betty flew away two daze ago to be GrandMa in Portland, she lamented she might miss her flowers bloomin’. so the cat pixures will be interspersed with flower-pictures.

gate milli

burgundy lilies

and a pict. of a kitten (well, heez a BIG kitten, small kitty now) with harmonicas.

harmonicat
seriously (really!) i had set the two instruments of destruxion out to photograff, and “kitten” decided he’d get in there, and

yeah, i “auditioned” tonite at a club in Fruita (check http://www.cavalcadefruita.com)
with the gist (or izzit speld “jist”?) of my plan of attack being
ROSCO BUTCHERS THE CLASSICS
and they said “you’re on” for the next monthly show.
and that’s not all …
Betty and our “old band” is also playin’ Cavalcade “talent”! and someone wants to re-start up the banned! our ‘musical life’ temporarily looks optimistic. don’t worry, it’ll pass …

flwrs3

the annual José Puede Ver? occurred last weekend, with Friday being one of my worst performances and Satyrday i ratcheted it up and think i performed ‘somewhat above average’. (“José Puede Ver” is what i call my annual playing of the National Anthem with blooz intro and some banter at the W. Colorado H.S. Track (& Field) Championships.)

cat foreground dogs

betty’s complaints, my fault: her flight to Portland was delayed, twice. THAT was, somehow, my fault, for purchasing those particular plane tickets. and when she got there, her cell-phone wouldn’t work. That too, was my fault. ’til her daughter TURNED THE PHONE OFF, and when it turned on, the phone knew where it was and calls have been coming and going.

granma eddie
bein’ granMaw, with grandson, Eddie

Ah, the Whining: sometimes i think i ‘pen’ something which WerdPress might “take notice” of. profile. push to front and center (they call it “Fresh Pressed”). deafeningly not this!, but … i figgerd “tormented souls”?? — my previous post, which was the first serious not-totally-off-the-cuff post inna while. by that i mean i axually THOUGHT about it. edited it intensely. yeah, you probably can’t tell …
and, how about FICTION CATEGORY: they didn’t pick up ERIK/DYLAN snow cave camp? or Cry Kwakiutl? ? or Uggedda Buggetta??? Seminal short stories, people!
and Japhy ryder? — an intradimensional epic!

arch inuk

Perhaps WerdPress ought-a have ANOTHER, ‘renegade’ category, Pressedly-Frest, with the symbol being, oh, a bl(e)ak hole — or some weird outdoor demented rock sculpture, for categories hitherto unthinkable. un-label-able. just plain outside of definition.

arch inuk snow
You know, it somewhat recently SNOWED here, and now we’re in the 90-degree temps …

and T Pynchon (“Against when the sun is out”) (w)rang a chord recently:
Heading once more over the bridge, into the smoky orange sunset, he felt the sadness peculiar to the contemplation of recent time unrecapturable. Anything earlier, childhood, adolescence, they were done with, he could get by without any of that — what he wanted back was last week, the week before.
Hmmm… and i thought that was so significant when i read it a coupla daze back. Oh, well …

flwrs2

B ‘n me are entered into the local (low key?) Triathlon in a few weeks, as a team! She will swim, and i will split personas, one to ride, and (Rosco, i think) will run. The distance is such that i could easily have done the whole thing some 20 years ago. A mere 16-mile ride, followed by 3.5 mile CC. Heck, about 20 years ago i briefly held the (w)record for the local Duathlon (Citizen category), which was smusht the following year by REAL athletes.
The main race had departed, and all whom remained was us citizens. One fellow in particular, swaggeringly clad in lycra (there was a time when THAT was somewhat unusual) came up to me and asked what i’d do the 5k run in (the CIT du was a 5k run, 30k ride).
“Oh, i’ll try for 20-some.” That sounded good to him and he announced he’d hang with me, then take off.

rosco running

I ran the 20-some, finishing in the first 5 or so of our race-within-a-race. Mr. Lycra was maybe a minute back, but overtook me at mile 5 or so during the bike. Seeing his aero helmet, disk wheels, tri-bar, I (mentally) conceded immediately. (I didn’t have those then, nor ever have, since).
Much to my surprise I saw him again at about mile 16. Unbeknownst to me, I also passed the leader in the ‘team’ category. I couldn’t tell as we were moving up through the slowest riders in the “real athlete” category. They’d have to run another 5k, whereas when i finished the ride, i was done. And won.

o r c c
THAT GUY to the right … LOOKS TOUGH? — okay, don’t laugh, too much. Rosco with his son-in-law and grandson in-&-out of law

This year we hope to finish with enough energy to stay alive enough to go to the Cavalcade that night and be rock stars. Wottaday, for old weigh-overTheHill folks, huh?

mesasunrise

Tortured Souls and the Gateway to Beyond

I used to believe in the innate and inevitable goodness of mankind.

ah waterfall

Frequently I wish I still did. But all too easily, I get annoyed. Vindictive. Angry.

