If I’d lived my life by what others were thinkin’, the heart inside me would’ve died

I was just too stubborn to ever be governed by enforced insanity

Someone had to reach for the risin’ star, I guess it was up to me

"Up to Me" by Bob Dylan)

Friday, August 29, 2014

Bob Dylan Live: It Takes a Train

Review of Dylan's 8-28-2014 Show in Australia

Bob Dylan: Hot August Night

Lyrics to Carribean Wind

She was the rose of Sharon from paradise lost
From the city of seven hills near the place of the cross
I was playing a show in Miami in the theater of divine comedy
Told about Jesus, told about the rain
She told me about the jungle where her brothers were slain
By a man who danced on the roof of the embassy
Was she a child or a woman, I can’t say which
From one to another she could easily switch
We went into the wall to where the long arm of the law could not reach
Could I been used and played as a pawn?
It certainly was possible as the gay night wore on
Where men bathed in perfume and celebrated free speech
And them Caribbean winds still blow from Nassau to Mexico
Fanning the flames in the furnace of desire
And them distant ships of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free
Bringing everything that’s near to me nearer to the fire
She looked into my soul through the clothes that I wore
She said, “We got a mutual friend over by the door
And you know he’s got our best interest in mind”
He was well connected but her heart was a snare
And she had left him to die in there
There were payments due and he was a little behind
The cry of the peacock, flies buzz my head
Ceiling fan broken, there’s a heat in my bed
Street band playing “Nearer My God to Thee”
We met at the steeple where the mission bells ring
She said, “I know what you’re thinking, but there ain’t a thing
You can do about it, so let us just agree to agree”
And them Caribbean winds still blow from Nassau to Mexico
Fanning the flames in the furnace of desire
And them distant ships of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free
Bringing everything that’s near to me nearer to the fire
Atlantic City by the cold grey sea
I hear a voice crying, “Daddy,” I always think it’s for me
But it’s only the silence in the buttermilk hills that call
Every new messenger brings evil report
’Bout armies on the march and time that is short
And famines and earthquakes and hatred written upon walls
Would I have married her? I don’t know, I suppose
She had bells in her braids and they hung to her toes
But I kept hearing my name and had to be movin’ on
I saw screws break loose, saw the devil pound tin
I saw a house in the country being torn from within
I heard my ancestors calling from the land far beyond
And them Caribbean winds still blow from Nassau to Mexico
Fanning the flames in the furnace of desire
And them distant ships of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free
Bringing everything that’s near to me nearer to the fire

Read more: http://www.bobdylan.com/us#ixzz3BnBMZPzx

Lyrics to Up to Me

Everything went from bad to worse, money never changed a thing
Death kept followin’, trackin’ us down, at least I heard your bluebird sing
Now somebody’s got to show their hand, time is an enemy
I know you’re long gone, I guess it must be up to me
If I’d thought about it I never would’ve done it, I guess I would’ve let it slide
If I’d lived my life by what others were thinkin’, the heart inside me would’ve died
I was just too stubborn to ever be governed by enforced insanity
Someone had to reach for the risin’ star, I guess it was up to me
Oh, the Union Central is pullin’ out and the orchids are in bloom
I’ve only got me one good shirt left and it smells of stale perfume
In fourteen months I’ve only smiled once and I didn’t do it consciously
Somebody’s got to find your trail, I guess it must be up to me
It was like a revelation when you betrayed me with your touch
I’d just about convinced myself that nothin’ had changed that much
The old Rounder in the iron mask slipped me the master key
Somebody had to unlock your heart, he said it was up to me
Well, I watched you slowly disappear down into the officers’ club
I would’ve followed you in the door but I didn’t have a ticket stub
So I waited all night ’til the break of day, hopin’ one of us could get free
When the dawn came over the river bridge, I knew it was up to me
Oh, the only decent thing I did when I worked as a postal clerk
Was to haul your picture down off the wall near the cage where I used to work
Was I a fool or not to try to protect your identity?
You looked a little burned out, my friend, I thought it might be up to me
Well, I met somebody face to face and I had to remove my hat
She’s everything I need and love but I can’t be swayed by that
It frightens me, the awful truth of how sweet life can be
But she ain’t a-gonna make me move, I guess it must be up to me
We heard the Sermon on the Mount and I knew it was too complex
It didn’t amount to anything more than what the broken glass reflects
When you bite off more than you can chew you pay the penalty
Somebody’s got to tell the tale, I guess it must be up to me
Well, Dupree came in pimpin’ tonight to the Thunderbird Café
Crystal wanted to talk to him, I had to look the other way
Well, I just can’t rest without you, love, I need your company
But you ain’t a-gonna cross the line, I guess it must be up to me
There’s a note left in the bottle, you can give it to Estelle
She’s the one you been wond’rin’ about, but there’s really nothin’ much to tell
We both heard voices for a while, now the rest is history
Somebody’s got to cry some tears, I guess it must be up to me
So go on, boys, and play your hands, life is a pantomime
The ringleaders from the county seat say you don’t have all that much time
And the girl with me behind the shades, she ain’t my property
One of us has got to hit the road, I guess it must be up to me
And if we never meet again, baby, remember me
How my lone guitar played sweet for you that old-time melody
And the harmonica around my neck, I blew it for you, free
No one else could play that tune, you know it was up to me

Read more: http://www.bobdylan.com/us#ixzz3BnBjWzyv

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

President Obama: Please Take A Stand!

President Obama and Eric Holder Conspire

Come out for once and speak it like a man: say that the police shooting of Michael Brown was immoral, and require that appropriate action be taken against the police department in Ferguson, Missouri. Stop taking opinion polls to determine the will of the people. Supporters of the officer who shot Brown are wrong. If the president for once would take a stand and make a clear, irrevocable, black and white stance, the furor would subside!

More Moodies

Youtube Video: The Story in Your Eyes

Listening to this, all I can think is what genius! What a great band, I suspect along with the Beatles, for me, the Moody Blues, the very best... And, thanks to Alan Kleiner who officially turned me onto these guys---Can never get enough of this great music.

USA Today---Textbook spin on Michael Brown Murder (Ferguson, Missouri)

Textbook Example of Spin and Dissimulation

What's wrong with this picture? No. 2318

Can you spot the fallacy and deceit in this USA Today article?
Since when do Facebook "likes" constitute support for anything?

The bottomline of the spin here is that there is support for the officer who murdered Michael Brown---because of Facebook "likes"! How utterly amateur.

Facebook likes cannot count as support or protest for anything.
#1. The number of likes cannot be independently verified.
#2. A virtual support or protest is as good as nothing compares to a real protest.
etc., etc.

The obvious takeaway from the article is that there is support for the officer who murdered young Mr. Brown. Who stands to benefit from this appraisal of the scenario? Who funded this story Mr. Rupert Murdoch? Instead of citing any real evidence of support USA Today claims that Facebooks "likes" count as 'support'---consider how much true existential courage is required to click a "like" button---what's the conversion to real flesh and blood supporters? Let me quess about 30, ooo "like" clicks equal one honest protester in the face of immoral and unethical acts of police brutality and state and national stormtrooping techniques to suppress the honest citizens democratic right to free assembly and critique of the sub-human practices of the police state.

That is beside the point since the headline news of USA Today is  bought with money---so I ask again: who stands to gain from this textbook example of spin?

Monday, August 11, 2014

Thinking is the Best Way to Travel

Classic 7 Moody Blues: Speeding through the universe, thinking is the best way to travel....Mike Pinder


This song penetrates deeply into my memory from the LP In Search of the Lost Chord---I will go on the record to say that in my opinion, albeit worth piddles, The Moody Blues are the most philosophical band. At least until The Clientele! Pleez, I am seri-o-so, the Moodies delivered to me in my youth, the following: serious orchestral musical harmony (Days of Future Passed, On the Threshold of a Dream)----What does this mean? Days of future passed? Serious Augustinian wisdom, right? It's just pop music, relax!

Friday, July 04, 2014


+I am good with the word 'musing'---its cognate is 'muse'--greek: musikos, or 'mousaios'---of or pertaining to inspiration of the MUSE or muses! MUSE: WIKIPEDIA LINK

Who then is 'musikos' or musical in the current regime where muses are no longer believed in or considered 'real'? Tough question!

Thursday, July 03, 2014


Crunch you must be kidding.
Throw in the towel, at this point in the game?
Come on you stormtrooping breakfast hero
You mystical mariner…

Has your heart gone to rust
To insult the eager-eyed kids who revere you?
No, not another word, or syllable of cowardice…

Cap’n O Cap’n
You crispy-eyed captain sailing cold milky mornings
At the bottom of my bowl.

