Cordelia sent me this nice picture of "cobalt hour" via el loco Sugar Cam. I haven't seen good old cobalt in the usual fashion for a while now, and that is a good thing since I'm a much more responsible person now.

I offer that up to John, who is in cobalt-less Ausitn, TX.

Hah. I love it when I talk about my supposed lack of responsibility. Have your ever seen the Simpsons episode where Homer has flash-fowards of himself as the picture next to a word in a dictionary? When you look at the word responsibility, I swear you are going to see my wood cut visage right there.

Ah well.

Some new Spring pictures in the usual place.

There are also some Wendover pictures. My illness is not included.

You also get an outside look at the Sugar Cam. I suppose I could give you an inside look, but that would just be a picture of some Venetian blinds.

1. I was going to make a movie using the plethora of drunk folks you can easily find using Google image search, but decided to enjoy the first evening of spring break 2005 by sleeping.
2. By the way, that's Shirley Bassey grooving out to the Propellerheads in the last "Dance." link, in case you were wondering. You will remember Shirley from such hits as Goldfinger. He's the man, the man with the midas touch. Golden lies he will pour in your ear, but his lies can't disguise what you fear. He loves only gold. He loves only gold. Only gold.
3. Did you know that I've seen the movie Goldfinger about 30 times? "Do you expect me to talk, Goldfinger?" "No Mr. Bond, I expect you to die!" And the "laser" creeps onward.
4. Do you ever feel like having a beer for breakfast?

Dance.

Now my headline for this entry implies that I am offering a sestina as some sort of contest with the inspiration of it offered by Kendra, but that is not the case, and I just can't get past the easy cultural-reference pun that might cause a chuckle. If anything what I offer should be a "dualing" sestina since it is a response to what Kendra has written. I thought it would be best to use the very words that rotate around in Kendra's sestina in order to make it a true response. Like any response, of course, what I offer here is quite inferior to what she wrote, and lakes the passionate imagery that swells in her poem. Kendra's poem touched an idea in me that I want to put out on paper and see where it goes. It is much darker than I wanted, but caught the schism I am pondering quite effectively. (I cheated in the tercet, however.)

"Perpetual Motion: a response to K.T."

And what if there is no image
To catch in the head?
What if the dark pools
Are simply the wounded
Flesh, or if all our wondering
Is so much thrashing about?

Those thoughts are dark, leaving us nothing about
Life other than living for the image
Of ourselves as the head-
Priest of some cult of the mild-pool
We have nothing other than wounds
Of life to brace all our wondering

Despair is easy then, even wondering
Hamlet-like at the dissolution all about
us, living with nothing but the ill-remembered image
Of happiness. Some use callipers to measure the head
Defining its width and depth. Seeking the pool's
Depth to find significance, only to offer more wounds.

That measurement only tells us how calliper wounds
Can scar the scalp. No wonder
People flee from it, and wander about
In search of a better image
A stronger more resistant head
Under which some fall into shark-filled pools

It is easy, under such guidance to pool
Together and forget the wounded
And never find wonder
In what the world is about
To take the clean-shaven image
Of happiness and rejoice with an empty head

But somewhere along the way, that strong head
Will crack and the yolk of humanity pools
At its feet: uncertainty again, still wounded
Still lost and full of wonder
To seek after what about is about
And what sign best fits the image

But still we wonder, swimming in that mossy pool.
We hope our wounds don't drown our heads,
As water washes the blood about, dissolving the image.

It was such a nice day weather-wise that I got to engage in one of my favorite hobbies: yelling a people who nearly run me down in crosswalks. I thank the Jackass in one worst polluting vehicles of 2004, the Touareg, who was so wrapped up in his Sunday morning need to GET SOMEWHERE FAST AT ANY COST that he nearly mowed me down while I walked to 21 21 Coffee. Attention was drawn to me from folks at the Blue Plate and the coffee shop as I yelled "HEY" at the prick. Once he passed me by I flipped him off and yelled, in an equally loud voice "JACKASS." I would, of course, feel justified by a round of applause from the Blue Plate folks, but they seemed shocked and uncertain. I suppose it isn't everyday that a pedestrian shouts louder than most car horns in defense of his 4 feet of pathway on the public thoroughfare. In all, I was only mildly physically shaken up, mostly because these things happen too regularly for me to get worked up stress-wise anymore.

Now that I've answered Kendra's questions, I have some five for her. I trust that she will answer them over at Fray:

1) What are your current career goals? How do you see your education up to this point fitting into those goals?