Do you ever find yourself just hating people?

People in general, groups of people you don’t know, maybe people in groups you do know? Whole nations of people? The milling mindless morass of humanity present past and future, most of whom have no redeeming features nor attributes, collectively destroying the very planet we live on — just makes you sick, eh?

My beautiful picture

(Regretably) Occasionally I have been wanting to do painful and excruciating harm to certain entities. What kind and form of entities do I wish this upon?

I hate
those who kill elephants for their ivory
heck, anyone who is mean to any elephant
those who kill big cats
or gorillas, or both gorillas and elephants and/or big cats
abuse animals “for fun”
abuse ’em even if it ain’t fun
slaughter wildlife (and not-so-wild) indiscriminately — a case a few years back of brain-dead soul-less yahoos driving the hills of central Moffat County (Colorado, I’m all the more ashamed to say) shooting and in many cases not killing but wounding and maiming elk, deer, antelope, whatever else, to limp off and slowly die
This definitely includes anal-orifices in meat-processing facilities who do not treat every living thing with respect.
Woe to you if you are in any way involved with devastation of the rain forest.

My beautiful picture

heck, sometimes I am really annoyed at indiscriminate litterers, and
even more egregious, everyone involved in the banking/collapse of the housing market scandal — ethically-bypassed GREEDHEADS who obviously think of self-gain at the expense of everyone else;
most politicians, especially as more and more it definitely seems NONE of them are in the game to help “the people.” Sigh. No wonder I sometimes have lost whatever faith in mankind …

and those six young men from India who, a few months back, raped and tortured a young woman on a bus … I especially wanted to inflict what I felt was suitable punishment upon them. I thought about and considered what that punishment would be. Suffice to conclude that it would be very similar to what they had done. I’ll spare you the details — but there is/was a part of me yearning, nay, perhaps LUSTING for retribution. Vengeance. Revenge. An anger, coupled with outrage had arisen, and it seemed the only way to “bed it back down” was through actions such as this.

Justice? No, not really.
When I pull back for perspective, and in doing so, believe I am able to view a more-full picture, such actions are not “justice.”

My beautiful picture

Yes, they (and to varying degrees, all of us) are
TORTURED SOULS.

If one believes, as I must, at some level, that all spirit is from a common timeless infinite source, then one must consider people who perform such actions are definitely behaving contrary to the call which all must, inevitably, it may take time, millions of years, to heed.

“I”

(i put the self-identifer in quotes, as, yes, i had a seat of consciousness, could perceive, maintained an identity, as it were, of self and separateness, but did not have a “body” per se) …

where was I? Oh yeah, during my first psychotropic hallucinogenic experience, after the initial several hours of confusion, running around, getting lost elsewhere in my dorm, etc., and etc., I lay down and meditated. I had ‘discovered’ (or, meditation had discovered me!) this half a year previously while under the influence of cannabis. To my pleasant surprise, I later found that I could engage in the meditative experience when NOT under any such influences!

As I peeled through layers of the onion, the sensation of expanded awareness intensified. I made the effort, as one does in meditative undertakings, to limit and curtail distractions, thoughts, STOP THE INFURNAL DIALOGUE until …

My beautiful picture

My eyes were closed, probably, but I entered a gate.
The METALLIC DOORWAY TO INFINITY
It was as if there was a transition from a seething flurry of voices and experiences and sensations involving all the senses to an abrupt level of TOTAL CALM. I felt as if I went from a warm sticky-humid noisy room through a door. The door was of metallic aspect, and the word “dank” seemed appropriate. Metallic taste in my mouth, electric, everything cool. The Light Immanent within, without, everywhere, didn’t exactly “shine” but was all there was. I took a breath. One breath. It was as if my lungs were outside my “body” — a part of “me” which sensed or “knew” on an equivalent level to my brain — whatever part of us that “knows” — where the “is-ness” resides.

All normal sense of distinguishing distance and time was irrelevant. When one breathes with one’s lungs INSIDE the body, they are contained. Confined. Finite space. This sensation of one’s lungs (or whatever metaphorical equivalent of breathing apparatus) OUTSIDE of what I perceived my body to be — was bewildering at first. “I” was breathing … no, not “breathing” per se, but something analagous to the intake of life force (and expulsion of spent prana) — and … what am I trying to say? — that the lung-equivalent could expand and fill to ever-greater dimensions. No, I didn’t experience “infinity” (a finite mind cannot grasp that) but I sensed … a feeling of expansion beyond anything I would have thought imaginable. A bewilderingly borderline incomprehensible sense of expansion, as if the shimmering curtains which, when parted, would show FULL ON INFINITY, just parted ever so slightly.

“I” filled the space behind this metallic door, the space filled me. I was there an instant, and in that instant I felt a span of time the magnititude of which overwhelmed my ability to even begin to grasp the very edge of.

My beautiful picture

Don’t ask me exactly ‘how’ — but since that experience I have not only been convinced of the underlying (or is it more appropriate to say “over-enveloping“?) unity not only of all life, but of everything. Well, frequently I lose sight of that conviction, which, by the way, is not only a ‘conviction’ but at a level you might call “the core of my being” it is A CERTAINTY.

And, those tortured souls I want to punish … what would whacking the six Indian rapist/torturers repeatedly, hard, on their pee-pees, accomplish? The temporary feeling of satisfaction of revenge, punishing the wicked, but it would not complete any circle; satisfactorily resolve anything.

Sure, we must lock them up and maybe put them to work mining uranium or pushing the turnstiles to mill grain.

Drawn, quartered, pulled apart on the rack, the six individuals would feel great pain and probably wish that they’d hewn to the straight and narrow all their lives, and utter exhortations that that they would do so forevermore. The bodies extinguished, but the spirits would be more un-evolved and disturbed than ever, between lives, re-entering the material world, with the past karmic debt no closer to resolution. No, I don’t think a tit-for-tat, eye-for-eye, savage response would, in the ultimate analysis, do any real good.

Mostly about Sally

mostly about sally When I began this reminiscence, ’twas early/oily Novembrrr 2009 and I’d been considering. Considering … projects — many — either undone, not yet started, barely started, in progress, virtual — and I reflect back to an uplifting … Continue reading

Richie Havens and Betty. (and me)

B ‘n me yoosta fly across the country semi-frequently. Her family lived on the east coast, and we didn’t. B had no qualms whatsoever about going up and talking with celebrities waiting for flights in the airport.

Richie Havens was sitting by himself and B just walked over, sat next to him, and they conversed for the better part of half an hour. She knew stuff about who he knew, what he had done (besides, she had been to Woodstock!). I wasn’t going to appear to be the groupie, or fan. I tried to maintain a thin shred of dignity.

Oh heck, I had to get up, shake his hand, chat a little. And he wrote some cosmic saying in my notebook and signed it. I wonder if I still have it, the notebook, that is.

AMOEBA FARTS

& other ruminations. &, if not ‘nations’ then perhaps rumiterritories.

743px-Amoeba_(PSF).svg[1]

AMOEBA FARTS

close larvae

Hey! Calling all amateur (professional, anybody?) entomologists. I took the pixure above, and below, recently. These larval or cocoonal struxures were under a wooden deck we were cleaning. DOES ANYBODY KNOW WHAT THE HECK THESE ARE? Is this what the first wave of the invasion of the body snatchers resides in, prior to emerging to take over the world? (Not that Betty and I would know, we’re already snatcht.)

larvae

I’m serious here (mostly). What the heck are these? They’re under a deck near our house, people. Who knows, there are probably hundreds more even closer.

typical bookcliffs

Betty and I watched the last

    Twilight

movie last night. When Bella awakens in her new life as a vampire, the movie does a good job in conveying her new and intense awareness. Seeing a spider, as if under a microscope, up on a ceiling beam working on its web. A squirrel eating nuts in the forest. Even the scent of blood from a climber’s scraped knee hundreds of yards away and up a cliff.

sky to west

As Betty awoke this a.m. I inquired about her waking into a new and heightened awareness. Why, you could even hear an amoeba fart. It’s very very quiet, but has a quite distinctive sound.

“It seems that there is not a lot of attention being paid to amoebas in the media,” she opined.

“Yes,” I chimed. “One doesn’t hear nor read nor have occasion to think much about them at all.” Perhaps we’ll do our part to change that.

Betty participates in a couple of book clubs. One of these (or both?) decided to read Peter Heller’s Dog Star. Betty is rarely derogatory about what she reads, but this particular book she decided that the public and publishers and all the acclaim, and fame, was a case of THE EMPEROR HAS NO CLOTHES. Lousy book, she said. Pithy. Uses “fuck” too much – which we both agree should be relied upon sparingly. And then only for maximum effect.

And so, while out hiking in the forest above “The Monument” recently she came up with some introductory sentences to her new book. She tried to relate them to me. I suggested she do a parody of Heller’s Dog Star. Disconnected sentences, just tossed out, as if the author hoped the effect would be to ensnare a picture, concepts, feelings, which would guide the reader along in the story.

Life is but a series of random events. Suddenly, the Lebanese* fighter jets flew overhead. In the distance, smoke was still rising from an active volcano. I walked down the path. The effect that the problems we encounter in life has on us, personally, is determined by the importance we give to them. At last, some small measure of so-called “free will.”

I think her book is off to a good start. And I KNOW she’ll do better than that Heller feller.

dirty cat

Milli, the dirty cat.

close dirty caat

Milli, closer, the dirty cat.

close cat

When one considers the spaces between the tines-of-the-FORKs not ridden, nor RODE upon.

Y … hicimos nuestro diversion o divertido nuevo y Viejo: chinga-de-chinga entre los sesentas.

Heh. (Heh).

Occasionally, far too rarely, I had been considering not being so judgemental. I penned a brief and cryptic note recently while driving, which, upon later reflexion, made little or no sense.

The whirled-why’d environmental prawbleghm #1. Okay. The ultimate goal, nay, not “goal” but inevitability for (wo)man-kind* is for the hide&seek game to end – only to begin all over again.
*Is there a … “manUnfriendly”? Man-mean? Yeah, THAT’s probably more applicable and descriptive.

Now that I think about it, really, try to minimize writing notes while driving. In addition to no texting …

Speaking of “real” authors, something from T Pynchon’s Against the Day:

She sang of longing so deep that humiliation, pain, and danger ceased to matter. He had left so much emotion behind that it took him all of eight bars to understand that this was his own voice, his life, his slight victory over time, returned to fair limbs and spring sunrises and a heart beating too fiercely for reflection driving him toward what he knew he needed, could not live without. (Without a time) as the song, too many of the songs, went – back in that day … what had happened? Where was desire, and where was he, who had been almost entirely fashioned of nothing but desire? He regarded the dawn outside the street door, the cyclic fate of one more room-size Creation assembled from scratch through the dark hours one mean blow, petty extortion, faithless step at a time, a little world in which a city’s worth of lives witlessly, gleefully, in its entire force, had been invested, as it would be, night after night. It was the absence of all hesitation here that impressed him, setting aside the stimulants whose molecular products, occupying by now every brain-cell, discouraged careful analysis. It was a world entirely possible to withdraw from angelwise and soar high enough to see more, consider exits from, but nobody here in the smoke and breaking waves of desire wanted exit, the little world would certainly do, perhaps in the way that for some, as one of her songs suggested, children, though also small, though comparably doomed, are forever more than enough.

rainbow over house

If I died & went to … Heaven?

pillow_woodCat

Yeah, right. With my luck, I’d end up in Mormon Purgatory. Continue on in Jewish limbo? (Oh why, Lowered, does this pschidt always happen to me?) Be banished to being an alimentary-canal bacterium in the Boddhisatva’s stomach?

Well, probably.

But if I wuzz, you know, to abide after the body’s demise, in some pre-ordained boundary set of conditions for the next “go around” — it’d be like today (Satyrday, March 30).

We slept in late. How indolent is that?

dawgzenyard

kitDoolButt

We drove up into the hills, to the south (and upper) end of Cactus Park — where Betty rode the bike around the CP loop and I ran up Gibbler Gulch (see “x” in photo).

gibblerGulch
The south end of Gibbler Mountain — Gibbler Gulch goes west, eventually into the Dominguez Wilderness Area. We parked at a BLM park-lot at the yellow circle. Betty rode her bike back and around the “Cactus Park Circle” while I (& dawgz) went up the valley, through the red “X” … after a mile of ATV-churned sandy trail, we were in the forest, the stream was flowing with ice in places, with fresh canine footprints (fox and coyotes?) on top of the faded ATV tracks. Chattering of squirrels and various birds in the trees. The cerulean canopy overhead, punctuated by billowy cumulus.