Tousle haired ancient
You owe it to America
You woolen capped warrior…

Mrs. Crunch you say family duty and kids in college
Well upon us all a little rain must fall but
They are counting on your
Longstanding crunch
Against the onslaught of white winds
Whole vitamin D pounding and
Torrential skim pummeling

O Cap’n how you shine
Through torrential pourings never drowning
Of your buoyancy we do sing!

So let me remind you dusted hero
That we supplied you with one sacred mission
With the Lieutenant Orange, and the crispy toast

So if you have any PROBLEMS WITH THAT
You better take it up to the admiralty
But do not
Don’t let me ever hear you speak of throwing in the towel again!
You white bearded champion

Monday, June 09, 2014

Reverend Peter McGuire Wolf, First Nation Ministry Certification

Having received my ordination certificate from First Nation Ministry I am now equipped to to perform the marriage ceremony of my niece!

Sunday, June 01, 2014

Whitman's 'Specimen Days'


   Whether the rains, the heat and cold, and what underlies them all, are affected with what affects man in masses, and follow his play of passionate action, strain'd stronger than usual, and on a larger scale than usual -- whether this, or no, it is certain that there is now, and has been for twenty months or more, on this American continent north, many a remarkable, many an unprecedented expression of the subtile world of air above us and around us. There, since this war, and the wide and deep national agitation, strange analogies, different combinations, a different sunlight, or absence of it; different 


products even out of the ground. After every great battle, a great storm. Even civic events the same. On Saturday last, a forenoon like whirling demons, dark, with slanting rain, full of rage; and then the afternoon, so calm, so bathed with flooding splendor from heaven's most excellent sun, with atmosphere of sweetness; so clear, it show'd the stars, long, long before they were due. As the President came out on the capitol portico, a curious little white cloud, the only one in that part of the sky, appear'd like a hovering bird, right over him.

   Indeed, the heavens, the elements, all the meteorological influences, have run riot for weeks past. Such caprices, abruptest alternation of frowns and beauty, I never knew. It is a common remark that (as last summer was different in its spells of intense heat from any preceding it,) the winter just completed has been without parallel. It has remain'd so down to the hour I am writing. Much of the daytime of the past month was sulky, with leaden heaviness, fog, interstices of bitter cold, and some insane storms. But there have been samples of another description. Nor earth nor sky ever knew spectacles of superber beauty than some of the nights lately here. The western star, Venus, in the earlier hours of evening, has never been so large, so clear; it seems as if it told something, as if it held rapport indulgent with humanity, with us Americans. Five or six nights since, it hung close by the moon, then a little past its first quarter. The star was wonderful, the moon like a young mother. The sky, dark blue, the transparent night, the planets, the moderate west wind, the elastic temperature, the miracle of that great star, and the young and swelling moon swimming in the west, suffused the soul. Then I heard, slow and clear, the deliberate notes of a bugle come up out of the silence, sounding so good through the night's mystery, no hurry, but firm and faithful, floating along, rising, falling leisurely, with here and there a long-drawn note; the bugle, well play'd, sounding tattoo, in one of the army hospitals near here, where the wounded (some of them personally so dear to me,) are lying in their cots, and many a sick boy come down to the war from Illinois, Michigan, Wisconsin, Iowa, and the rest.

Saturday, May 31, 2014

Chief Seattle's Oration

Chief Seattle to the White Chief

This link leads to the printed version of Chief Seattle's speech. Amazing words, amazing poetry! If you consider the links below the oration to an essay calling into doubt the authenticity or even existence of such a speech--how typical of the american scholar to deny the reality of this grand work! This seems to be the calling and essence of these 'nihilisers'-- as John Paul II referred to the american culture as a culture of death---described by another anthropologist as a "culture devouring culture". This is accurate.

The american mind cannot help but polarize and negate, to cover in a web of indeterminacy---to cast doubts on self-evident truth such as Sealth speaks and to infer doubts and spread webs of nothingness like 'nattering nabobs of negativity.

Poets alone know poets. This Clark who denies the veracity of this document is the worst type of scoundrel. If you read with understanding Seattle's beautiful words, it becomes clear that the existence of such an oration sprung from a much more highly developed genius--the genius of the poet of this land! That which America so sorely lacks in this day (2014). America's god is Snafu, or Marduk---Babylonian. No knowledge of our brother Christ, the Great Spririt of Seattle and this and all lands!

