Favorites » His Blog
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NARA - ALIC - Indians/Native Americans
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May 13, 5:32pm
3 reviews
history, native-americans, photos, library, americana
http://www.archives.gov/research/alic/reference/native-americans.html
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Native Americans from the Library of Congress Archives
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To the Recluse, Wei Pa by Tu Fu
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May 13, 5:32pm
1 review
painting, poetry, calligraphy
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-the-recluse-wei-pa/
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To the Recluse, Wei Pa
Often in this life of ours we resemble, in our failure to meet, the Shen and
Shang constellations, one of which rises as the other one sets. What lucky
chance is it, then, that brings us together this evening under the light of
this same lamp? Youth and vigor last but a little time. --- Each of us now has
greying temples. Half of the friends we ask each other about are dead, and our
shocked cries sear the heart. Who could have guessed that it would be twenty
years before I sat once more beneath your roof? Last time we parted you were
still unmarried, but now here suddenly is a row of boys and girls who
smilingly pay their respects to their father's old friend. They ask me where I
have come from; but before I have finished dealing with their questions, the
children are hurried off to fetch us wine. Spring chives are cut in the rainy
dark, and there is freshly steamed rice mixed with yellow millet. `Come, we
don't meet often!' you hospitably urge, pouring out ten cupfuls in rapid
succession. That I am still not drunk after ten cups of wine is due to the
strength of the emotion which your unchanging friendship inspires. Tomorrow
the peak will lie between us, and each will be lost to the other, swallowed up
in the world's affairs.
--Tu Fu
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THUMPER123s reviews
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May 13, 5:31pm
93 reviews
amateur-radio, stumblers, arts, books, american-history
http://thumper123.stumbleupon.com/
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Come join my autoerotic asphyxiation club!
Cookie of thumper123.stumbleupon.com [thumper123.stumbleupon.com] has cat chuckles n' other fun stuff but not excluding the subjects of amateur-radio, american-history, arts, books, camping, cats, drawing, cooking, gardening.
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YouTube - In the court of the crimson king
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May 13, 5:30pm
5 reviews
classic-rock, music, video, youtube
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zHkisNZH77Y
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...from around 1969 or 1970.
THE COURT OF THE CRIMSON KING
The rusted chains of prison moons
Are shattered by the sun.
I walk a road, horizons change
The tournament's begun.
The purple piper plays his tune,
The choir softly sing;
Three lullabies in an ancient tongue,
For the court of the crimson king.
The keeper of the city keys
Put shutters on the dreams.
I wait outside the pilgrim's door
With insufficient schemes.
The black queen chants
the funeral march,
The cracked brass bells will ring;
To summon back the fire witch
To the court of the crimson king.
The gardener plants an evergreen
Whilst trampling on a flower.
I chase the wind of a prism ship
To taste the sweet and sour.
The pattern juggler lifts his hand;
The orchestra begin.
As slowly turns the grinding wheel
In the court of the crimson king.
On soft gray mornings widows cry
The wise men share a joke;
I run to grasp divining signs
To satisfy the hoax.
The yellow jester does not play
But gentle pulls the strings
And smiles as the puppets dance
In the court of the crimson king.
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http://bitsong.com/stories/picnic/inWork/throughaGlass/throughaGlass.html
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May 13, 3:10pm
21 reviews
animation, graphic-design, writing
http://bitsong.com/stories/picnic/inWork/throughaGlass/throughaGlass.html
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My SU friend, Zaffer of zaffer.stumbleupon.com [zaffer.stumbleupon.com] is a Wisconsin animator and graphic designer that has created this virtual country-side of sights, sounds, and mood. Take a tour and enjoy!
Says she:
ThroughaGlass is a scene I made using Vue 3D software. It's a glimpse of summer in the middle of deep (18" of snow here) winter. I am planning to make more images like this over the coming year to illustrate an interactive story I am writing. Zaffer -- Technical details: I used Photoshop to "stitch" the scene together at both edges so it could revolve, and Cakewalk Sonar music software to mix the nature sounds. I used Flash to animate all.
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10032593
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May 13, 3:09pm
1 review
native-americans, photography, osage
http://photoswest.org/cgi-bin/imager?10032593%20X-32593
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Flying at Night
Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations.
Five billion miles away, a galaxy dies
like a snowflake falling on water. Below us,
some farmer, feeling the chill of that distant death,
snaps on his yard light, drawing his sheds and barn
back into the little system of his care.
All night, the cities, like shimmering novas,
tug with bright streets at lonely lights like his.
--Ted Kooser
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May 13, 5:45am
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In Those Years
In those years, people will say, we lost track
of the meaning of we, of you
we found ourselves
reduced to I
and the whole thing became
silly, ironic, terrible:
we were trying to live a personal life
and, yes, that was the only life
we could bear witness to
But the great dark birds of history screamed and plunged
into our personal weather
They were headed somewhere else but their beaks and pinions drove
along the shore, through rages of fog
where we stood, saying I
--Adrienne Rich
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Kenneth Rexroth Collection in KUIS Library
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May 13, 5:45am
1 review
poetry, san-francisco, beat
http://www.kuis.ac.jp/toshokan/krc/english/main.html
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They are murdering all the young men.
For half a century now, every day,
They have hunted them down and killed them.
They are killing them now.
At this minute, all over the world,
The are killing the young men.
They know ten thousand ways to kill them.
Every year they invent new ones.
In the jungles of Africa,
In the marshes of Asia,
In the deserts of Asia,
In the slave pens of Siberia,
In the slums of Europe,
In the nightclubs of America,
The murderers are at work.
They are stoning Stephen,
They are casting him forth from every city in the world.
Under the Welcome sign,
Under the Rotary emblem,
On the highway in the suburbs,
His body lies under the hurling stones.
He was full of faith and power.
He did great wonders among the people.
They could not stand against his wisdom.
They could not bear that spirit with which he spoke.
He cried out in the name
Of the tabernacle of witness in the wilderness.
They were cut to the heart.
They gnashed against him with their teeth.
They cried out with a loud voice.
They stopped their ears.
They ran on him with one accord.
They cast him out of the city and stoned him,
The witnesses laid down their clothes
At the feet of the man whose name was your name-
You.
You are the murderer.
You are killing the young men.
You are broiling Lawrence on his gridiron.
When you demand he divulge
The hidden treasures of the spirit,
He showed you the poor.
You set your heart against him.
You seized him and bound him with rage.
You roasted him on a slow fire.
His fat dripped and spurted in the flame.
The smell was sweet to your nose.
He cried out,
"I am cooked on this side,
turn me over and eat,
You
Eat of my flesh."
You are murdering the young men.
You are shooting Sebastian with arrows.
He kept the faithful steadfast under persecution.
First you shot him with arrows.
Then you beat him with rods.
Then you threw him in a sewer.
You fear nothing more then courage.
You who turn away your eyes
At the bravery of the young men.
You,
The hyena with polished face and bow tie,
In the office of a billion dollar
Corporation devoted to service;
The vulture dripping with carrion,
Carefully and carelessly robed in imported tweeds,
Lecturing on the Age of Abundance;
The jackal in double-breasted gabardine,
Barking by remote control,
In the United Nations;
The vampire bat seated at the couch head,
Notebook in hand, toying with his decerebrator;
The autonomous, ambulatory cancer,
The superego in a thousand uniforms;
You, the finger man of behemoth,
The murderer of the young men.
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Dave, the Chelydra serpentina on the MKT Trail on Flickr - Photo Sharing!
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May 13, 5:44am
1 review
photography, travel, missouri, turtles, spring
http://www.flickr.com/photos/shitao/2280320742/
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Dave, the Chelydra serpentina on the MKT Trail
While Dave was good-sized at about 40 pounds and 20 inches long, he was incredibly friendly, curious, and thoroughly lacking in the aggressive characteristics of his cousin, Macrochelys temminckii, the alligator snapping turtle. That said, most common snappers like Dave can bite a broom handle in two and they often display an orneriness that encourages a wide berth on a narrow path like the MKT trail near Rocheport, Missouri. Old Dave just trudged right down the middle of the path as if he were bound and determined to get the last piece of pecan pie at the restaurant at the trailhead. We parted company there; me not feeling it was my duty to vouch for his fine disposition with the chuckwagon cook who would bar admission if seating was at a premium that afternoon.....
Turtle
Now I see it--
it nudges with its bulldog head
the slippery stems of the lilies, making them tremble;
and now it noses along in the wake of the little brown teal
who is leading her soft children
from one side of the pond to the other; she keeps
close to the edge
and they follow closely, the good children--
the tender children,
the sweet children, dangling their pretty feet
into the darkness.
And now will come--I can count on it--the murky splash,
the certain victory
of that pink and gassy mouth, and the frantic
circling of the hen while the rest of the chicks
flare away over the water and into the reeds, and my heart
will be most mournful
on their account. But, listen,
what's important?
Nothing's important
except that the great and cruel mystery of the world,
of which this is a part,
not to be denied. Once,
I happened to see, on a city street, in summer,
a dusty, fouled turtle plodded along--
a snapper--
broken out I suppose from some backyard cage--
and I knew what I had to do--
I looked it right in the eyes, and I caught it--
I put it, like a small mountain range,
into a knapsack, and I took it out
of the city, and I let it
down into the dark pond, into
the cool water,
and the light of the lilies,
to live.
--Mary Oliver
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To Artina by Langston Hughes
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May 13, 5:44am
1 review
african-americans, poetry
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-artina/
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To Artina
I will take your heart.
I will take your soul out of your body
As though I were God.
I will not be satisfied
With the touch of your hand
Nor the sweet of your lips alone.
I will take your heart for mine.
I will take your soul.
I will be God when it comes to you.
Langston Hughes "
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