a dialogue in pictures
{ Monthly Archives }
CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): Last week’s symbol was a closed fist. The mood was determined, fierce, and intolerant of any funny stuff. But you’re leaving the zone in which that stance made sense. Your new metaphor is the open hand. Your chances at succeeding will increase in proportion to your willingness to negotiate for peace, seek connection, and accept input. Receptivity is the Truth and the Way. “Why not?” is your power mantra. To prime yourself for the transition, I suggest that wherever you are right now, you spread your arms wide and unfurl your welcoming palms.
Rob Brezsny’s Free Will Astrology
two beautiful, perfect mornings in a row.
a lone white athletic sock sitting on the ground.
PRAY FOR LITTLE ROCK.
NONE spray-painted on a boarded-up window.
two middle-aged men walking down the road with their arms around each other’s shoulders.
JESUS BRINGS PEACE TO LIFE.
a fluffy chow-shepherd mix smiling at me through a chain link fence.
a crumbling stone bench obscured by a blooming tulip bush.
a man wearing an orange checkered shirt, only the top button fastened, an orange jeweled tie, orange sweatbands, red socks, house slippers, & a black fishing hat.
a morbidly obese golden retriever rolling in the grass.
a gold caddy detailed with CADDILLAC [sic] down the side in old english script.
the rain coming down in sheets, my pants soaked from the knees down, shoes so water-logged that my feet were slipping and sliding around in them dangerously, a man in a car speeding up to run the light, dousing me head to toe with filthy water.
a herd of perfect aryan children being shooed from the über-alles episcopalian church by tight-faced, dead-eyed designer parents.
an abandoned sneaker, an island in the rushing gutter.
a solitary green chair sitting out in an empty lot.
FEMALE ROOMMATE WANTED FOR THE SUMMER.
a surly crow landing on the ground a few feet away and cocking his head at me challengingly.
the gutter a tangle of broken car head and tail lights, cigarette butts, AA batteries, and empty ketchup packets.
a bent tree with a huge hollow and another variety of plant rooted and growing inside it.
a chicken bone swarming with ants.
three green and three gold gummi bears piled together in the bus shelter.
WHAT IS THE HIGHEST PRAISE?
a crushed and burned up convertible sitting sans wheels in someone’s back yard.
the wetly curled corpse of a dead baby bird.
a lady wearing a small black bowler hat with a big purple flower.
a slew of blackbirds picking for insects in the grass.
a vintage white & tan buick.
a set of box springs being eaten by a garbage truck.
a man dressed all in white eating peanuts while talking to a midget.
23 BEWARE OF DOG signs.
“At moments like this, I wish I could somehow open a door and have him step inside my head so that he could know how fully I adore him. After all these years with him, my feelings only become stronger every morning, when I look at him. I watch him pee sometimes and I actually sigh with joy because I won him, somehow.
Happily, GLEEFULLY, would I live in dire poverty with him, if it meant we got to live to each be one hundred years old. The next morning, a tree could fall on the top of our cardboard box and crush us both to death at the same instant. Bliss.”
from Possible Side Effects by Augusten Burroughs
CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): “What the heart knows today the head will understand tomorrow,” wrote Irish storyteller James Stephens. It’s lucky for you that this is true, Capricorn–or at least it *will* be lucky if you’re smart enough to trust your heart, which has already figured out a certain truth that your head is still days away from registering. This is not merely a pretty metaphor, by the way. Despite what you may have been led to believe about the nature of the heart, it is actually an organ of intelligence that is capable of deep thought.
Rob Brezsny’s Free Will Astrology
A Treatise on Limnology, 1957.
rows of pigeons crab-walking on the roof of the murder house.
rain spattering the screen of my cell phone.
a cardinal singing on a wire.
a squirrel with only about 2 inches of tail, tipped with white fur, leap-frogging around a rainy yard.
the gutters swelling with rain-washed garbage.
a wet heavy branch falling just in front of me.
HONOR THY FATHER AND MOTHER.
a pit-bull bitch dragging a string toy up onto a sagging porch.
a saffron house with a crumbling, board-stuffed well in the back yard.
a broken window at the grocery store boarded up with plywood.
a rogue front car bumper laying across the sidewalk.
a rain of light purple petals falling over the top of a tall wood fence.
GHOST.
United Sons of Solomon and Queens of Sheba.
particle board peeling away from a gaping window socket.
a shiny yellow candy ball rolling around on the floor of the bus.
two old ladies giddy on a trampoline.
two iridescent pigeons turning their heads mutely.
a windowless house for sale.
a skinny old man stirring a steaming bucket of something cooking on a BBQ grill.
an empty and purple bubble bottle.
the rogue sole of shoe laying on the sidewalk.
a young, shirtless work crew nailing old-fashioned wood siding to the joists of a formerly burned out house.
a train of orange cones down the middle of main st.
a huge machine painting stripes down the road.
the staggered mess of wet paint stripes smeared staccato across the road.
two men mowing the yard at my bus stop with weed-whackers & a blower.
amhad walking in the middle of the road, muttering loud but incomprehensible.
a tiny amber spider hanging from tree
a dueting cardinal couple pip-pip-pipping back & forth to each other.
PAY FIRST SELF SERVICE STOP ENGINE NO SMOKING.
a gold dove perched on a headstone.
an old man and a little girl flying a purple kite together.
a mockingbird hopping around the foundation of a former house.
all of someone’s belongings piled at the curb.
two little red and yellow kiddy cars parked side-by-side.
the unwashed, metallic-smelling man in front of me twitching & muttering to himself.
NIHILIST SEEKS SAME: SOMEONE WHO IS ANTI-EVERYTHING.
“the most loneliest day of my life” song lyrics on the MTV:U[the U stands for über] playing in the DSC.
a bit of tree fluff floating in the air.
three men re-roofing a small white house.
magnolia blossoms lilting sultry in the humid haze.
a stuffed tiger lazing on the dash of a passing car.
a small birthday sign made of rainbow foil hanging slack from the eaves of a squalid house.
an apple-shaped girl in a red tube top.
Human Biology & Racial Welfare, 1930.
a zenning tabby cat sitting atop a metal jungle gym.
a landslide of old mattresses crowded together by the curb.
House of Philly Cheesesteaks.
a group of men gathered around a card table in a far back yard.
a lady kneeling for “some reason” in front of a man behind an abandoned gas station.
a ring of pre-schoolers in colorful shirts playing a game.
The Ecology of Java & Bali, 1996.
teenaged cheerleaders EVERYWHERE.
Shugland House of Blues.
a wheelchair sitting abandoned at a bus stop.
a coil of razor wire laying in loops by the gate of an empty factory.
a twisting crush of live oak trees circling a tiny shotgun shack.
fat flutter of red amaryllis leaning against a chain link fence.
a rusty bin crammed with cardboard boxes.
a wan old dog raising head as the bus goes by.
a thin, unsteady blind girl boarding the bus.
DON’T LET YOUR PHONE SUCK!
a pinwheeling carousel of color & light loping around my left eye in great wide arcs of pain.
a corpulent lady with a belly like a drooping shelf wearing bright green shorts pulled all the way up
and licking a glossy red sucker like a little girl.
five shopping carts clustered around tree in the side-yard of a boarded up house.
my poor owwie toe weeping around the edge of my shoe.
a porta-john hiding modestly between two trees.
Heal the Hurt Child, 1962.
CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): In his biography Tallulah!: The Life and Times of a Leading Lady, Joel Lobenthal describes actress Tallulah Bankhead (1902-1968) as a reckless hedonist given to exhibitionism and affairs with hundreds of lovers. He also hints that there was a karmic payback for her excesses. It came in the form of a lengthy hysterectomy that was a last-ditch attempt to save her from the ravages of an advanced case of gonorrhea, reducing her frame to a mere seventy pounds. Bankhead didn’t see it as karmic payback, however. Afterwards she told her doctor, “Don’t think this has taught me a lesson!” Your own imminent comeuppance won’t be even a tiny fraction of what Bankhead’s was, Capricorn. But I hope that after it has been offered, you will thankfully say, “This has taught me a valuable lesson!”
Rob Brezsny’s Free Will Astrology
much to my own surprise, i realized that i’d forgotten to post last month’s search phrase statistics! the horror!! so without ANY ado, here they be.
May’s Key Searchphrases:
15,283 hits on a secret text file hidden in the belly of my server, relating to a mysterious un-named website and its various & sundry occupants.
i normally wouldn’t do something like this but, this is worth it.
read more about the art and architecture of the long burger at ideas in food. this is one idea i will be trying out soon!
a cling-film sandwich wrapper skittering down the gutter.
a man sauntering by wearing an umbrella hat.
an old lady in overalls driving a semi.
a man in wheelchair pulled along the sidewalk by old irish setter.
a CAT customer survey.
what appeared to be a very small pony in someone’s front yard, caught out of the corner of my eye.
a chihuahua too concerned with biting on its ass to get out of the way of the bus.
EASTSIDE CHURCH OF CHRIST IT’S IN IT IS GIVING I AINT NOTHING BUT A WOMEN CASAVOVA KEEP ON PRESSING TO THE GOAL (written in pencil on the wall near my post office box.)
a little old man with huge jug of water & bag full of tennis racquets.
UTILITY PAYMENTS & EDUCATION CENTER.
two love seats 69-ing on the curb.
a backyard full of headless sunflowers reaching for the sky.
a couple of roosters at the Dunbar Community Garden.
a huge luna moth resting on the edge of a stone landscaping wall.
two-foot-long bright green seed pods hanging down around my head.
WHO IS YOUR GOD?
The Chemistry of Synthetic Dyes and Pigments, 1955.
red roses struggling to grow from a garbage pile.
a spiderweb of white string zig-zagging a sagging wraparound porch.
deacons in serious black suits directing sunday traffic.
a case of budweiser lounging under a shade tree.
door after door leaning against wall after wall thru the windows of the under-construction residence hall.
a tiny birdhouse perched in the eave of a porch.
fourteen birds lined up suspiciously on roof of the murder house.
a spry little old lady in white ankle socks & patent leather mary janes.
clouds of daubers & butterflies hovering around a sticky mud slick.
hoards of conference-goers clotting the DSC clutching identical lime green canvas bags.
THE BEST VITAMIN FOR CHRISTIANS IS B1.
The Newton House, 1882.
a forlorn black chow chow lounging on a freshly mowed lawn.
a rosy hot spider bite on my thigh.
two old men shooting the shit outside dendy’s barber shop.
mail in the mailbox of a burned-out house.
the lovely bosnian student worker bringing me a thermos of homemade turkish coffee.
a field full of old busted hospital beds.
a bus-rider singing flatly along with r&b on his walkman, looking over at me to see if it piques my interest in him - i quietly slip on my own headphones when he isn’t looking.
a yellow paper fan across the sidewalk (seconds later ferreted away in my bag).
a landscaper sneezing repeatedly as he trims back rose bushes.
the secret ridge in my skirt caused by my flesh colored stockings rolled down to the top of my knees.
wire croquet wickets set up in the yard of a historic museum house.
Does God Play Dice?: the mathematics of chaos, 1991.
huge black birds flying overhead & hopping noisily in trees.
a papasan & a hanging baby swing empty side-by-side in a yard.
a nest drooping slack and mossy in the crook of a magnolia tree.
a pensive orb-weaver hanging high in a tree.
a solitary ladder-back chair sitting expectantly beside a mailbox.
several piles of turquoise sewer pipes scattered around campus.
Chaos in Wonderland: visual adventures in a fractal world, 1994.
hordes of three & four-year-old girls doused in glitter and dressed up in pink tulle & white tap shoes dragged around campus by impatient mothers.
a man smelling of fruit-stripe gum breezing by me on the bus.
an upturned red wagon on a freshly filled trench.
bored students seated under umbrellas at various intersections around campus.
BY HILLARY WOODWORTH
ARKANSAS DEMOCRAT-GAZETTE
[reprinted withOUT permission because compulsary web registration makes me cross]
As patrons entered the Central Arkansas Library System’s Main Library in downtown Little Rock, they would inevitably pass by a hefty 6-foot, 390-pound man with grayish hair. That man was Vernon Johnson, who was a security guard at the library for over 23 years.
Although his size alone could scare bad intentions out of anyone, co-workers said Johnson had a heart of gold.
Johnson died Monday at Baptist Health Medical Center in Little Rock from complications caused by diabetes. He was 53.
Born in Conway, Johnson moved to Little Rock in his youth. He has been a working man since the age of 13. To help support his mother, who was raising four children alone on a laundry worker’s salary, Johnson did yardwork and other odd jobs to bring in extra income.
Johnson’s wife, Donita, said his upbringing helped form his strong work ethic and thrifty nature.
“People said he was cheap,” his wife said. “He wasn’t cheap, he was thrifty. I think that was wise.”
Co-worker Alysanne Crymes said that in the 20 years she has been with the library, she remembers Johnson missing only one day of work.
Johnson’s wife concurs. “No, he was very serious about work. He didn’t want to miss going. He worked the day before he went into the hospital, even though he could barely walk.
“He saved getting sick for when we were on vacation.”
Johnson first met his wife when she took a position at the library 4 1/2 years ago.
“I’m the one who asked him out,” Donita Johnson said. “I sent him an e-mail and said we should go out sometime. He wrote back and said, ‘You want to go out with me?’ Even after we were married, he would ask me what I saw in him. He just didn’t even know. He was a kind, generous, loving man.”
The couple married in January 2005, and the father of one child was now a father to five.
“He never called them stepchildren. To him, he was their dad,” his wife said. “We were only together for a little while, but they were some of the happiest times of my life.”
Johnson, not surprisingly, enjoyed reading books on a wide array of topics - from biographies to science fiction. Johnson also enjoyed looking through his telescope at the stars.
During his service in the U.S. Army, Johnson had traveled to several countries and he maintained an interest in foreign languages.
“He would check out Spanish language tapes and would practice along with them at home,” Donita Johnson said. “He was getting pretty good at it.”
Johnson was an expert cook and his pot roast was a family favorite, his wife said. He also enjoyed listening to classical and gospel music and had always wanted to learn how to play the saxophone.
Described by his wife as old-fashioned, patient and respectful, Johnson was wellliked by most people.
“He was a wonderful human being, and he always made you feel safe,” his wife said.
This story was published Wednesday, June 07, 2006
What do we do when those we care deeply about are dying, while we go on living and working? We might be tempted to indulge in our own feeling of injustice, sadness, or fear, but we should think first of those who are dying. We have a responsibility to be with them.
Don’t let others die lonely. No moatter how ironic your living may compare with their dying, act for them as they can no longer act. If they reach out for some way to cope with their impending end, you need not have flowery words. Merely being with them, perhaps reaching out to hold hands, is eloquence enough. Death may be near, but any amount of time before it comes is precious.
Life’s moments are not cheapened by death. Just to observe and affirm is good. After all, death waits for all of us. Only the value we place on each minute determines the quality of life. If we can embrace that, then no one’s life is ruined by death.
excerpted not-so-randomly from 365 Tao, by Deng Ming-Dao
CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): This would not be a good week to cast a curse on God in revenge for what you think are his mistakes. Nor would it be a favorable time to draw blasphemous cartoons of saints, or pretend that atheism is any less of a faith-based belief system than religion. In fact, if I were you, Capricorn, I would utter a few prayers, purify your motives, and do some really good deeds–just in case there’s even a slim possibility that divine help is abundantly available to you right now. (P.S. From what I can tell, there’s more than a slim possibility.)
Rob Brezsny’s Free Will Astrology
Into this wild abyss,
The womb of nature and perhaps her grave,
Of neither sea, nor shore, nor air, nor fire,
But all these in their pregnant causes mixed
Confusedly, and which thus must ever fight,
Unless the almighty maker them ordain
His dark materials to create more worlds,
Into this wild abyss the wary fiend
Stood on the brink of hell and looked a while,
Pondering his voyage…
– John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book II