So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.
Ethnicity. that of my father and his father before him
Location Cherry Hills Vil, CO
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The Link To Zanzibar's Past
This is my page in the beloved art community that my sister got me into:
Extra points for people who know what Samarinda is.
The Phases of the Moon Module
The Tree and the Telephone Pole
I Do Not Know Their Names
Today I am Young
A Night Poem
Siren of the Sea
If I Were a Dragon
To the Dreamers Leave the Sky
The Honor of the Oyster
Return From San Diego
A Late Summer's Night
Of Dragons and Men
The Edge of the World
The Snake's Terror
Metaphysics and the Middaymoon
Of Adventures in Foreign Lands
The Rogue Wave: The Unedited Version
Adventures in the PRC
Voyage of Discovery
Drinking the Blood of Goats
Ticket for a Phantom Bus
Os peixes nadam o mar
Three Villages Far Away
The River Weser
Children I Should Have Kidnapped, Part I
Let's Get You Out of Those Clothes
If Underwear Could Speak
Croc Hunter/Combat Wombat
Only My Favorite Baseball Player EVER
Aw, Larry Walker, how I loved thee.
M: Science and Exploration
T: Cook a nice dinner
Th: Parties, movies, dinners
F: Picnics, the Louvre
S: Read books, go for walks, PARKOUR
Su: Philosophy, Religion
The Reading List
This list starts Summer 2006
A Crocodile on the Sandbank
Tales of the Alhambra (in progress)
Dark Lord of Derkholm
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
The Lost Years of Merlin
Harry Potter a l'ecole des sorciers (in progress)
Atlas Shrugged (in progress)
A Long Way Gone (story of a boy soldier in Sierra Leone- met the author! w00t!)
The Eye of the World: Book One of the Wheel of Time
From Magma to Tephra (in progress)
Lady Chatterley's Lover
Harry Potter 7
The No. 1 Lady's Detective Agency
Introduction to Planetary Volcanism
A Child Called "It"
Is Multi-Culturalism Bad for Women?
Americans in Southeast Asia: Roots of Commitment (in progress)
What's So Great About Christianity?
Aeolian Dust and Dust Deposits
The City of Ember
The People of Sparks
When I was in Cuba, I was a German Shepard
The Golden Compass
Clan of the Cave Bear
The 9/11 Commission Report (2nd time through, graphic novel format this time, ip)
The Incredible Shrinking Man
The Elves of Cintra
The Gypsy Morph
Animorphs #23: The Pretender
Animorphs #25: The Extreme
Animorphs #26: The Attack
A Journey to the Center of the Earth
A Great and Terrible Beauty
The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian
To Sir, With Love
Alice in Wonderland
Through the Looking Glass
20,000 Leagues Under the Sea
The Hunger Games
Shadows and Strongholds
The Jungle Book
Beatrice and Virgil
The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks
No One Ever Told Us We Were Defeated
The Name of the Wind
Tao Te Ching
What Paul Meant
Lao Tzu and Taoism
Sand and Sandstones
Lost Christianites: The Battles for Scripture and the Faiths We Never Knew
The Science of God
Great Contemporaries, by Winston Churchill
City of Bones
Around the World in 80 Days, by Jules Verne
Stranger in a Strange Land
The Old Man and the Sea
Flowers for Algernon
Au Bonheur des Ogres
The Road to Serfdom
De La Terre à la Lune (ip)
In the Light of What We Know
Devil in the White City
The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August
How to Be a Good Wife
A Mote in God's Eye
want to read: Last Hunger Games Book, Honeybee Democracy, The Bell Jar
Tuesday. 10.13.09 9:19 pm
So I've less than two weeks until I leave for Antarctica. You'd think that Antarctica is the only thing that I think about, given that it's all I ever talk about, but you'd be wrong, because I only think about Antarctica about 10% of the time. Then there is about 88% of the time that I spend thinking about boys, and 2% of the time I think about all the other stuff I have to do before I leave for Antarctica. Ok, that's not entirely accurate. At this very moment, I guess I'd break things down in this way:
10% Boys & Antarctica
8% Everything else
I'm not counting time I spend thinking about family and friends, they get their own pie. I remember this conversation I once had with my best friend in fifth grade. We were in my garage and we were talking about boys, and we swore to each other that if one of us started liking boys that the other one would shoot her in the face. We were being kind of serious, too. I should call her out on her failure to keep up her end of the bargain. Though I dare say it would end poorly for both of us.
I've often thought about how much time and effort the members of the human race waste falling in love with each other... just imagine how much I could get done if I took that 50-60% back and applied it to science or math! Though I probably wouldn't apply it to science or math at all, at least not in some useful way, I'd probably do what I normally do when I don't like anyone which is learning how to make cement out of volcanic ash on the internet, or reading about how to make a two-way mirror in your garage, or looking through 386 pages of Twilight fan-fic paintings on DeviantArt. For those of you who clearly spend 10% or more of your time thinking about math, that's still where the missing 2% from the above list goes... yes it just disappears into the depths of the internet where there are whole websites about how to get volcanic ash off airport runways, how to make charcoal, how to make gun powder, how to make origami hats, how to play the bodhran, how many people there are in Afghanistan, how long is a second on Mars, is it "where ever" or "wherever", and where does the word "science" come from. If only I were a vampire like Edward and I didn't have to sleep; I could ostensibly spend the 33% of my time that I usually spend asleep answering these important questions.
Though to my credit, I was just lying dramatically on the couch to think about boys and staring blankly at a map of the world that was on the wall when I became completely distracted from my melodramatic thoughts trying to figure out how many time zones there were in Russia.
There is still hope for me!!
Wednesday. 10.7.09 8:24 pm
The Welshman and I are on the street corner, having the extended conversation that always takes place on this street corner before we concede that we must part ways. The traffic lights are cycling. Once or twice a cycle, like double dutch ropes, they offer him an opportunity to leave.
"Sometimes," he says, speaking of Antarctica, "your hands are so cold that they ache, they have this horrible pain... and you can't really warm them up properly... even when you do, they aren't right after that. I definitely lost the feeling in my fingertips for a while. But my hands are especially sensitive."
He shows me his broad hands; they are flexing white as if in memory of past days.
"I don't want to lose feeling in my fingertips," is my rejoinder, but he is thousands of miles from the street corner.
"Why am I going back? What am I thinking?" he says urgently.
His attention returns to me suddenly and he smiles a jovial smile.
"You'll have a great time!"
The hand is red but he steps out backwards onto the street and into the night.
Tuesday. 10.6.09 8:17 am
You, a chandelier of light
Elegant shimmering crystals
Allowing brief and broken reflections
To illuminate those of us below
And I, a hopeful balloon
Which at kind glance streams skyward
Which at careless word might burst.
Ambrosia from Mount Olympus
Friday. 10.2.09 12:28 am
Thalweg sent me a canister of freshly-made peanut butter from the Safeway at the corner of Taft and Drake in Fort Collins, CO. She sent it priority in case it could go bad. It is the most incredible peanut butter I have ever eaten. She wrote an ode to it, and after I tasted it I wrote an ode back.
I will reproduce the odes here:
Though your brown cast is at first unappealing
Deep pleasure is your color concealing
If a synesthete were I
My spirit would fly
For a seraphic concerto I'd be hearing
In the mail did treasure fly,
"Ambrosia!" was the Herald's cry
To kitchen's tower she made her haste
To pleasure her tongue with love's first taste
And at once the nectar did her senses besot
Skippy and JIF her soul forgot
Such joy and rapture could not be relayed
If the Heavens were of peanuts made!
Such luscious truth the prophet bespake
Of the holy corner of Taft and Drake.
Srsly. Go there. Honey-roasted peanut butter. You will never be the same.
Wednesday. 9.30.09 6:42 pm
"Print out this page for me," he instructed.
I printed out the page and he fetched it from the copy room. He set the paper down on the table and pulled up a chair, brandishing his red pen. I could hear the scritch-scratching of the marker on the paper. For a long time. Much too long. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye.
"I'm not writing a novel," he said, reading my thoughts. He brought the paper over. A small change, and a long sentence tacked on the end of the conclusions that snaked across the page and sideways down the margin. I read the sentence and rejected it, explaining why. He frowned and started scribbling out the handwritten red sentence. Then he grabbed the paper and violently crumpled it up. Almost as quickly he put the paper on the table and smoothed it out again. He handed it to me.
"I still want you to make this small change."
Thursday. 9.24.09 8:22 pm
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