All aboard. People I very much appreciate:

Saturday, October 9, 2021

Enigma in The Ages of Anxiety

Observe, "American Gothic" painted on beaverboard --an appropriately named art surface of pressed wood fibers-- by Grant Wood in 1930. It was a decade that nurtured the "Age of Anxiety" described in W.H. Auden's baroque eclogue 15 years later. The house, Dibble House, in Iowa, is made of wood, of course.

Models selected for the gallery photo were Grant's sister, Nan Wood Graham, and Dentist, Dr. Byron McKeeby. Hopefully, by the time the photo was taken (1942) , Dr. McKeeby was using smaller dental instruments.

Which brings us to Autumn, 2021:

Norma and I are photoed at a recent family function. Wood is in the background but has reverted into a palm tree. We have neither Dibble House (although we have spent 1/2 century modernizing such wonders) nor pitchforks. We have each other.

Nelson DeMille wrote,"Basically all women are nurturers and healers and all men are mental patients to varying degrees." Yet, in this new age of anxiety and uncertainty, I certainly try to concur with DeMille  --or do I?

Wednesday, October 6, 2021


{Note: No cats under 18 appear in this post --18 months, that is.}


Observe: Below, is a Normaphoto of Tux. He is distinguishable from his identical nephew, Romeow, by partial absence of his left ear. This is not an emotional or artistic statement. Unlike Van Gogh, no passion was involved, only carelessness. Tux's passion is for Mint, as can be seen here:  

 In the next photo, I recognize an expression from observing my room-mates in the 1960s. Dude's stoned, dreaming he's a cool cat and liking it.

As with '60s roomies, I observe the following expression. Tux is progressing  from "meow" to "Oh Wow!"                                                                                                                    

I recently had problems with Blooger and can't guarantee successful posts but have not quite resorted to mint-nuzzling. As more data comes in, or more problems arise, I will consult with Tux and, perhaps together, we can educe something for it. I have asked...

 ...if Mint-nuzzling helps him cope with anything worse than Google-glitches --about which he hasn't a clue-- but, within his limited psychedelicat vocabulary, said: "Opprobrium. Go thou, and do likewise."

Tuesday, September 14, 2021

Got Rants In your Pants?

Among my favorite videos is this one on the subject of Mr. Richard Arvin Overton when he was only 109 years old. He lived a few years beyond that but this vid presents the enigma.

Sunday, August 22, 2021

Enigma of Indecision

I have been studying the Dunning-Kruger Effect, which proposes those (we, me) of little knowledge claim to know a lot. Socrates provided this preface: "Only true wisdom is knowing how little you know." Then, after a moment of 2000+  years, Darwin chimed in with: "Ignorance frequently begets more confidence than knowledge does." Here is a helpfully instructive (or not) Normaphoto:

It is a hummingbird flying into a fountain plume.  He is only an inch or two long and weighs nothing. Unlike our local peccadilloes which, like their southern relatives, armadillos, are armored, hummingbirds have no protection against liquid missiles that weigh more than they do. Yet they fly out hydrated and unharmed. I have no idea how they manage that. I see it happen. Norma photos it. Still, I don't know how it's done. Behind this lens, focused on an endless moment of the universe, I feel less than knowledgeable and more like a clumsy contortionist who has stepped on his own head --hate when that happens.

Saturday, July 31, 2021

Hierophany and Imagination

For your consideration: 2 photos of blue yonder taken at the same moment, closely similar. The 1st contains an airplane headed southeast. Lookie:

The 2nd includes  an angel bearing 31 radians or 180 degrees or I am confused by old quadrant trigonometry that we abbreviate into mind's single moment as "ass-backwards" from the Cessna up top. Geocompass consulted, angel is headed northwest, waving at us.

As space-time metric increases ( universe expands) the universal MOMENT affects us too. Our minds, in that moment, are fed by every tributary. Do we perceive time as a navigational aid in experience of that one and only moment?

Universe began with an explosion, big bang out a notch in nothing. I'm now hard of hearing because I sat too close to it. You?


Field-Elf. Enigma 5/20/19


Friday, July 9, 2021

Ars Poetica

Photo shows Noire (black cat by the mat) and me. She is about 1/71th my age, yet we peacefully  

share a yard. This of course brought to mind two literary works, "Ars Poetica" by Archibald Macleish (c.1900 AD) and "Ars Poetica" by Horace (c. 19 BC). Both works are --like Noire et moi-- in mint condition (or so), but there is some modern consideration called for.

I refer, of course, to Albert Camus's essay against flawed philosophy, inequity and cosmic absurdity, "The Myth of Sisyphus".  It is predicated on the futility of pushing a rock uphill only to have it roll down again and again.

It involves meaningful miscommunication.This is crystalized in the 1970s film, "The Jerk":

"Ma: I hope you find what you're looking for.
Nevin: I will, Ma. I know it's out there.
Tosh: It's out there alright, and if you catch it, see a doctor and get rid of it."

Sisyphus and a venereal disease share an unfortunate partial linguistic homonymy.  If you EVER run across this film, watch it. If it rings a bell, seek the  proper spelling. It may save you some miscommunications.

Tell listeners, friends, teachers, doctors exactly how you are. Macleish's (1926) poem ends with "a poem should not mean, but be." 

40 years later, Sinatra sang:"Things turned out so right for strangers in the night...Do Be Do Be Do Be...etc."
Point is, poetry is an activity that has undergone definition and redefinition for thousands of years and, if you want to know what it is, read it --certainly-- but also seek it in your memories, experiences. Don't just read it, write it! The entire art form needs your part and heart in its living influence. It Needs You.

Thursday, June 24, 2021


I'm sitting here with a million-dollar bill that I found in my toybox. Tried buying a bottle of Woodbridge  Vineyard's excellent pinot noir from our corner Arab with it but he gave me that funny curious look friends give each other and said he hadn't enough change in the till.

Now honestly, is this the face of someone who'd try and pull a fast one on a neighbor? A rhetorical question, one the reader is not obliged to answer. My friend and cashier just smiled and waited for a smaller denomination --a real $10 U.S. bill-- and bagged my bottle as I dropped my coin-change in his counter bowl, which goes to charity.

This brings us to "cryptocurrency", about which I know only what I can write in little:
One bitcoin is divisible to eight decimal places (100 millionths of one bitcoin), and this smallest unit is referred to as a Satoshi.
The Satoshi is the smallest unit of the bitcoin cryptocurrency is named after Satoshi Nakamoto, the creator of the protocol used in blockchains and the bitcoin​.
The Satoshi is currently touted to equal almost a nickel, 4and1/2
cents, but unlike the  nickels we're used to --backed by the U.S. Government-- they are no more fungible than my phoney million dollar bill.

Plug nickels. A theory.

When a theory is the only one, it usually means I have misunderstood the theory or the problem --would appreciate apposite comments.
In response to Jenny_O's comment below, I have added some info+photo on the meaning and origin of the "Plug Nickel", which occupies the opposite end of the Hypnocurrent Spectrum. I'll explain it in my reply to her excellent comment: