Monday, June 18, 2007


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Sometimes, when I look into the face of a person I can see very, very deeply. This happens most often with children and elders, for somehow they have either not acquired so many layers of sheen to their "masks" or they have just lost layers due to attrition, to the flaking of the outer coil over time.

I wonder at the feelings that emerge in those moments, those moments of recognition, or some twisted sense of empathy. I sense the color and the flavors of the life of that person. I step beyond myself, beyond the lens, out past waving fields of composition, of perception and I just sit there with it for as long as I can, soaking in to my very core, what I am absorbing through my senses.

I wonder about the fears and the sadness. I wonder if this child will ever know that only when you can look yourself square in the eye and deeply in the heart and believe, really, truly, clap-your-hands believe that you are as amazing and wonderful as you are...only THEN will you be able to form healthy relationships with others. If that work is not done, then every connection will serve as a means to reflect to you that which you have not found in yourself.

I wonder.

I wonder what our children are learning about life now, about the world. And what are they taking to heart. I suppose one of my greatest disappointments in this lifetime has been that my children are so very different from me. They are card-carrying members of the Abercrombie Generation, one which I see as toxic with a serious case of AFFLUENZA. Spend, spend, fill the hole inside you with whatever feels best, just do it and your gonna look so fabulous doing it are you not??????

I spent the morning reading the entire trip blog of someone I very much admire.

Looking into the eyes of the people he met on his epic journey only brought it to home more for me. We are going to hell in a very pretty, good-smelling handbasket. There are people living without limbs, without family, without food...and my kids are worried about the pedicure they got and how it sucked.

I am sad and angry today about these things. It seems to me that we should, as people, as humans, welcome one another and celebrate who we are, sameness and differences manifest as bright colors on an infinite spectrum. It seems to me that there is much more to worry about than what your livingroom smells like.

I wonder what it will take to motivate "us" to live more deeply.

I wonder.

American Pie

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I try not to be judgemental. Or, more accurately, I try not to be critical. I think, as humans we judge all the time. It is how we move around in the world safely. I listen to myself when I hear some inside voice telling me something is "bad" or "good", and I try to understand where, from deep inside, that fear came.

I pride myself on my choice to let people be who they are, and to let them learn on their own path and find their own Gods, and follow their own dream.

But, for the life of me, I get boggled when I see something like this.

What sort of American Dream is it that speaks to spending hard earned money on a piece of paper, so that you can chase the possibility of having lots of MONEY MONEY MONEY...only to, when finding out one did not, throw that paper on the ground. The ground that many years ago people sailed to for freedom of religion and for a better life. There are men, women and children EVERYWHERE without food to eat, without clean water to drink or with which to bathe, and some people have this High Livin' Fantasy about cars and fancy clothes to which they prostitute the very core of existence, of subsistance.

It is the dream...the $5.00 dream, or the $1.00 dream or the Quick Pick dream.

Some seek the riches and don't even know they are standing on them now, they are drinking it now, they are breathing it NOW.

I do not ascribe to this American Dream. It makes me feel ashamed to be called American.

I was sitting in the sun, insanely orgasmic 75% cocoa chocolate melting in my mouth. The cats were stalking bugs, free at last to come out to play. Next door the McFireman family lives with their mountain of a dog, Molly. Two kids...about 3 and 1.5. Girls. Mom smokes, and my window is just in the right vortex, as I am overcome several times a day by clouds of nicotine running silenty into my room. And, then, the voices. Mom is a monotone, shrill sort of a bray. 3 is whiny. 1.5 is learning to talk. They are wandering around the yard:

Mom: "You WANNA USE CHALK???!"

1.5: "no..."




1.5 "no..."

And so it goes. I sat there annoyed at first, but then sliding into my most Stuart Wilde self decided to just let go and listen. I came up with several sides to this conversation. The most pressing to me at the moment was that it is NO WONDER kids grow into three year olds who repeat themselves and you to death. Like being pecked to death by ducks. The kid was *really* rather clear. Mom just pushed and pushed. For what? I would have kicked her in the shins if I were that kid. Or vomit on her shoe, yeah, that's it, vomit on the keds why dontcha.