Back home, as the Beatles might’ve sung (had they been Spanish)
Hacer el jardín, cavando las malos-hierbas, ¿ quién podria pedir por màs ?

el_jardin

dewwinThGarden

I was fatigued, Betty was on a mild exercize-induced high. What better way to hydrate and sedate whilst “puttering about the yard” than …

beer
A Stone Brewery offering, in the “odd year” 2013 series — a barley-wine style ale, with 11+% ACTIVE INGREDIENT!
And a 60-ring gauge Cubano, now that the lungs were cleared out and better able to appreciate it …

broos
( knock on wood ) It appears winter is over, time for Bruce to move back outside, soak up the vitamin D (not a lot of THAT in the basement).

rickyPerea
Friends just drop by and catch up …

kit dool

My kind of day — with, of course, good food (JonnyCarino’s!) & muzyk (we werkt on some new sawngz) later …

The WOMBAT-ARCH INUKTHINGY, or The Dorsal Indifference Of The Beast

This is a post, mostly pixures, about THE INUK-THINGY NEAR WOMBAT ARCH. And, of course, there will be other, random, unrelated observations. And ruminations.
Take a look at the Betunada site picture at the top of this ‘page.’ Rosco (me) is atop ‘Wombat’ Arch — and the photo is by Benjamin George (Eddie’s dad) from a few years back.

As you can tell, it definitely IS an “arch.” It helps to have day, or sky-light visible as the backdrop. So … these photos (below) are from ABOVE the arch, and the “arch-ness”, or archeosity, or arch-essence, qualities, character, whatever, is/are not as obvious. And there’s an INUK-THINGY nearby. Enjoy … and just wait ’til dessert …

inukwest
Looking west, from the arch, past the Inuk-Thingy. A typical west Colorawdough high-desert turbulent spring un-settled sky.

37b
Two dogs (RockSea and da Slevv) are on top of the arch. I was leery of doing same, as it seems to have possibly crumbled a little from the prior visit, and the integrity (not to mention ‘safety’ factor) could be in question. Probably silly of me to have thought this, but it WAS windy. Never-the-less, there are several hundred pounds of rock being held up. There will, eventually, be a return visit and opportunity for goofy portraits …

sleven arch
Sleven on top of the arch.

inuk lookin north
What, if anything, do I think about when rambling through the high desert? One pleasant and happy thought was that I considered walking across the arch, but being alone (the only ‘human’) it would be my luck for the thing to collapse, and the good chance I wouldn’t be killed, but would be horribly and painfully mangled. So, if there’s someone(s) with me, I’d do it (walk across, stand there), so whoever could report to whoever one reports to if the thing collapsed.

valleycairn
This little sentinel-cairn was in the valley below the arch.

inuk3
View back towards the Grand Valley, sun at my back. Turbulent sky, unsettled and transitional — I usually like this kind of day.

arch2
The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali tell us that connection to and realization of the unity among and behind and around all things is always close. Within. If it was a measurable distance to get to it, it would be less than an inch. But … the barriers, what keeps each of us, me, you, from that realization must be daunting. Intertwined. A thicket. A large overturned semi-truck blocking the road, hazardous waste spilled and ankle-deep in places. The Haz-Mat crew out in full PPE mopping and sopping and bagging it up. No, IT AIN’T THAT COMPLEX. It should all be so very very simple. I tell myself that, and try to clear the mind, stop the infernal dialogue, concentrate. Sometimes I manage to try to hold this thought for … oh, maybe ten seconds. I am so, very … deep.
HA!

archdawgs

I wuzz deriving to werk a coupla daze back, feelin’ paranoid. That old familiar feeling. Doom, more gloom, around the corner, under the bed?, through and within the forest, never far away. And then another thought put it all in perspective. A line from the movie “Men In Black” (Part II or III, I think) spoken by the Tommie Lee Jones character: THERE IS ALWAYS A KIRILLIAN DEATH-CRUISER ABOUT TO DESTROY THE EARTH.

valleybottomcairn