When your culture is howling vortex of negativity and consumption all that you can effectively muster is doubt and the slime of nihilisation. As you web snares globally, droning, scudding, promoting death and your culture of toxic excess--you trample the graves and bones the true american soil. what is 'america' after all but a tri-syllabic name? The essence and truth of the soil, the land, the souls of the living and the dead. This false nation could no more produce a document of startling beauty such as Sealth's oration, anymore than a herd of monkeys could type Shakespeare. Anti-poetry better expresses the essence of this babylonian/israeli/roman culture of nattering negativity.

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

Ethics of the Samurai---Bushido

I found this article to "strike the note" well on many of the most crucial ethical issues of our time.
Indeed, we live in a time of cringing, lying expert technicians, pseudo-educators, and cowards. There must be a point where a man will draw a point in the sand and say "Nor further!" To take a stand, no matter what the consequence knowing full well the honour that lies in following one's own deepest truth. To vow not to be like others cowering, surrendering all dignity to the nanny state.


Thursday, February 06, 2014

Marcellus LLC. Fracking Operation (Bender) in Reade Township

Update: It is not believed at this time that this site is a fracking site. It is a water basin for use in fracking sites---at 2.1 million gallons per diem, that would be enough for one well in about two days of draining off this pristine water source!

This site (Carizzo-Houston Texas) I looked at uses 2.1 million gallons per diem of Consumptive Water Use!

Consumptive Water Use

Thursday, January 30, 2014

Mount Snowden



Thursday, September 26, 2013

Giving Back

I found the following quote in Forbes magazine:  "I believe that God plays this enormous role in my life. And I believe that it's my obligation to give back..." (Ronald Perelman, billionaire)

Pondering the remark while getting the typical knee jerk reaction to the smug expression of the rich and aspiring rich: to give back... What may I ask are you going to give back? The grandeur of the give back is correlated to the inflation of ego and vanity of the philanthropist---and is indirectly correlated to an impoverished view of the universe! Allow me to explain...If I fully appreciate the grandeur and mystery of the universe and its great, unmeasurable wealth---I stop and wonder 'what is the wealth of man?' Even the richest of the rich---Forbes400 list 2 trillion combined net worth---what kind of dent in the bucket are they going to make in terms of giving back?

Consider the tapestry of dawn, the rainbow ribbons of clouds at sunset, the misty pond's ecological habitat, the crash of the wave, your DNA, quantum numbers, the galaxy...I could go on like this enumerating the incalculable beauty and majesty of nature and in not one of these scenarios would the wealth of the wealthiest turn out to be anything but chump change.

Perelman's remark only highlights a naive vanity, and pride---when I ponder the truth of nature and it's god---the only true God---I realize that the prospect of giving back in any material sense is hyperbolic and absurd. The only give back possible is thankfulness, love and the action of my soul. The only give back is a pure heart. What can I return to god or nature for my existence, can I really donate something as pure and clear as a fresh running stream? The answer is no---I can only give my authentic being---which is my only truth and real worth.

"What profit a man if he gain the world and lose his soul...." These words from the great teacher indicate a rhetorical question whose answer can only be: "none!" This answer should be Perelman's or any other do-gooder's answer about giving back--- if their view of god and the universe were in harmony with Jesus' words---instead they believe in their own wealth and unwittingly ascribe to a faith in the god of mammon and hence must make a return, the give-back, to quell their conscience before the inequality toward their human brothers. Yes, it is easy to calm one's conscience by making oaths to a God you have never seen and scarcely believe in, or at the very least a God whose kingdom you are completely ignorant of, because you perceive the world in terms of wealth and power which is alien to the true kingdom of God.

Sunday, April 07, 2013

16 december '06

Throw the world its little toy;
the shimmering horn, the drumming boy
in Christmas rhyme---nimble time.

Toss myth to the mad gyre,
wheels within wheels of fire!

Resurrect to wake from this dream;
if not, what enchanted wood does madness keep?