Thursday, March 01, 2007

Making a Difference...

I spent some time this morning thinking about my belief that we need to make a substantive difference in the lives of people. Maybe that is just my own" up-until-now, silently pulsating" mantra, but I somehow surmise that I am not the only one.

I thought about how learning about amputation, and now working with an international foundation of hope for amputees and landmine victims, has changed not only my life but the lives of others. I have dated amputees, I have friends who are amputees, not many, but, nonetheless it is an experience for Julia to know who she is regarding people who have had that life situation.

Part of my own social justice path has to do with helping people, particularly children, who are experience-rs of amputation (and I specifically use that term rather than Victim, which I find a negative interpretation, and totally useless for healthy onward living).

I just now went down stairs to get my cup of alkaloid brew and the TV was on with clips from John Woodward's special. I look at the results of a "Man Eating Machine and Hope Destroyer"War, and I am enraged that we keep participating in this madness.

So complex an issue for some, and even for me most days, see us taking these lives and breaking them to bits in the name of Anything Holy or Oil, Just. Fucking. Enrages. Me.

The above images relate as follows:

Holding the rose in the snow, a prosthetic hand is hopeful.

Molds of pediatric feet, line up, waiting in the dawn light, to be made into braces for children.

A humorous look at prosthetics. Footsie anyone?

A boy who busted his prosthetic leg more often than anyone I know. He's THAT rugged. And he loves suspension bridges.

One of my many mantras: Life! Bring It On! As a goldfish Boldly Goes.

Lets Stop this War. Let's honor the broken. Let's Get Back On Track.

Peace, Out.

Wednesday, February 28, 2007


I think we all have latches..somewhere inside. There are places deep within that we want to keep safe and treasured.

Some people have those little hook type locks on their inner door. One good push will pretty much get you inside. Show some patience and gratitude, mix in some major curiosity with 2 parts tenacity and you can be assured of gettting in.

Some people have tumbler locks , where just the right amount of gentle wiggling and deep feeling can persuade the cautious to open up.

Some folks have the complete SoHo Do'-Lock assembly with tumblers, a dead-bolt and a bar rammed across the jamb.

Which one are You?

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

I am working on a graphics project for Pedals for Pediatrics, a cycling team taking on the Pan-Mass Challenge which is raising funds for pediatric cancers. I am developing logos for team jerseys, water bottles and for web graphics and business applications. I really enjoy using my Joyful Skills to bring the world into a better place. This work meshes well with the work I am doing for, which is a transglobal bike journey of hope, aiding amputees around the world. The trek is working in conjunction with ClearPath International which brings aid and hope to landmine victims around the globe.

I love being able to use my talents to better the world.

What can YOU do? Who would YOU help?

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

My snowy day

Winter Green

Milk Jug

"You are *so* lame!"

Winter Light, Young Woman

Tuesday, February 06, 2007


Wednesday, January 31, 2007

"What I use" Wednesday

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Monday, January 29, 2007


Saturday, January 27, 2007

And Jack came knocking at my window...


“A very beautiful woman hardly ever leaves a clear-cut impression of features and shape in the memory: usually there remains only an aura of living color” - William Bolitho

Friday, January 26, 2007

If I were a dog...

I spend more time with dogs than I do people (20 + hours a week). If I *were* a dog, this is the one I would marry. All Disney-like, replete with a reception and slurpy spaghetti a la Lady and the Tramp. I have loved a few dogs like this. My other dog love was Otis, a Rodesian Ridgeback owned by my friend, Jenny. He passed away a while ago, to be replaced with Rudy, a mutt who is gaining my affection, albeit slowly. I rather like it when he sticks his nose in my crotch and sniffs deeply. I tell him frequently that he gives me more action than I have seen in months and months. It gets annoying after a while, though. I push him away.

I like people. I even love some people. But, give me a dog and an endless span of woods and I am a happy camper. My dog friends love to see me. They greet me with fraptious joy every blessed time, as if I were covered in liver and bacon. People, not so much. Sometimes, but not with the regularity of Les Chiens.

This is why I have an oval bumper sticker on my car that says, simply: