Good stuff: Servicey!

Because it’s been a very long day, my last post is kind of emotionally draining for everyone I’d imagine, and this cracked me the hell up.


News you can use.

h/t BoingBoing


  1. dmf

     /  November 11, 2011

    Wild Geese
    You do not have to be good.
    You do not have to walk on your knees
    for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
    You only have to let the soft animal of your body
    love what it loves.
    Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
    Meanwhile the world goes on.
    Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
    are moving across the landscapes,
    over the prairies and the deep trees,
    the mountains and the rivers.
    Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
    are heading home again.
    Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
    the world offers itself to your imagination,
    calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting-
    over and over announcing your place
    in the family of things.
    -Mary Oliver

    • CitizenE

       /  November 11, 2011

      For about a month and a half this year, I traveled free of the 24 hour news cycle, free as a bird, a wild goose, a raven. And the ravens spoke their zen croaks with me morning and night. Every day reconnected to the electrical web of the contemporary human world of my time and place, I wonder, what is it I am becoming disconnected from? What ground? The daily horrors about my kind are revealed one after another–in the papers, on the news, on line, the way Shakespeare like, these horrors are embedded or embodied in the lives of the celebrated, the powerful, the ambitious and insinuated into our collective ebb and flow often as if we are to be continuously reintroduced to our own evil, continuously reminded that innocence is simply naivete and ignorance. Meanwhile the world goes on, the sun and clear pebbles of rain; the water still in its breathtaking, fearless leap into the voids, makes those waterfall patterns in the gorge of Yellowstone Canyon, thinned out, pour down Yosemite Falls, not far from where John Muir parked his cabin for a year more than a century ago, and Mt. Rainer is wraithed and unwraithed by the passing clouds. The white sands of New Mexico still form and unform their slow moving waves as the wind, their rimey crust catching seeds and rooting life where the smallest of foxes burrow in, and time demand; the monumental red stone in Arches National Park and Monument Valley, all through the glorious southwest of our nation state, still sing in the complex melodies of eon. People turn a blind eye each day to horrors done in their name; people turn a blind eye each day to the wonder of breath and life. The wish to remain a pilgrim, moving or standing still.

  2. Lise

     /  November 11, 2011

    Wow. My favorite poem and my new favorite picture on my favorite blog in the same post. AND it’s Friday. It’s going to be a very good day indeed. Thanks, E. and dmf (although, I’ll confess, in my mind, I always hear your handle as “dmv”. There. I’ve said it.)
    I would like to cut out this picture and post it on the door to my office today. Then I would like to leave the door to my office slightly open so that people know that yes, I’m there. But I will not do this. For it would occasion too many conversations. And, really, I have work to do. Thank you both. L.

  3. Lise

     /  November 11, 2011

    It just occurred to me that one cannot “cut out” a picture from a blog post. Sigh. One is old. OK. I would like to *print out and then cut out* this picture. FINE.

  4. dmf

     /  November 11, 2011

    unmaking of Israel?
    ps sorry to remind Lise of the dmv but glad that the poetry was a counterpoint