Friday, January 25, 2013

Health in a Heartbeat

Listening to NPR on a snowy route, I heard this bizarre broadcast. here is the script in its entirety:

Parents’ stress could make kids fat

By SHAYNA BROUKER • Published: January 25th, 2013
Category: Health in a Heartbeat
It’s been well established that secondhand smoke can be just as detrimental as lighting up yourself. And you’ve heard that stress can increase the risk for obesity … but did you know your stress can actually have secondhand health effects on others — namely, your children? New research published in Pediatrics shows that tense parents tend to raise more obese children. In fact, according to the study, the more stress parents report, the more likely their offspring are to be overweight or obese.
For one, the drive-through window is like a siren song for stressed-out parents. When the alternative is chopping, dicing, sautéing and steaming after a long day at work, what the study calls “haphazard meal planning” sounds much more appealing, especially when dollars are scarce. The good news is stress did not seem to affect how many fruits and vegetables children ate or how active they were.
Aside from skipping fast food, another solution for the whole family is for parents to strike stress itself and take time to wind down at the end of a long day. It starts with adequate sleep, which can make a dynamic difference — sleep deprivation slows metabolism and erodes willpower to resist poor food choices.
If your little one overhears an argument between you and your spouse, remind them that everyone argues sometime. Be sure to build breaks and downtime into your daily routine, even if it’s just 10 minutes of flipping through a magazine or taking a stroll around the block. Modeling mellow behavior can teach kids to handle life’s little molehills more effectively.
Try and stick to a structured schedule as much as possible and eat dinner together as a family. This habit alone is known to make kids happier and eat healthier.
With a little practice, stress can be downsized — and so can your kids.

This 'nanny' style communication really made me laugh until I saw the serious side---this is being presented as reputable university and medical advice---but it really reminds me of Soviet images of 'family life', 'healthy living', etc...in the early '80s. I am willing to do everything that Shayna Brouker recommends as essential to good living--the only problem remaining is what to do with my family during the morning and afternoon, and not sure i know how to function without a whole lot more advice! Thanks UF Shands for looking out for every comrade (I mean 'citizen'), but especially for helping me out with such valuable free medical consultation. :)   

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

New Oil Painting

Click below to see a new 8x10 oil painting painted for Lisa Dickman.

New Still Life Painting: December 2012

Sunday, November 18, 2012

Stormy (live SAMA Altoona)

1000 Gnats Flitter

In the flickering of the sun beneath the cedars
1000 gnats flit
and the little boy in his red shirt 
flashing in the vacant lot 
I have never known more of paradise. 
Leaning back to gaze through the heavy laden apple  branches
and I have never been more there than now
(so much simpler than widely imagined).

The gossamer filaments radiate in rainbow light
and the spiral web beneath the cedar limbs
so-well equipped to capture evening’s flutter
from the green grass  to the sunken limbs
the golden light splashes upon.

Two squirrels romance and game in luxuriance 
while July’s poet contemplates the ‘be’
 and ‘to be’
of the birds’ persistent whistle.

Thursday, November 08, 2012

Reflections on the Beauty of this Day

I am so very thankful for this day! Its crisp, cold wind, its solar radiation, the last flickering of autumn leaves upon the breeze. The greatest gift is not the tree or the, dazzling blue sky, or the big brown dog---it is that I can see these things, I can hear her speaking. This gift surpasses every other miracle.

Here is a wonderful quote from Thomas Merton that I read today in his book, No Man is an Island: "If you go into solitude with a silent heart, the silence of creation will speak louder than the tongues of men and angels."


On the trail at Trough Creek

Friday, November 02, 2012

Prayer of a Frog

Today Most Blessed of Days
Today is blessed---today, of all days, the one dipped into the river of eternal presence--the holy Now!

Let your mind be still now! Truth everywhere shines, and everywhere my open eyes bathe in its glory. God is not far away in a distant time or land, God is this Presence---here and now.

The Kingdom of Heaven, like a seed grows into the smallest leaves and into the depths of the sky. It grows in the warm soil of my heart. I see God, I hear God!

There is nothing to separate me from God, no mountain, no sea.

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

Ian Anderson interviews Ian Anderson!


In this funny and provocative interview with himnself, Ian Andersdon discusses his new album, Thick as A Brick 2 and its upcoming tour. Brilliant!

Ian Anderson: Life's a Long Song


Ian Anderson resurrects the Baroque string quartet, with drums, piano and flute.
He is the musical 'avatar' of this age, no one even in his league. Also great to see,  in these days of corporate 'music' and pseudo-pop stars performing non-acoustically to cowering audiences, a true musical champion!