Poem: Runner

RUNNER
2009092003 - c2009 WLC

A hole in one shoe
Stone in the other
Pays it no heed
As he runs with another

No looking back
Not one single grumble
Listens to music
Unafraid of a stumble

Keeps moving on
Like there's no tomorrow
Tired, though he is
Can't imagine any sorrow

Crossing the street
Crossing the line
Looking up, he just smiles
He's beaten his time

Poem: Fusion

FUSION
2009092002 - c2009 wlc

The chair, it sits, by an open window
The sun cascades upon the floor
Curtains rigid in the breeze
On the table, a chunk of cheese
In the bowl is dipping sauce
Creamy goat's milk, cinnamon
Richard's voice sings to the air
Everything I want

Shapes were shifting with the light
Like our lives, the seasons change
I remember laying on a bedroom floor
Rainbows pulsing through my head
Sunshine spilling its love on me
I was alone then
Only God to guide my way
Now He's given you to me
Set upon a silver platter
All I need to do
Is keep on loving you

I felt the ground beneath my feet
The smell of earth, the rain came down
I laid my head against your breast
Inhaled so deeply Tide HE
I saw reflections of your mother
The trees whipped past us
The streams and ponds would greet us
And we were alone
Dancing in our joys together
And Richard's voice sings to the air
Everything I want

Squishy sand beneath our feet
Without even knowing it you saw me
The scent of garbage lingered still
At times the waterfall is better full
It distracts from what's beneath
But my tears like water fallen
Had begun to only trickle
And exposed was I to you again
And you saw only beauty
In the scene before you
And in your memory is reflection
Of those rocks upon the water
So in the depth of night your hand
Grabbed for mine
And everything just came together
Everything just came together

Poem: Sundown

SUNDOWN
2009092001 c2009 WLC

I overslept this morning
Swept away by dreaming
Walking through the castle halls
Chasing ghosts behind the door
Every time they walked away
I was reaching even more

The leaves were rustling in the trees
We were chased by killer bees
My world crashed down around my feet
Tears were washed into a sea

Despair
It is a horrid feeling
And I vowed to never feel it
Ever again
So when I let it all pass by
And multitudes were lost to me forever
I kept going on my way
And suddenly we were together

The sun was lighting up my keys
Even in the black of night
Now the rain is less appealing
The glare from you has filled my sight

I'm overwhelmed
By a beating in my chest
A life filled up by shining eyes
The birds have taken to their rest

You're like a drug
One that makes me sleep
Sometimes I don't even know
How far under, well, it's so deep

Joy
It is a wondrous thing
And I vowed to never lose it
Ever again
The sun dipped down below the mountains
I watched the final rays
My heart told me, 'twould always be,
Until our final days

Poem: Sweat

*SWEAT*

2009091411 - c2009wlc

Sweat

Trickling down my back

Dripping over the place where I was stung

Yesterday

I cried a sea of tears

And thought that I was drowning

In you

I see a wonderful today

And an even brighter tomorrow coming

In your eyes

A sparkling torrent

From which your quiet joy is dripping

Sweat

pictures say a thousand words

You know, I understand that I had no talent with music.
I understand that I sucked at that, and you were glad, because you had
something I didn't.
My whole life I tried to go my own way and even when I agreed with
you, you simply lorded it over me and wanted me to agree with you more.
Sometimes it felt like the only time I was saved, or OK, or human, was
when I said what you wanted me to say.
Even when you asked me my opinion, it was only so you could go the
other way.
It was as if I was supposed to be a projection of what you wanted to
be and didn't feel like achieving.
So I went my own way.
I did my own thing.
You got mad.
I stopped caring.
Then one day it was as if you finally saw me for the first time.
You appreciated one of my photo books.
You even wanted a copy.
I gave you my only good copy.
I cried because I was so happy that you'd finally accepted me for who
I was.
I couldn't believe you were finally proud of me and would be so proud
that you'd actually say so.
And now you tell me that I'm not as good as some guy who lives where
you wanted me to live and who obviously has more money to throw at his
equipment than I do.
You won't even acknowledge how wonderful you thought my work was.
Once again it is impossible to live up to your expectations.
So, I quit.
Go do it all yourself, and until you do, stop telling me that I'm not
as good as everyone else.
I'm one heck of a strong, smart, talented lady.
You should know.
You're my mother.

attack of the honey bees

Dale and I went for a short hike today and on the way back down the
treacherous path, I stopped several feet behind Dale and listened. I
heard what sounded like a swarm, and since there wasn't anything
around us except rock, air, and path, I looked down at the path.
About two feet from my foot I saw what appeared to be a rotten piece
of wood beneath the path with a hole on the side, sticking out into
the air a bit. Little yellowish-fuzzyish-striped bee things were
popping out of that hole two at a time as if they were pissed. I
should have gone back the way I'd come (there was another route on the
other side) but instead I went forward, over the nest, and for some
stupid reason paused just on the other side of it, starting stupidly
at Dale as the sound of the swarm increased. I think I thought that
standing still would fake them out. Well, I decided that wasn't such
a good idea after all, so I slowly moved away, being careful not to
hit any of them or squish them. Well, they were sufficiently ticked
off and I belatedly realized this so I said, "AH! Dale, they're all
over me!" and as I began to move away more quickly, he stepped towards
me to fan them away (which, also belatedly, we both realized he should
not have done). Just as he moved forward, one of the little fu**ers
stung my back and I screamed as I kicked up my heels and ran
[carefully as this was a treacherous spot of path to NOT be careful
on], then within a second or two my left ring finger began blazing. I
was aware of a bee crawling on my finger and I didn't dare to brush
her off in case she wasn't the original perp, but she was caught by
her own stinger. Just as I was realizing this and brushed her off,
Dale went "OW!" and began running behind me, saying something about
his eye (which in the back of my mind was concerning me a bit, but I
was more concerned that one of us might be allergic, and here we are,
running along the side of a rocky cliff, with a steep and narrow
incline in front of us, and a wire handhold on the other side to worry
about. So I said, "Get over this first, then we can stop and look at
things. And Dale - if you feel your throat start closing up, dammit,
tell me right away." He mumbled his "OK" and then went on about his
eye and my finger was already swelling around my rings, throbbing down
the back of my hand, and my back was screaming in its own blaze of
glory, but we made it up over the little pass and onto a safer path of
rocks within sight of the woods so finally on our descent I looked at
his eye. He'd been stung about an inch below, where the bags usually
form, and sure enough, he had a little swelling going on. He looked
very serious and asked if it would be dangerous. I said, "No. But it
might swell more than that, and it may swell enough where you can't
see out of it a bit. When we get home, cold compresses and advil will
help keep the swelling down but I don't think we need to worry about
it." In the meantime, I tried pulling off my wedding ring and
couldn't. I started back down the rest of the way and Dale says, "You
should get that off while you still can." I said I knew, but I'd wait
until we were sure of our footing, which was only a few more feet. So
when we reached the path, I twisted and pulled until it slid off. His
swelling had already doubled by the time we got to the end of the path
(not that far), and so had my finger. We were both complaining of a
throbbing but my back was fine. I reckon it's because the stinger had
to go through my shirt, and was probably yanked out by my movements,
whereas we had to remove the stingers from his eye and my finger, and
in our haste, probably squeezed the venom in further (I mean, I didn't
see the sac, I just saw a stinger that had to be removed ASAP dammit
the little fu**er!!!) so...

Anywho, I'm truly amazed, that despite my stupidity of pretty much
standing on top of the hive, we only got stung three times throughout
all that. I wasn't sure what they were at the time but I knew a few
things:
1. They came out of a hole in the ground.
2. They sting.
3. The stinger is left behind.
4. They were smaller than the space between my hand and knuckle.
5. They were fuzzy, with dark (black? dark brown?) and yellowish
stripes.
6. They swarm when threatened.
7. They don't chase you once you start running (thank GOD).
8. The sting causes a stinging sensation followed by swelling,
redness, and a throbbing sensation that slowly intensifies for a while
before backing off, and it continues to hurt like this for more than
an hour (so far).
8. Neither of us appear to be allergic enough to them to know we're
allergic to them.

I did some research and, based on pictures alone, determined that it
had to have been a bunch of honeybees. I'd never heard of them making
a home in the ground before, though, so I kept researching, but the
only ground dwellers I could find don't look anything like what we
annoyed. It turns out that honeybees look for openings to 15 litre
cavities, so I can only guess that there was a cavity in the ground
that wasn't obvious from above because by golly, everything else about
their descriptions DO match what we ran across.

We told the guy that maintains the area since he's an older gent and
he keeps a lot of updated signs about the trails. We figured it might
be good to warn folks about, and since he works on the trails, good to
warn /him/ about. He said that he'd found a hive, probably the same
location, about 20 years before and had to kill them off at night when
it's hard to navigate up there. I'm hoping he doesn't try doing that
himself this time at his age. Hard to see combined with that path is
doable, but not too safe. At least he's thoroughly familiar with the
spot, though.

Anywho, we're good other than the continued throbbing. The swelling
stopped on our way home. Dale can see fine, just looks like someone
smacked him under the eye a bit, a litte discoloured. My back still
stings now and then but Dale tells me there's no swelling at all, just
a sizable red patch around the stingsite. My finger, I think, is
probably the worst for the wear, since I use it to type with and it's
very stiff from the swelling. We both popped some Advil and I'm about
to put ice on the finger.

I'm so thankful it's just a throbbing nuisance. Heck, it's not even
as bothersome as a mosquito bite. At least it doesn't itch!

~nv

so.

Sometimes I think I should have been a Gemini like Dale. My interests
move around so fast I can't catch my breath.

Today it's photography interspersed with Cherokee, music, food, tea,
wine, and beads. A few years ago it was computers interspersed with
language, music, painting, archery, and beads. Before that, it was
computers, beads, swimming, language, music, and drawing. Of course
writing was always in there but depending on how many things I'm doing
at once and such, that waxes and wanes with the tides.

Anywho, the problem is that I don't know what I truly wish to focus on
in order to learn one thing inside and out. I'll never get there with
computers because computers change all the time and are so
multi-application that they just add further problems to my
decision-making processes (which have never been great anyway). So I've
accepted that computers are simply my mainstay and outlet to further
creativity, a tool, if you will.

I have one major interest right now that was limited by experience and
knowledge. Now it is primarily limited by finances. Photography. Last
night, my mom sent me this cool website (below for your viewing
pleasure) and said, "I bet you're jealous 'cause he's better than you."

http://www.jimoreillyphoto.com/entry/portland-observatory-portland-maine

That particular shot is the one that started ME on a rampage. I don't
think he's better than me at all. I think he has far superior equipment
than I do for starters, and he has been in or found situations where
these photos were possible (such as those in Ireland and Scotland).
Some of his work, I could have composed better, some I could have done
just as well if I'd been there with him, and some I couldn't do
regardless because I don't have the equipment to do so.

I have been increasingly (and painfully) aware that my camera, as
versatile as it is, IS LIMITED. There is a REASON as to why there are
so many choices for cameras, lenses, filters, and lights where
photography is concerned. I chose my camera based on its practical use
as the most versatile, able camera available to me at the time I bought
it. But there is no camera or lens that can do it all. So, the
frustration I have been increasingly aware of the past year or two has
not been due to my inability to figure out HOW to get my camera to shoot
something like Dale does, it's due to the limitations I've been running
into. Dale's been telling me this all along but I think on some level I
wanted to believe that I could push this camera beyond its limits and
fake the images I've been seeking. (Not working too well.)

Well, Dale's ladybug on the Dew can got me quite flustered. Watching
him shoot a bumblebee that wouldn't sit still ticked me off because I
could hear his shots, wham, wham, wham, wham, while mine was going, "You
want what now? Oh, that? Uh... where'd it go?" Then, Mom sent me the
moon behind the Portland Observatory in Maine. Okay, that's the last
straw. There ain't no way in photographic he** that I could ever do
anything remotely like that with my S5. NO WAY. Further, I had an
inkling that I knew what was missing, but I wasn't sure. "Dale?!
HOW?!" I asked.

Telephoto. Well, but of course. After some reading and additional
lessons by my favourite amateur-photographer-husband, I have a basic but
stronger understanding of how optics work together with the camera to
create results. First, the focal length is important. My S5 goes from
6.0-72.0 mm. I've learned that the 6mm is the piece that permits me the
macro shots I so much adore. The 72mm permits the distance shots that
come in handy when focusing on something farther away and bringing them
up close. What I somehow failed to grasp until today is that the 12x on
my camera means absolutely nothing other than to show how versatile my
camera is. It's simply the max focal length divided by the min focal
length. Without the 12x, if I were knowledgeable enough at the time, I
would have looked at 6-72mm and thought, "Oh, cool! I can take macros
and still get some distance shots with the same lens!" It seems so
obvious to me now. But I cannot get the moon in the same detail as a
building right in front of it. Why? I don't have a lens with a high
enough focal length. Dale said 200mm would do it, but I was reading
that 300mm and higher is best. I know such lenses are longer, heavier,
and of course, far more expensive (the first 300mm Nikkor I looked at
was over 5K). What I didn't understand is why they could focus on a
building AND a very VERY far away moon and bring it right in. I was, as
usual, overcomplicating things.

It's an illusion.

The higher focal length allows you to see things as if they were right
there in front of you, rather than a ways away. It's like a telescope
that lets you see Jupiter. You're still just as far away but suddenly
there it is, clear as day. That means you can go sit atop a little hill
somewheres a half-mile away from the Observatory and still "see" it with
the camera as if it's right there. It also means you can zoom in better
on the moon and its little potholes. But why is the moon so big behind
that Observatory? It's got nothing to do with the camera at this point,
but rather, the perspective. The further from the two items you go
(moon and building), the larger the moon appears compared to the
observatory. Despite the distance between the two objects remaining
constant, the distance between you and them increasing affects how they
are perceived. I think this is all physics or something else I never
understood, but I do understand that this is why telephoto lenses allow
such shots. If you have to be far away from both to get this shot, then
a 72mm lens won't be able to get the shot because it can't make the
building large enough to be worth bothering with.

Which leaves me muttering obscenities to myself, because I can't
*afford* a lens that would permit this. This has, however, heightened
my desire for a DSLR, because I see more uses for one than merely
getting unfocused backgrounds behind my subject of choice or faster
startup and shutter speeds.

Gah. If I weren't so darned responsible, I'd be bankrupt in six months.

The reason I began this post is because it's bothering me that I don't
play more keyboard. I _want_ to play more keyboard, but just looking at
it makes me feel irritable and cranky. Why? I used to get this
sensation of awe just by touching and looking at the keys. The feeling
of wonder and elegance would wash over me like baby powder both soothing
and sticking to a baby's butt. For the past several months I've been
wondering if perhaps it's because I've outgrown my Casio to the point
where I don't want to hear its sound. Could it be? Or am I just too
impatient to learn anything new? I keep telling myself it's the latter.
But this doesn't explain why I take so little pleasure in playing the
things I've got memorized. Well, that's probably because I'm bored with
those, I've played them so many times, I tell myself. But THAT doesn't
explain why it is that I find myself playing them - with excitement - on
the baby grand where my mother works. Or why I found myself drooling as
I played something on a higher-end keyboard at a store recently,
relishing the richer, deeper sound and the responsiveness of the keys.
The more I think about it, the more I realize that it's probably the
keyboard. My ears have been fine-tuning themselves over the years and
now they dislike the aging speakers of a 14-year-old keyboard.

Indeed. If I want to play keyboard any more, I'm going to have to get
rid of the old ones and buy myself a new one. The question for myself
right now is, do I do it right away, or wait until we can have a baby
grand? And if I get a baby grand down the road, will a small one
suffice? Or will I eventually want a larger or better one? I'm so
tired of replacing things as I outgrow them. A large part of me wants
to just save and buy the best up front. But what if I didn't stick with
it? What if I got bored? I might as well just find something better
right now, and merely upgrade in the future when I feel the utter
necessity of it. This must be why people lease cars.

Anywho, I've got pictures to go through. Ciao.

~nv

Engrish

http://science.slashdot.org/story/09/08/28/1147215/Were-In-the-Midst-of-a-Literacy-Revolution

A colleague sent the above link to me, knowing how much I loathe the obvious shift in literacy.  I admit, it offers a different approach as to what and how it is happening, but my basic principles on the subject remain unfettered.

I completely agree that the Internet has changed how people write to each other.  Kids have learned how to [effectively?] communicate with larger audiences through the use of Twitter and Facebook.  They've learned the art of being succinct.  (f u cnt shthnd & engrish mods az b-ing succinct - heck, evn i cn do dat wuz kall3d l33t sp33k b4 yann0.)  However, it is not true that they simply abbreviate and reword things to get their points across to other peeps while online.  They also make gross typos and misspellings, even as they advance into the workplace, regardless of the audience.  Illiteracy may not be occurring, but English is no longer standardized.  I don't believe the Internet is causing this, but it is facilitating it.  Ultimately, the failure to write correctly is due to irresponsibility.  Otherwise, the VERY EASY access to online resources to look up spellings, search for synonyms to better get points across, and - omg (oh my God!), let's not forget the use of spell check!! - would be frequented more often.  But no.  Despite all of the advances brought on by mass collaboration, the tool that is being utilized most appears to be brevity.

A friend of mine told me once that her son was approached by his teacher.  She asked him to stop using such large words in his essays.  He asked why.  She said it was because it made the other students feel bad.  Quite literally, he was being asked to "dumb down" his words rather than encourage others to learn better writing techniques through repeated exposure.  Since many of those kids probably didn't reach much other than Twitter, she was, in effect, purposefully reducing the vocabulary of her students.  In return, the boy could finally talk to his peers.  Ooh, whup dee doo.

"Dumbing" ourselves down for people who complain about the use of "big" words is, to me, like giving welfare recipients more money when they're doing nothing to better themselves.  It's one thing to talk to a specific audience in a certain way to make sure they understand.  It's completely another to eradicate chances of their improvement in a classroom situation.  Especially in an ENGLISH CLASS!!!!!

On another note, I was reading a novel the other day from an authour I've been reading for years, and I found a typo.  When I saw typos on the tables at my workplace, I tried to raise a warning, and no one cared, so I fell silent.  When I saw typos in newspapers, I was scoffed.  When I corrected people, I was told to mind my own business.  When I wrote complete sentences in online gaming chats, I was called a "secretary."  And now, I am still mocked, scoffed, and laughed at for caring about the one language we should all know as Americans who regularly send out e-junk stating that if foreigners don't wanna learn English then send them the f*** back over the border.

Then again, many of the people who do NOT send me such entertaining dribble happen to spell correctly 99.5% of the time.  Imagine that.

Tell me that this is not affecting everyone now, even if everyone doesn't care.  Tell me that it doesn't matter when over half the population no longer knows how to read the fine print on mortgage deeds so they don't get in over their heads.  Tell me it doesn't matter!  I dare you.

~The Tormented English Fairy