2) What do you see as the single-most important social issue of our time?

3) What do you like best about curry?

4) What do you think of John Calvin?

5) If you had one billion dollars suddenly thrust into your bank account, what are the first three things you would do with the money?

--30--

Kendra is conducting interviews from her blog. I was going to set the whole thing up like one of those interviews you see in magazines, but that's too much effort for humor.

What is a phrase that you know in another language that means something to you?

“Wakaremasen” which I believe means “I don’t understand” in Japanese. Why that? Well I think knowing how to say you don’t get it in a very complicated language like Japanese seems appropriate.

If that doesn’t work for you, there is always “Wo ist deine Braun kuh?” Which means in German “where is your brown cow.” It has warm-fuzzy connotations to it, since I remember one glorious rainy afternoon studying German in the Oasis Café with the then love of my life. It is fun to say goofy things in such situations. (Note: it could also mean, I am told, "Where is yours, brown cow" which has even more amusing implications.)

What do you know about Brigham Young that I do not?

Well you know that he likes to samba, so that’s out.

Did you know he and Mark Twain had an encounter? The best part of it, of course, is how Twain describes BY as completely disconnected who wasn’t quite sure of Twain’s gender:

By and by I subsided into an indignant silence, and so sat until the end, hot and flushed, and execrating him in my heart for an ignorant savage. But he was calm. His conversation with those gentlemen flowed on as sweetly and peacefully and musically as any summer brook. When the audience was ended and we were retiring from the presence, he put his hand on my head, beamed down on me in an admiring way and said to my brother: "Ah--your child, I presume? Boy, or girl?" (Roughting It, 15-16)

Did you know he believed people lived on the sun (and the moon)?

"Who can tell us of the inhabitants of this little planet that shines of an evening, called the moon? When we view its face we may see what is termed "the man in the moon" and what some philosophers declare are the shadows of mountains. But these sayings are very vague, and amount to nothing; and when you inquire about the inhabitants of that sphere you find that the most learned are as ignorant in regard to them as the most ignorant of their fellows. So it is with regard to the inhabitants of the sun. Do you think there is any life there? No question of it; it was not made in vain. It was made to give light to those who dwell upon it, and to other planets." (http://www.lightplanet.com/mormons/response/history/moonmen_van_hale.htm)

How do you, O Matchmaker, recall the story of John-and-Kendra's meeting?

Well on that fateful Cinco de Mayo you two came to the too-large party and sat in the great circle and flirted. I remember the two of you talking quite a lot? I do remember that John mentioned he was interested in you and pulled me aside at the party to ask about you. You two also sat on the porch in the subtlety of the Cinco de Mayo lights.

After that, all I know is that a very drunk someone who I won’t name here intruded himself on your trip home, and that both of you wanted to get rid of him. (And no, dear other reader, it was not me.) I doubt that my memory of everything is as romantic as yours.

What was the last poem you read?

Thursday afternoon a colleague was showing me an interesting genre: haibun. It, like the haiku was invented by Basho. It is kind of a prose introduction that includes a haiku, and follows the concrete rules of a haiku, i.e. it uses concrete imagery, and avoids interpretation. My colleague showed me a haibun by poet James Merrill.There don’t seem to be any of his on the web, so you’ll have to go dig up one of his books at the library.

What do you think of John Calvin, What do you think of Paris Hilton?

John Calvin suffered from the problem that zealots always face: meglomaniacal adherence to truth he believes he has found and the crazy need to apply that truth to anyone and everyone. I can’t quite get over his intolerance shown towards his fellow Protestants, and how his theocracy became a “my way or the pyre” kind of place. Calvin deserves credit for being so thorough in his exploration of Christianity, but he seems to have forgotten the basics: Love. Love your enemy; love those who hate you; love those who would treat you badly; love sinners.. I don’t see killing people as a means of expressing Love. One could argue (as I believe Calvin does) that he is showing Love by killing people just like the Catholic Church of his era argued, but I just don’t buy it. It is kinid like liberating people by killing them.

Well with all tht heaviness, I'm sorry to say I don’t know much of Paris Hilton. I know who she is, since I don’t live in a hole and I read the news, but I only know that she seems to have quite a few embarrassing moments, having her cell phone hacked and having home-made pron leaked etc. Jeff brought a poster of her home and she guards our “Boonis Airlock” (the thing that guards us from the Speed Queen’s lair.) She is a bit of eye candy, to be sure.